'Don't leave me,' she pleaded, trying to draw him near again, but he wouldn't have it. 'I'm tired of being alone, tired of having no one.'
'You've got him.' He dragged on his trousers.
'No one,' she repeated. 'Don't go ... Howard!'
He stopped by the door and looked back at her as she lay naked and very desirable on the bed. 'I've got more to lose than you, Connie.'
'How utterly unselfish of you!' she shouted.
Worriedly, he shushed her. 'I don't want to be cited in divorce proceedings.'
'You told me you didn't care about your miserable little wife,' she said accusingly, her violet eyes flashing angrily.
'I do care about my home.' He refused to meet her eyes, and she watched as he inched open the door and peered outside. He looked back at her.
'I promise I'll phone you.'
'Don't bother,' she yelled and, springing up, locked the door behind him while he made his escape.
She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She felt drained and empty – soulless. Once, she remembered, she'd been so full of hope and longing. Was it so long since she'd believed that romance and love existed? Was there really no one who wanted her? Didn't anyone need her? Tears of self pity welled in her eyes then her attention was drawn to the door when she heard the sound of the knob being turned. A second later, she heard Samuel order her to open up. Connie shivered, she didn't want to face him ... not now, not yet, she felt too vulnerable.
'Unlock it, Constance! This minute!' He sounded like an actor from a Victorian melodrama, but she wasn't in the mood to find it comical. She clutched the bedclothes around herself.
'Go away, Samuel. Please.' Even to her her voice sounded weak.
'I swear I'll break the damn thing down!'
She heard the fury in his voice. He'd always been so restrained and civil. This new creature frightened her. Connie tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She couldn't answer. Suddenly it was quiet. The silence was worse than his bellows. And then the frame of the door splintered and a panel was shattered as Samuel, methodically measuring the strain, kicked with the full force of his weight.
Her hands dropped to her sides. Like a hypnotised rabbit she watched him advance.
'I won't have any door in this place locked to me again!' He stared at her in disgust until Connie, unable to bear the menace in his face any longer, bounded to her feet, glaring back at him. A tense moment passed and the air was electric.
'Just how do you expect me to behave?' she spat.
'I didn't expect my wife to fornicate with another man while I'm in the next room,' he thundered, hands clenching into fists at his sides.
'You're jealous.'
'Damned right I am!'
She bit her lip. 'You weren't expected home,' she said lamely. She knew she sounded like a silly child.
'You're a Jessop, not a bloody trollop!'
'You don't know how ridiculous you sound when you say that,' she said bravely. 'I am what you made me.'
'Just how much do you think a man can take?'
'Do you think I care any more about your damned respectability?'
They faced each other like boxers about to fight.
'I care and, as my wife, so should you!' He remembered that he'd vowed he wouldn't let her get to him, but her next words made him lose control.
'Since when have I been a wife, eh? All I am is a possession, a thing to adorn your dinner table and gatherings. A trophy which you don't deserve. Just wait, I'll tell them all the truth, and then won't they laugh!' She knew then she'd gone too far, but was unable to curb her tongue. 'Then try to show your face in public – you won't have any self-respect left!'
He hit her then and she screamed as his palm viciously stung the side of her face. He'd never hit a woman before, and that might have been the last of it had Connie, breasts heaving, not slapped him back. Samuel, in a sudden uncontrollable rage, snatched at her hair, yanked, and threw her backwards to the ground. As she fell, she kicked out with her legs and her foot caught him in the knee painfully.
'Bitch!' he yelled, falling beside her, and began to hit, punches landing on her breasts, the side of her head, her shoulder. The punches made her reel, feel dizzy, want to be sick, but instinct made her fight back like a wild cat, hitting and lashing out indiscriminately, the pent-up frustration of the years coming to the fore. She didn't care, nor did he, where the blows landed, as long as they hurt.
