Fur Coat No Knickers

by C. B. Martin

  Miserably, I walked over to the loo and had my long awaited pee; hovering as far away from the porcelain as was physically possible without peeing on my shoes (which wasn’t easy now I could apparently no longer pee straight). Thankfully, I managed to wash my hands and exit the room without catching another glance of myself in the Mirror of Horrible Truth.

  As I headed towards an empty seat, I heard an exasperated voice shouting my name.

  ‘Tara Ryan? Tara Ryan?’

  ‘That’s me,’ I shouted, rather too loudly.

  I’m sure I saw her tut and shake her head as she motioned me to follow her into the brightly lit consulting room. Everything about her demeanor screamed that she didn’t want any small talk. That’s fine by me. I’ll save my sweet talk for Dr. White Coat. I don’t need to impress her. The wrinkly old camel. She needs a good old rodgering, I thought. I bet she hasn't had sex in years. Mind you, who would want to, with a face like that?

  Anyway, back to the point in hand, I mused. How would I go about giving Travis our wonderful news?

  I would wear a white, virginal diaphanous flowing gown and cook a candlelit dinner for two (okay, actually I can’t cook, but I can certainly order food in that will look like I’ve cooked it).

  Then I would make my announcement:

  ‘We are with child.’

  No.

  ‘We are pregnant.’

  No.

  ‘You’ve scored.’

  Hmm… maybe I might need to work on that line. I’m so not going to let myself go while I am pregnant either. No way.

  MENTAL NOTE TO PREGNANT SELF:

  No puking - it’s very unflattering. Morning sickness, if applicable, must wait till Travis has left the house.

  No leggings, no anoraks and absolutely no lesbian haircuts.

  No stretch marks. I will bathe in Bio-Oil for at least two hours every day.

  Buy a sexy Agent Provocateur Babydoll nightie to give birth in; with fully-matching mules piped in their classic colours with the initials ‘TC’ (Tara Coleman) on them.

  No screaming or howling during labour. I will breath like a Buddha; controlled and in a peaceful manner.

  Must schedule tightening of lady-garden immediately after birth of our perfect baby.

  Breast is best. Hmm… not sure I want to have my silicones removed. I will definitely have to think about that one. I will miss my chin-hitting friends.

  Caressing of breast area will only resume once re-inflated with new ‘sticky up bosoms’.

  Book a tummy tuck. And throw in a sneaky facelift for good measure (they might do buy one, get one free!)

  Must ask Travis to give me a list of his celebrity buddies, need to choose suitable Godparents.

  Satisfied with my to-do list, I began to picture what I would wear whilst pregnant. I would definitely need to wear sexy skintight dresses to show off my long-awaited event. I would wear my beautiful Louboutin heels and look every part the radiant mummy to be.

  Meanwhile, we would keep up a strict regime of mind-blowing sex daily, maybe even three times a day, or for as long as is possible.

  Lost in my dreams, I stuck out my arm and let Nurse Ratchet tap on my veins till she announced she had found a juicy one.

  ‘Nearly done,’ she said grabbing another vial to fill. ‘Right, that’s it. We’ll call you soon with the results.’

  And that was that.

  I drove home in a trance. I can’t believe I had to spend three hours in hospital for nothing. No big announcement. No ‘congratulations, Miss Ryan’. Nothing. I should have gone feckin’ private. Then, I wouldn’t have to wait to hear what was plainly obvious to all. I am pregnant. I must be, mustn’t I?

  This should be the happiest time of my life, but it just stubbornly wouldn’t fall into place. Nothing was going to plan. Why was everything so complicated? And why did I have to fall in love with someone who is in the public eye? And why couldn't he be seen out with me and have a normal life?

  Most importantly, why can’t he simply get in touch with me?

  I just had to send him one more text. Now, I know all the self-help books tell you not to chase a man. (I had cleared the shelves at Waterstones in the past two weeks in a bid to understand Travis better). And I get that you are supposed to leave them alone once they've gone into their cave. (Thank you, Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus). But come on, he’s been in his ‘cave’ way too long now. And surely, even if a man is padding about in a cold, dark cave, he’ll at least bring along some boys toys in with him? Like his phone for example?

