The Penance List

by S C Cunningham

  He heard her gasp.

  “It’s not you, it’s me, I’m going to concentrate on my career like I told you… I need some space.”

  She didn’t speak, he could hear vexed breathing.

  “I’m sorry but it’s the way it’s going to be… I…”

  “NO!” shouted Maria, “YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME, I WON’T LET YOU…”

  She took a breath, calming herself, and then changed tack, almost whispering.

  “We are good together, you know that Franco,” she softly pleaded.

  He didn’t answer, it was pointless trying to explain, they should never have hooked up with each other in the first place, sex had been the only thing they had in common. His silence upset her, she started to sob.

  “I won’t let you, I won’t… I will kill you first, then that whore!”

  “What whore? Look, I’m really sorry, I know I’m being a coward telling you on the phone like this, but listen to me, please, it’s over, you know we’re not right for each other, you deserve better, please listen to me.”

  The sobbing constricted her throat; she strained to answer but the words wouldn’t come. Taking her silence as agreement, he continued.

  “Call Michael, go to my apartment and get your stuff, ALL of your stuff, I want it gone by the time I get back, ok? You got that? Maria… Maria?” She couldn’t speak.

  “Maria… MARIA”

  No answer, only more sobbing, what was she doing, was she even listening? He was losing his patience with her.

  “Get your stuff before I get back, Maria,” he repeated loudly, “I’ve got to go, good bye.”

  “Franco… FRANCOOOOOOOO,” her throat finally released, she managed to scream out loud.

  “NOOOOOOOO FRANCOOOOOOOOO… ”

  He cut her dead as he snapped the phone shut. He was sorry; he felt like shit, but it was the only way with her. He wondered if his mother was right, was she just a spoiled brat or was she unhinged, dangerously crazy?

  His phone jumped angrily in his hand, pulling him out of his thoughts; she was calling back. He quickly turned it off and dropped it, like a hot coal, into the passenger seat. He knew she would keep calling, venting out her anger, best let her get on with it. Thank God he was out of the country.

  He turned on the engine, fiddled with the radio dial, yanked it up loud and deftly directed the Jeep into the rush-hour traffic, now home to sort out the lovely Tara - Maria forgotten.

  Maria called and called, only to be told that the subscriber she had called was not available, please leave a message. She did, many of them. Drinking a large glass of Chardonnay between each one, getting more and more sordid in her language, in what she thought of him and his whore, until her slurring became inaudible.

  She then sent numerous vulgar text messages, building in their crudeness and inaccuracy, getting herself so worked up that she started to vomit her belly full of wine - she hadn’t eaten in two days. She staggered to the bathroom, expertly put two fingers down her throat and finished the job.

  As she sat, covered in bile, shivering on the cold marble floor, she hatched a plan… how dare he do this to me, he and his bitch will pay. With one hand on the toilet cistern and the other on the sink, she hauled herself up off the slippery floor… this would make a good picture for the tabloids, she sneered, spitting the remains of her sick into the sink.

  Wet acidic fingers scrolled her phonebook in search of Michael’s number.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tara was exhausted; they had walked all day searching out suitable places for filming. There were too many stunning settings to choose from, what a great place this was, she wouldn’t mind having a home here… dream on, honey, dream on!

  The fresh sea air made her ravenous. Back at the house Mimi was preparing another mouth-watering dinner for them, the delicious smells pulled on her stomach, she wanted to steal Mimi away and bring her home. The luxury of a beautifully cooked meal waiting for you when you got home from the office would be heaven… I need a wife!

  Seb was happy with the day’s work, he took a shower and, whilst waiting for supper, sat around the coffee table in the living room with Mark, planning the kit needed for the next day’s shoot. Both were nursing a well-earned cold beer, brought to them by Anton, the new house maid. He was fussing around his flock running from kitchen to living room, looking after everyone, loving his new roles of ‘Italiano translator extraordinaire’ and ‘wifey numero two’.

