study bedroom. We’d put music on to hide the noise. Afterwards there would be a cup of Happy Shopper tea with blobby UHT milk. Not this time.
I open the door of the shower slightly. Marion turns to look at me. I pull the door open further and reach in to kiss her. She kisses me quickly, slightly stiffly, then looks down and says:
“Go downstairs and get me a drink will you, hon? A brandy.”
I want to get into the shower with her. Splash around, talk to her, make love again but I put a towel round me and tiptoe downstairs.
When I come upstairs again, Marion is wrapped in a huge white bathrobe with gold trimmings.
“Have a shower,” she says, taking her drink.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
“Have a shower. You’re all sticky.”
“I know.” I reach inside the bathrobe but she smiles and pushes me away.
“Have a shower.” All right, all right.
I have a very quick shower, dry myself roughly and feel another erection coming on. I begin to massage and kiss her neck as she sits at the dressing table, applying moisturizer.
“Get into bed,” she whispers. “I’m just coming.”
I do as she says and lie down, hands behind my head, watching her.
“Why you staring?”
“Looking at you.”
She smiles mysteriously and goes back into the bathroom.
I feel Marion get into bed and reach over to put my arm round her. She kisses my hand and then wraps it around me.
It’s the sun flooding in through the windows that wakes me up. Marion is nowhere to be seen. For a moment I think I must have dreamt last night.
“Marion?” My voice creaks. I lie back again. No, I didn’t dream it. Then I get up and walk to the bathroom. My morning hard-on relents a bit and I have a pee and look round to the bathroom door.
There, just as I knew it would be, is another white fluffy bathrobe. I put it on, discover it fits perfectly and go downstairs.
Marion is sipping coffee and reading a serious-looking typed letter. She is already dressed and made up.
“Hiya,” I say and go to kiss her. She moves her mouth away slightly and I make contact with her cheek.
“You’re not shaved.”
“So what?”
“Besides, I don’t want the servants to see.”
“For God’s sake,” I laugh.
“Look at your hair,” she says, disconcertingly like my mum does.
I turn and catch sight of myself in the mirror above the fireplace. My thick, dark curly hair looks like someone has tried to give me a beehive but given up halfway through. Vinny’s bloody hair gel.
“Oh, sorry.” Deciding that Marion obviously likes things to be smart and elegant at all times, even the morning after the night before, I go back upstairs and splash some cold water on my unruly barnet. Unfortunately this has the effect of bringing me back to something like reality. I go to find my dress shirt and trousers, which have been neatly folded and placed on a chair. My DJ is on a hanger behind the door. My watch is lying on top of my trousers. 8:40 a.m. Fuck! I rip off the bathrobe and begin to chuck my clothes on.
I take the stairs two at a time.
“Marion, I’m really late for work. I’ll have to go.”
“What? Already?”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to be there at nine. I didn’t notice the time. I’ve got to go home and put my work suit on.”
“OK.” She offers a cheek. I’m too panicked to aim for her lips. I give her a quick peck. Then I fumble around to check that I’ve got my house keys. I’ll also need a taxi.
“Marion, I—”
“Don’t worry,” she says, still looking at her letter. “The driver should be outside. He can take you on to work.”
“Oh, OK. Thanks. Bye, then.”
I stand there for a moment. A car. That’ll be nice. Then it occurs to me. Of course, I’ve been dumped. I’ve given her what she wanted, now I’ve been dumped. Fuck ’em and forget ’em. Never very nice, not even when there is a chauffeur-driven car chucked in by way of consolation.
Marion looks up from her paper and says, “I’ll give you a call
I open the door of the shower slightly. Marion turns to look at me. I pull the door open further and reach in to kiss her. She kisses me quickly, slightly stiffly, then looks down and says:
“Go downstairs and get me a drink will you, hon? A brandy.”
I want to get into the shower with her. Splash around, talk to her, make love again but I put a towel round me and tiptoe downstairs.
When I come upstairs again, Marion is wrapped in a huge white bathrobe with gold trimmings.
“Have a shower,” she says, taking her drink.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
“Have a shower. You’re all sticky.”
“I know.” I reach inside the bathrobe but she smiles and pushes me away.
“Have a shower.” All right, all right.
I have a very quick shower, dry myself roughly and feel another erection coming on. I begin to massage and kiss her neck as she sits at the dressing table, applying moisturizer.
“Get into bed,” she whispers. “I’m just coming.”
I do as she says and lie down, hands behind my head, watching her.
“Why you staring?”
“Looking at you.”
She smiles mysteriously and goes back into the bathroom.
I feel Marion get into bed and reach over to put my arm round her. She kisses my hand and then wraps it around me.
It’s the sun flooding in through the windows that wakes me up. Marion is nowhere to be seen. For a moment I think I must have dreamt last night.
“Marion?” My voice creaks. I lie back again. No, I didn’t dream it. Then I get up and walk to the bathroom. My morning hard-on relents a bit and I have a pee and look round to the bathroom door.
There, just as I knew it would be, is another white fluffy bathrobe. I put it on, discover it fits perfectly and go downstairs.
Marion is sipping coffee and reading a serious-looking typed letter. She is already dressed and made up.
“Hiya,” I say and go to kiss her. She moves her mouth away slightly and I make contact with her cheek.
“You’re not shaved.”
“So what?”
“Besides, I don’t want the servants to see.”
“For God’s sake,” I laugh.
“Look at your hair,” she says, disconcertingly like my mum does.
I turn and catch sight of myself in the mirror above the fireplace. My thick, dark curly hair looks like someone has tried to give me a beehive but given up halfway through. Vinny’s bloody hair gel.
“Oh, sorry.” Deciding that Marion obviously likes things to be smart and elegant at all times, even the morning after the night before, I go back upstairs and splash some cold water on my unruly barnet. Unfortunately this has the effect of bringing me back to something like reality. I go to find my dress shirt and trousers, which have been neatly folded and placed on a chair. My DJ is on a hanger behind the door. My watch is lying on top of my trousers. 8:40 a.m. Fuck! I rip off the bathrobe and begin to chuck my clothes on.
I take the stairs two at a time.
“Marion, I’m really late for work. I’ll have to go.”
“What? Already?”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to be there at nine. I didn’t notice the time. I’ve got to go home and put my work suit on.”
“OK.” She offers a cheek. I’m too panicked to aim for her lips. I give her a quick peck. Then I fumble around to check that I’ve got my house keys. I’ll also need a taxi.
“Marion, I—”
“Don’t worry,” she says, still looking at her letter. “The driver should be outside. He can take you on to work.”
“Oh, OK. Thanks. Bye, then.”
I stand there for a moment. A car. That’ll be nice. Then it occurs to me. Of course, I’ve been dumped. I’ve given her what she wanted, now I’ve been dumped. Fuck ’em and forget ’em. Never very nice, not even when there is a chauffeur-driven car chucked in by way of consolation.
Marion looks up from her paper and says, “I’ll give you a call
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