  Maybe one more text won’t hurt, will it?

  After an unsure moment, I made up my mind. I’d take the risk. I’ll just give him a gentle reminder, whilst not directly addressing his lack of contact (okay, I didn't say that I had read those self-help books to the end).

  Scrolling through my contact list, I looked for a name that would make my text to Travis appear like an innocent mistake. It has to be someone with a name beginning with a ‘T’ I thought, deviously. I felt delighted with myself for having thought of such an ingenious way of provoking a text from him.

  [Text to Travis]

  Hi Teresa, here’s your requested reminder of your appointment at 4:30pm today. Please confirm back with Glamma-Puss Salon. Tara.

  My heart pounded as I pressed the send button. Clever Tara. Now Travis will have to respond and let me know that I have sent him a text that was obviously meant for someone else. Knowing I would surely get some kind of response before the appointment momentarily made me feel devilishly empowered. I now even felt like I might be able to muster the energy to go to the gym (to refund my membership, of course). But I didn't.

  I settled down to wait.

  The witching hour of 4:30pm came and went at a snail’s pace. Nothing. Not a peep. I could barely believe it. I sat on my sofa, rooted to the spot, staring into space. What the feck will it take to make him react?

  I don’t know how long I sat there, hours maybe, but suddenly I was overcome by a hidden rage. I was now a woman on the edge. I couldn't take anymore. I was consumed by a mentalist idea that only a woman in desperate need would consider. Acting like an automaton, I withheld my number and called the bastard’s phone.

  I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say, but I had to do something.

  To my complete astonishment, the line at the other end clicked. My heart banged as he answered. I instantly hung up.

  I was utterly traumatised. The fecker was clearly alive and had not lost his phone. After all my wild allegations and imagined disasters, nothing was wrong at all. He was, in fact, completely ignoring me.

  I flopped back onto the sofa and started retching. I could barely breathe. My heart was in pieces. I honestly thought I might pass out with the sheer agony of how I felt. My phone suddenly pinged a text in my shaking hand - I could see it was from him.

  [Text from Travis]

  Tara, it’s over. Never contact me again.

  ‘OH - MY- GOD… He’s finished with me!’ I screamed in disbelief.

  I read and re-read the devastating message. My insides collapsed with such a force that another boiling hot wave of nausea pricked and prodded my entire body. Without warning, I threw up all over the sofa and myself.

  Those ensuing minutes I experienced were, what I can only explain as a complete mental and physical breakdown.

  It felt like my eyes were popping out as I desperately tried to catch my breath. My face contorted into the ugliest expression imaginable, while I pointlessly waved my arms in the air. I was left panting and sobbing; trying desperately to find a position on the vomit-riddled sofa where my heart didn’t feel like it was about to explode from my body.

  I don’t remember much about the next few hours. Piecing it together later, I think I began to hysterically phone anyone who would listen. They didn’t listen for long though, because I was blubbering an incomprehensible language that nobody could understand. ‘They said not to go into his cave but I did,’ I screamed, like a
woman possessed. ‘The dragon has burnt me.’

  Call after call, I wailed and repeated the verbal diarrhea like a mantra. I bemoaned my absolute failure in life, love, and everything in-between before clicking the red button and phoning the next number. Siobhan was call number four. Actually, she’d been call number one, but I hadn’t given her a moment to respond.

  ‘Calm down and breathe,’ Siobhan interrupted, the second I got through. ‘Who has burnt you? A dragon? Tara, are you hallucinating? You haven’t had a party without inviting me… have you?!’

  I didn’t reply. I just wiped the dribbling snotty mess from my face to my sleeve and forcibly lobbed my phone at the wall.

  Watching the object of my addiction explode mid-air made me change my mind. Frantically, I began searching on my hands and knees for the scattered remains of my phone.

  ‘What if he thinks he has made a terrible mistake?’ I wailed, as I struggled to piece the various pieces of my phone back together. My world was tipping and crashing on its side at a rate that I couldn’t control. I felt like my life support had been cut off. My emotional stability was hanging by a thread, as I rocked myself back and forth curled up in a ball on the floor, cradling my burning, tear-stained face. What the hell had I done so wrong that he could do this… and by text?