  Tara looked in on Seb and Mark, they were happy. She then poked her nose into the kitchen to tell Mimi she was a saint, the food smelled great. They wouldn’t eat for another hour as they were waiting for Franco to return, so Tara took the chance to steal a large glass of local wine and sneak upstairs to wallow in a well-earned bath. Anton stood on a kitchen chair to act out the word ‘saint’ for Mimi. She and Tony had a fit of the giggles trying to work out what the hell he was meaning.

  Tara could hear the commotion in the kitchen as she climbed the stairs, Anton was wasted in hairdressing, he should be on stage. She checked her watch, she had an hour before his lordship came home, plenty of time for a lazy bath. Skipping along the corridor to her room she checked out the family photographs and seascapes that adorned the walls.

  He was a funny one, you wouldn’t know that he had anything to do with football, no items of memorabilia adorned the walls and cabinets of his villa, nor his London penthouse, but he’d only just moved in there. No cups, pictures, awards, signed shirts, medals, nothing remotely footballer’ish… very strange.

  She was looking forward to seeing him. She had questions, about the house, the land, his family. How could he have this piece of paradise and live in London? What a contrast, if it were hers she wouldn’t be able to leave.

  Her first question would be who the hell that moody bird was in the restaurant. She recognised the woman’s face from the dentist’s waiting room magazine, obviously a long term girlfriend… bloody cheek; he could at least have been honest and told me. But, she mused, at what point in their short acquaintance would have been a suitable moment to announce it? None, to give him his due, they were either shouting at each other or eating each other. She hadn’t asked him about his private life, and likewise he hadn’t asked her.

  It smacked of the old ‘Ed and the other woman’ saga. She should leave well alone, it didn’t suit her to share. Even though the miserable bird looked like a self-obsessed bitch, the guilt of being out of bounds with another woman’s man still hankered… why for gawd’s sake? bet she wouldn’t give a second thought if it was the other way around.

  The elegant vintage bathtub sat plumb in the middle of the room on its four, very rusty, clawed feet. As she ran the water she checked under its belly, wondering if they were strong enough to withstand her weight. She would take the risk.

  Going for the full lady of leisure effect, she added lashings of bubble bath to the steaming hot water. She lit candles dotted around the room, drew the curtains, and locked the door. She stood sipping her wine, surveying the scene; she was going to enjoy this… perfect!

  She stepped slowly into the boiling water, letting her body acclimatize… ouch, ouch! It was as hot as she could take, but worth it, the hotter now, the longer she could stay before getting cold.

  Once her body was fully immersed, she rested her head, dizzy from wine and heat, back against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes. Perspiration trickled down her forehead, she let out a deep sigh…. this is the life.

  As she dozed in and out of consciousness, her thoughts meandered. Would they be able to recapture the magic of the first shoot? What should she wear to supper? Had she paid her car tax? Did those new jeans make her arse look big? Why had she been waking up exhausted and covered in sweat, was it early menopause? Funny how many dodgy words started with men, menace, mental, menstruate… Damn! She‘d forgotten to get her legs waxed, had she packed a razor?

  They now knew each other intimately; how could they recreate the electric chemistry that c
ame with newness, the unknown, the wondering how each other tasted, felt, the teasing foreplay… shit! She slid upright in the bath, panic setting in... there’s no way this can work, especially with us ignoring each other.

  And, why were they ignoring each other? Who the hell was she to complain about his bird, she’d been with Ed the Head! Surely it was too early in the relationship for either to expect commitment… urrgh! She was now making excuses… where is he? She had the urge to talk to him, hold him, ignore the paranoid game-playing shit. She suddenly remembered paying for the car tax online, the connection kept crashing mid payment, driving her to distraction.

  Taking a sip of wine she relaxed back into the tub, her mind continued chasing through ten thoughts at once.

  Franco pulled the car up to the villa entrance and turned off the engine with a sigh, glad to finally stop. Being shaken around in the open wind for an hour took a toll on his body. He stepped out of the car and stood stretching for a moment, the non-existent suspension played havoc on his back.