Her long nails clawed his face, producing blood. She scratched his hands. Swearing and cursing, Samuel managed to pin down her arms and, with a heave, avoiding her kicks, sat astride her heaving hips. She spat, and the spittle ran down his face. All the while she thrust herself up and down in an effort to dislodge him. A strange expression crossed his face and he stared down. His bulging manhood was thrusting through the vent in 1is pyjama trousers. He shook with excitement as Connie bucked beneath his thighs, irritating him to a delicious frenzy. She was unaware of what was happening.
'I'll show you who's a real man, you cheating little whore!' He slapped her face again. Her head rocked, bouncing off the floor. He'd cut the corner of her mouth, drawing blood. The sight of it excited him still further. Her futile efforts to escape also excited him. Without thinking, he slapped her again. It wasn't necessary. She was exhausted. The pain brought tears to her eyes.
'Bastard!' she hissed.
'You're the bastard, not me!' Again he raised his fist.
'Don't, don't hit me again,' she moaned.
The next instant he plunged into her bucking hips. Connie gasped, and went rigid. Then she couldn't stop herself responding as she felt him growing inside her and the movement of her hips changed to a regular grind. Her arms went around his sweating back to pull him even closer. She stared up into his face. It frightened her, his eyes were glassy, the pupils dilated. She closed her eyes, head rolling from side to side as he pumped in and out.
'Oh, Christ ... ' she groaned and then, as he jerked once more and climaxed, she moaned and went with him.
She felt him trembling as he lay on top of her. She couldn't bear to move, dared not make a sound.
'I ... made it.' He sounded wondering and, with a stifled sob, he rolled off to lie beside her. She didn't say anything, then she heard him say, 'If I can do it once, I can again.'
Shuddering, she jumped to her feet. He stared up at her, seeing her shivering.
'What's wrong? Isn't this what we both wanted?'
'Are you mad!' Her voice was icy cold as she gazed down at him.
'I don't understand.' He was puzzled, but rose to his feet. 'Everything's going to be all right from now on, Connie.'
She avoided his arms and moved aside. 'You raped me. You raped your wife to make love to her!' She wiped her hand across her mouth, smearing the blood. She looked down at her bruised flesh. 'Violence excites you ... you should've realised it before ... saved yourself a great deal of time and worry. Do you know, there's a name for people like you ... '
'No, Connie ... '
'Sadist. You'll be buying whips and leather thongs before long, when sheer brute force fails to stimulate you. You'll learn finesse in your approach, to get the most excruciating and exquisite thrill from inflicting brutal pain ... ' She sat heavily on the bed, shoulders shaking. 'Must I be assaulted all my life?' she said in a small voice.
'Please, listen to me,' he began desperately.
'There's nothing to say.' She sounded infinitely weary. 'I can't stay with you any longer, I've got to get away.' Now it was Connie who sounded desperate.
'What about me?'
'Sheila would do anything you asked of her. Let her move in. Perhaps she'd prove to be more ... amenable.'
'Where will you go? What wiii you do with yourself, Connie?'
It was as if they were two strangers, discussing their futures.
'Probably end up like Madame X,' she said wryly. She looked over to where he sat with his head lowered in shame, yet she knew that he was prouder of himself now than he had ever been. She
felt the first stirrings of pity for him. 'I'll survive somehow. Don't worry about me,' she added gently.
'I wouldn't like to think of you being alone.'
She regarded him with cool amusement. 'I've always been alone.'
'Isn't there ... anyone you can go to at all?' He was unwilling to accept any guilt for her actions. 'Anyone at all?'
His words triggered a reaction. He saw her expression change and it was suddenly as if a blind had been drawn from her eyes.
'There is someone ... ' She saw an image of herself as a little girl, yellow hair like streamers of living sun hanging down her back. She was five years old again, and wondering when her mother would come for her...
Connie turned to him, and the look he saw on her face made him blink his eyes hard.
'There's always my little girl.' Her voice was soft.
'But ... you might never find her, Connie.'
'I will, if it takes me a lifetime. I must, don't you see?' She crossed over to him and touched his shoulder. He brushed her hand with his cheek. He raised his eyes and she smiled. 'She's my only hope, wouldn't you agree? She'll be my reason for living.'