  I dug my nails deep into my head, howling and raging like a wounded animal. My heart hammered and thumped so loud I thought I was dying - I was now vaguely aware that I was on the verge of self-destructive melt down.

  Forcing myself to stand up, I wiped my face with grim determination. ‘I’m worth more than this!’ I screamed at the top of my lungs. ‘Feck the world… Feck everyone… Feck what’s right and what’s wrong!’

  Engulfed with toxic rage, accompanied by waves of intense despair, I raced upstairs to the bathroom mirror and searched my tangled, twisted face.

  Come on, Tara. You are better than this. You are not going to lie down and take this one. I was going to win that bastard back if it killed me. I knew he still loved me. I just needed to remind him of that fact.

  ‘I have to fight for him,’ I told my distorted, tear-stained reflection. ‘I have to fight for us.’ I have no idea how I made it to the bottom of the stairs, or really how I planned to ‘win’ him back. The last thing I remember was booking the first available flight to Dublin.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The first thing the following morning, I launched myself into the shower like a woman possessed. I was on a mission and there was a hell of a lot of work to do.

  Once I had towelled myself down, I looked at my swollen and blotchy face with grim determination. Feck. I was gonna need a lot of work. A face-lift at the very least. But, there was no time.

  My initial attempts at vajazzling myself were thwarted by my trembling hands. That, and the fact I kept pausing to sob my heart out and wail loudly. I plastered on layers of makeup and smeared on some slutty red lipstick. Then, after looking at my reflection, I promptly burst into tears. Big black stains of mascara streamed down my face. Feck. Feck. Feck. I reached into the cupboard for the Clarins makeup remover, wiped it all off and started all over again. Just don’t feckin’ cry, Tara, I warned myself. I’m not sure I have enough mascara left to do all this again.

  Flipping my hair 360 degrees, I pushed through diamanté earrings stabbing myself in the neck in the process. The shock nearly made me start blubbing again, so I dug my fingernails into the back of my hand to distract myself. There. Floodgates closed.

  I walked purposefully from the bathroom and into my bedroom. Swinging open my wardrobe door, my eyes fell upon my prize. My beautiful black fur coat. As yet, Travis had still never seen it on me. I fanned myself frantically, my head zipping back to the euphoric high that had spurred me on to max out my credit card and purchase it.

  I thudded my head hard against the wardrobe door remembering the highly suggestive and erotic texts that sizzled back and forth between Travis and I that afternoon. One particular text he sent was burnt into my mind:

  “The thought of you in fur coat and no knickers has made me rock hard.”

  Laying the bag carefully down on the bed, I slowly unzipped the fur coat out of its pristine holder and paused. This coat was to define my mission, to ensnare his heart and win him back. I stood back and stared at it. It was a lot to expect from a coat.

  ‘Travis Coleman - I’m coming to get you - in a fur coat and no knickers!’

  My eyes suddenly caught sight of the clock beside the bed. Shit! Look at the time. If I didn’t leave there and then, I wouldn’t be able to get another flight till tomorrow. Without a moment’s hesitation, I took the fur coat out of the bag and slung it on. Then, I floundered for my passport in the cabinet drawer, wrestled on my tatty slippers, shoved my Louboutins underarm and ran out of the house.

  As I raced along the motorway to Heathrow, I tried to reflect on what I was doing and why. This is lunacy, isn’t it? Travis had told me never to contact him again. I had screwed things up good and proper and managed to alienate the man of my dreams. Maybe I deserved to feel like this.

  I felt heavy with failure, shifting around uncomfortably in my car. My thoughts were flashing back to the rip-roaring (albeit very agitated and somewhat unusual) sex we'd had that night in the Salon.

  I shook my head, thumping the steering wheel in temper. ‘Damn it!’ I exclaimed in despair.

  It was all my fault. I hadn't responded in the most grown up manner to his mischievous wandering finger. I mean, there he was taking our sex life to a whole new level - and what did I do? Bless myself and begin reciting a Hail Mary! Then I accused him of taking my bum-ginity! No wonder he buggered off and never wanted to see me again.