  He sneaked in the back door to the kitchen, and was met by the sight of Mimi having her hair expertly coiffured by the flamboyant Anton de Menton. A nervous Tony sat at the fireplace, pretending to read the newspaper. Mimi looked beautiful and was thoroughly enjoying the special treatment. Anton was creating one of his masterpieces on her; she looked years younger and very elegant. Franco laughed with pleasure.

  “Mimi, you look great… Tony, watch out, the boys will steal her from you, she’s so pretty, eh?” he reached over and gave her a kiss on her cheek. She flushed pink.

  “What time are we eating Mimi? Have I got time for a quick shower? Mmmmm…. smells good,” Franco picked up a wooden spoon and naughtily tasted sauce from a pot on the Aga stove.

  “Mmmmm! Mimi it tastes great,” he licked his lips. Mimi flushed, again, with pride as Anton fussed around a tendril of hair at the nape of her neck.

  “Yep, time for a quick shower,” said Anton. “Food will be ready in half an hour; chef is just having her hair done. Seb and Mark are working and Tara’s in the bath. Do you want to take a beer up with you? Here…” Anton seemed to have taken over the kitchen, he handed Franco him a beer, and got back to the job in hand.

  Franco was surplus to requirements.

  “Ok, see you in half an hour,” he gave Tony a consolatory pat on the shoulder as he walked through to the living room, knocking back a gulp of the much needed cold beer.

  Seb and Mark were busy drawing up layouts and timings for the shoot, he smiled at them and carried on up the stairs to track down Tara… now, where is she, we have some unfinished business.

  She had the guest suite at the far end of the house; he sneaked along the corridor and into her bedroom, closing the door behind him. Her clothes were scattered over the bed and floor; makeup, a hairbrush, and perfume were spread across the dressing table. It gave him a warm, satisfying feeling to see her belongings in his home, even if she was a tad messy.

  The smell of bubble bath wafted from the bathroom. He couldn’t hear anything, maybe she was dozing in the water. Perfect, a captive audience, he would say his piece, sort out the nonsense and then spend the night making love to her.

  Quietly, he tried the door handle, it was locked, the little vixen was expecting him. The lock was no deterrent, a wiggle here, a shuffle there and the old worn catch slipped silently under his touch. He pushed the door ajar and leaned against the doorframe to survey the scene.

  The steam hit him with a blast… merda! it’s hot in here! He waited as the mist cleared, the curtains were drawn and the room aglow with sweet smelling candles, he’d entered a fairy grotto.

  Tara was sleeping in the water, the bath full; her head just peeked out over the suds. Bubbles were everywhere, overflowing to the floor. A strategically placed martini table held a glass of wine, bubbles covered its surface and wrapped its stem. He chuckled and knocked back a slug of beer. She looked completely relaxed, a little pink and sweaty in the face, but relaxed.

  He took off his shoes and stepped barefoot into the grotto, closing the door behind him. He tip-toed around the bath looking at her from every angle, trying not to disturb her - she didn’t move. He set the beer bottle onto the table and using both hands, scooped back the bubbles on the surface of the water, revealing her naked body below… shit, she’s beautiful. He wanted to put his hand in the water and touch her.

  The heat began to get to him, beads of sweat dotted his brow, he pulled his sweatshirt up over his head and tossed it aside. He stood over her, half wishing she would wake and half wishing he could keep the moment forever, she was perfect, an angel.

  Following a trickle of perspiration that ran down her cheek, he reached out and gently wiped the droplet away. The warmth of her skin sent a memory shudder through his body - he couldn’t resist, he leaned in and softly butterfly kissed her top lip.

  With the speed of a minx, she brought two strong arms up around his neck and pulled him head first down into the hot soapy water. He lost his balance and fell with a yelp! Arms flailing, water and bubbles flying everywhere. He managed to pull himself up, only to have his head unceremoniously pushed down again, her laughter ringing in his ears.

  Wrenching her locked hands free from his neck, he scrambled up out of the water, spluttering and choking for air, drenched from head to foot. The floor was swamped. Tara couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Serves you right, you pervert! How the hell did you get in here, the door was locked? You can count that as payback for having a girlfriend and not telling me about it.”