He left her then, for there was nothing more to say.
Five thousand miles away, another country, another generation, the spotlights were on Tamara Came. She finished her song and left the stage to a smattering of applause. The night club would be more crowded later. She went backstage to her tiny dressing room which always smelt stuffy from sweat and heavy perfumes. It was a sweltering evening, and Tamara flung open the window to let in some fresh air. The breeze that entered was sharp and tangy from the sea, and she breathed deeply, trying to get the fumes of cheap cigar and cigarette smoke from her lungs. She leant on the window sill and stared up at the amazingly vivid blue-black sky. It was impossible to count the stars. It was a beautiful night.
The club, in which she worked as a singer, was just one of many others situated in the same squalid, narrow alleys leading from the docks. It was a sleazy establishment, but no worse than all the others in the area. Tamara Came had worked there for over a year, and before that had sung in a similar club nearby. They were all the same to her. Tamara didn't care where she worked as long as she made money, and she always mad.! enough to live on, one way or another. She had wanted to sing as long as she could remember and even her folks at home had not been able to stop their adopted daughter from doing what she wanted. A gambler for a father and a genteel, ladylike prostitute for a mother – what a couple! Christ, but it was good to be away from the lash of his tongue and the incessant whines of Mrs Came which had got worse as Tamara grew older and Mr Came grew poorer.
She lay down on the rickety bed and lit herself a joint, breathing in deeply as she smoked. The faded, yellowy nets that hung at the window billowed gently inwards from the salty breeze, cooling the girl's sticky skin as she tried to relax before the next show. The nights were always hot and sultry, heavy and oppressive, and Tamara reckoned she was lucky that the room faced the sea.
The hootings from the tugs in the harbour afforded her ears no peace. Flicking the stub through the window, Tamara went to sit at her dresser and pinned up her long, blonde hair to allow some coolness on to her neck. Her skin still felt damp, so she shrugged off the costume she wore for her act and slipped into a cotton housecoat. cut low to reveal a deep cleavage of which she was proud. She lifted the material from her breasts and blew downwards, then fanned the air with her hand. Blasted fan never worked when you wanted it to, she thought grumpily, and thought of the cold, refreshing shower she would have later. When there was a knock at her door, she sat up straighter and pulled the still revealing housecoat closer around her slim shoulders.
'Yeah?'
'It's only me, Miz Tammy. Jim.
'What d'you want?' she asked as he entered. 'I ain't on for another hour. Can't a girl get some peace when she wants it around here?'
Jim, one of the Negro bartenders, eyed her heavy breasts appreciatively, but his voice was as polite as ever when he said:
'Dere's a visitor for you in de bar.'
Tamara wagged her finger at him cutely, the silver frosted nail varnish she wore sparkling in the light.'Now. Jim, I told you that I size up the customers on my own. I don't allow just any old person to take out Tamara Carne, you know that!'
Jim wagged his big head. 'T'aint a customer, Miz Tammy; is the sea captain you waz so fond of. He's come back. His ship sailed in a while back in de port.'
Impulsively, Tamara stood up and raised her hand to her mouth unbelievingly. Her eyes shined.
'The Captain? Here?'
The waiter smiled broadly. showing large white teeth. 'He said he'd a be back now, di'n he?'
Tamara breathed out slowly. 'Yeah, but I didn't believe it. Where is he, Jim?'
'Havin' hisself a quiet drink at de bar.'
Tamara looked flustered. 'Jeeze, anyone can get to him there, and I bet that that Sophie's already showing him her tits. Bring him to me here, Jim. Quick now!'
'Yes, Miss Tammy.'
When he'd gone, she sat down at the dresser again, fluffed out the ruffles on her gown, wished she had time to change, decided it didn't matter, and quickly ran a comb through her shiny hair. She went to recline on the bed, changed her mind, and positioned herself strategically before the window to wait for her man.