  Suddenly my bum twitched and began to sweat at the thought. ‘No bloody point in sweating now!’ I yelled down at my quivering arse.

  I cringed as I reflected on my appalling behaviour. I had almost cried like a baby in front of him when he left. I must have made him feel terrible. I had totally embarrassed myself, and worst still… I had embarrassed him so much, he felt compelled to end us, forever.

  Gulping back the sob that was growing in my throat, I desperately tried to see the bright side of my situation. I had to or I would be howling and smudging my feckin’ makeup all over again. Now… what was it James used to say? Oh yes. If someone turns their back on him, he sees it as more of an opportunity.

  By the time I had arrived at the airport, my stomach was clenched with anxiety. As I sat in the queue outside the Short Stay car park, I checked my makeup in the vanity mirror. God, I looked a mess. No wonder he didn’t want me. I shook my head. Come on, Tara, be positive. What would lickarse Laura say right now? Probably some psychobabble stuff about positive thinking and making things come right; I was gonna need a barrel-load of that babble, that was for sure.

  After I had nosed my car into one of the few parking slots, I yanked off my warm cosy slippers and slipped on my cold skyscraper Louboutins. The second I opened the door to get out, I felt a whoosh of cold air cut through me.

  Clutching my bag, I ignored my mobile that was buzzing ten-to-the-dozen with calls from family and friends. I walked purposefully towards the main terminal; except, I couldn’t seem to get my feet in rhythm with each other. Something was seriously wrong. I was totally off-balance and wobbly. I looked down at my feet and immediately saw the problem. I cursed James and his bright ideas. Thanks to him, I was wearing two shoes from different sets: one a five-inch Louboutin, the other a six-inch. Argh! JAMES!

  I couldn’t stop now. I had no choice. Setting my course firmly in the direction of the main terminal, I forced myself to continue hobbling in my odd shoes. I had a driving force of passion and love and nothing was going to stop me; not even you – yes, you – Big-Man upstairs. I don’t care if it’s a sign, or if you think I’m doing the wrong thing. I’m going to ignore you, the way you have ignored me.

  Once I had struggled through the interminable queue at security, I threw what little possessions I was trave
ling with onto the conveyer belt.

  ‘Remove your coat please, Miss,’ said the tall security guard, barely acknowledging me as he continued to stack up the trays. ‘And your shoes.’

  ‘I-I-I… can’t,’ I stuttered, frozen in horror, my face now flaming red.

  ‘Remove your coat please miss, or you’re not coming through,’ pronounced the guard who had abruptly stopped stacking his boxes. His brows were now knitted together with annoyance, as he stared straight at me. I stepped to the side, closer to the guard who visibly tensed in apprehension of what I might be about to do. His hand twitched to his side, where there was a large truncheon fixed to his belt.

  ‘Listen, I really can’t take off this coat,’ I whispered, looking pleadingly into his eyes.

  And now the humiliating confession. ‘I’m… not wearing anything underneath,’ I said, my eyes dropping to the floor in shame.

  ‘Really?’ he questioned in disbelief.

  May God forgive me… I threw my head up and sideward, inhaled a deep, nostril-widening breath and opened my fur coat for a nanosecond, revealing my entire naked body (well practically entirely naked, if you don’t include my vajazzle). I saw his eyes widen in shock and then he broke out into a full-grown smirk.

  ‘Ah hem… okay… please remove your shoes, Miss,’ he said, still aghast, grinning and shaking his head. He then called over a female security guard to search my coat.

  ‘Boyfriend problems,’ I said, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible to justify the obscenity. The two security guards exchanged glances, with raised eyebrows. ‘Trying to win him back,’ I continued, as I looked up at the ceiling with my arms stretched whilst being patted down.

  I couldn’t wait to get away once through security, I dashed towards my gate with my face still flushed red. I deployed all my usual tricks to keep my mind off what was hurting me so much, but nothing seemed to be working. I just couldn’t tear myself away from my paranoid state by thinking ahead to what I was actually going to do, or say, on the other side. It didn’t help that my eyes were irritated from a combination of tiredness, excessive crying and sloppily applied mascara. But I was on a mission. Okay, Tara, visualise how you think this will play out.