  She couldn’t stop laughing at the sight of him; he looked like a drowned rat. There was no way she could have slept through all his shenanigans, he made enough noise picking the lock to wake the dead… urrgh! he has such a sexy body!

  He fell back against the wall and slid down with a thump to the floor. Holding his head in his hands, he spluttered bubbles and water, getting his breath back. She managed to control her giggles, but when he peered up at her through waterlogged hair with wounded puppy dog eyes, it set her off again, mister uber superstar looked unusually dishevelled.

  He opened his mouth to bellow at her but instead started to choke. She grabbed his beer and reached out to pass it to him, thinking a drink may calm his throat, but she was too far away. She stood up in the bath and leaned further towards him, laughing all the while, bubbles and water cascading down her body.

  She stood up too quickly, the mixture of heat and wine with the blood rush making her giddy. Her legs gave way; she lost her balance and toppled back into the tub with an ungainly whoosh. He managed to catch the beer just as she dropped it.

  Arms and legs akimbo, she slid down the bath, her head went under one end, forcing her feet out the other, now it was his turn to laugh. He jumped up and pulled her to her feet, holding her tight against his chest as she stood spluttering in the water. They clung to each other giggling, the floor soaked, their bodies wet, as she caught her breath.

  In the distance, Franco could hear a shout and the commotion of footsteps running in their direction. The bathroom door swung open to a breathless Seb as he came to an abrupt halt.

  “Ooops! sorry, mate… thought we had a flood on our hands.”

  Seb hadn’t expected to find the two of them near naked, wrapped around each other, it was a shock, he looked away embarrassed.

  “You’ve got water coming through the ceiling in the living room; it seems to be coming from here.”

  He looked to the floor and saw why. Water and bubbles everywhere.

  “What the hell have you two been doing?”

  Tara flushed pink with embarrassment and attempted to reach for a towel, whilst wriggling free of Franco’s arms, but he tightened his grip - she was going nowhere. She squealed and hid behind Franco’s body.

  Seb found himself staring at Franco’s broad shoulders; his body was in perfect shape. He felt a sudden pang for David. Shit, there was a beautiful naked woman in front of him, and he was ogling the bloke! Jeysus
, why couldn’t he be bloody normal? Disgust crept over him; would he ever rid himself of this shame? He turned away, leaving them to sort it out.

  “It’s ok, Seb, thanks, we’ll sort it,” Franco shouted after him, sensing his annoyance. “Can you tell Mimi to start supper without us, we’ll be down later!” he wondered if Seb had feelings for Tara, was he jealous?

  Tara wriggled trying to get free.

  “Ohmigod, how embarrassing! What did you tell him that for? We’ll tidy up and go down for supper now…”

  “No, we won’t, we’ve got some talking to do, you have been avoiding me long enough. I’m not gonna let you go till you promise to sit back in that bath and listen to me.”

  She looked up at him, realizing he was serious.

  “Or you can stand here catching your death of cold.”

  She shivered; he was right, she was getting cold,

  “Ok, ok, but be quick, I’m starving,” she slid down into the welcoming warm water, lay back and stretched out, waiting to hear what he had to say for himself. She couldn’t help smiling, he was adorable.

  Franco, satisfied that she would remain still, turned on the taps to refill her bath. He grabbed some towels and started to dry himself off as he explained the disastrous Maria affair. Pulling off his wet jeans, wearing no underwear, he bent to dry his legs, seemingly unaware of the stir his nakedness was causing.

  Finding it hard to concentrate Tara sipped on her wine and feigned non interest.

  “She keeps sending me texts and leaving crazy messages; she won’t believe that we’re over… we only went out with each other for a few months…”

  He purposefully took a little time drying between his legs; his eyes flicked over at her, to see if it was having the desired effect. He knew he had a good body, and was not ashamed to parade it. Tara, turning pink, guzzled her wine a little too fervently… it had the desired effect.

  “That day I saw you guys in the restaurant, I had agreed to meet with her to talk it through and remain friends. It was her idea to meet in that particular restaurant on that particular day; if I didn’t know better, I would have said that she planned you being there.”