When the expected knock came, she cleared her throat and lowered the tone of her voice to a well-rehearsed sexy drawl.
'Come in.'
In two strides, the Captain was before her and she was in his arms and being kissed as if there were no tomorrow. When she found her breath and could speak, she smiled up at him from the warmth of his strong arms.
'Been a long time, Yank,' she sai
'A might too long a time,' he agreed, his eyes hungrily devouring her lovely face. 'And I ain't leaving you behind this time when I sail, gal.'
'Aw, honey, do you really mean it? You'll take me with you?'
'Tammy, I'm asking you to be my wife. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for months.'
'Same here, darlin',' she said softly. 'Kiss me again.'
When they parted, he smiled into her violet-coloured eyes. 'I didn't tell you how good you look, and how fresh and pretty you smell.' He frowned. 'You know, you sure do remind me of someone, Tammy. Something about your face ... '
'Some other girl in another port, perhaps?' Tamara said jealously, her eyes clouding. 'I don't wanna know about her, not now I'm gonna be your girl.'
'No one has ever been so important to me as you, my lovely. No need to go green inside.'
She moved closer to him, rotating her hips against him lewdly, her eyes laughing at the expression her movement caused. 'Do I turn you on, old man?' Tamara said throatily.
'You know you do, honey.' He laughed. 'And not so much of the old.' He kissed her possessively and any lingering image of the other face was obliterated as Captain Alan Ho made love to his Tammy Came.
If you enjoyed Capitol Sins perhaps you’ll like:
Travel and the Single Girl
Jenny Stallard
Chapter one
Travel And The Single Girl
Welcome. If you’ve booked a ticket to go travelling and you’re a single girl, you are now a member of an exclusive club that many dream of joining but only the very amazing and fabulous actually sign up. Congratulations! You’re so brave! Heard that phrase yet? If you haven’t, you will. “Ooooh, you’re SO brave! I wish I was you!”
You might not be feeling that brave right now. After getting confirmation of my ticket I felt… petrified, crazy, reckless… petrified! And then straight away, people are so excited because you’re doing something they would love to do. They’re instantly living through you and your adventures. Errr, no pressure then…
Brave. Firemen and soldiers are brave. Going on a three month jolly never seemed brave to me. Reckless, naughty, silly, fun. But not brave. Until someone says it. And another person
says it. Then you start to think about it. Then you start bricking yourself. Thanks stay-at-homers. Is this their little nudge to make themselves feel better? Of course they actually admire you but it’s likely you don’t believe that yet because you’re caught up in the web of denial that you’re just off on a little trip. But as the days go by, you realise that you’ve booked a ticket to the other side of the world. A ticket for one. And while everyone says it’s exciting and they’d like it to be them, they’re not the one trying to get ten dresses and minimum make up (ok, and a pair of easy-dry trousers that zip off at the knee, but we can’t bring ourselves to talk about that just yet) into a 70 litre backpack.
In those final weeks, days and hours you must perform a ritual superseded only by those of the indigenous people of the countries you are going to visit. Please pay attention as you may be a frequent traveller, but all trips are different.
You’re at a crossroads, and while you know, deep in your heart, that you want to walk forwards, there still is that feeling that for some reason, backwards, left and right seem like they need double checking one last time. What if… you’d stayed in your job? You’d have been running the place by Christmas! OMG, should have stayed! Missed out on the career opportunity of a lifetime! Missed out on.. shall I tell you what you’ve really missed out on? NAFF. ALL. Three months of moaning, late evenings, budget cuts, management issues, jovial work nights out and team bonding days. Admit it, the post arriving was often the biggest part of the day.
So, as one friend who took herself off to Australia for a month on her own told me, when I asked for advice about how you do it without going into meltdown: “Two words. Gin, tonic.” And so it begins, with a sip of Dutch Courage, and a 70 litre bag with your entire world inside. It’s time to go travelling!
To continue reading and discover more great Endeavour Press titles, go to: www.endeavourpress.com
Capital Sins Page 18