Welcome to the apocalypse

by Lee Kerr

  ‘Yes, Stan,’ I say, pushing him forward. ‘We could only dream.’

  I follow behind him as we walk along the corridor. He looks at every door, checking each room number to make sure that it isn’t ours, that we don’t miss it – that we don’t miss a thing. I watch him constantly cross-check each door with our room card, his anxiety so obvious, so out of place for somewhere like this. I suddenly notice that his jeans are too ill-fitting, his shirt is too tight around his increasingly unpleasant girth, and his blazer is obviously oversized. It’s the only remotely posh thing he owns these days, and in even a few short hours he has managed to coat the top of it with a thick line of dandruff.

  When we reach our room he holds up the key card like he’s presenting it to God. ‘We’ve made it, Gloria! We’re finally here! I never thought it would happen but now it has. I am literally opening the door to our new world!’

  I nod and sigh. ‘Well, Stan, you can get that door open whenever you like.’

  He lunges towards me and kisses me again, first just a simple peck on the lips, but then his mouth gapes open. My lips don’t move, forcing him to suck my face like he’s some desperate fish fighting the side of its tank, desperate to be noticed. I’d always hoped that after thirty-something years of marriage I would still want to suck the face off my man, but the reality is that the appeal disappeared somewhere in the ‘80s.

  I push him away, more forcefully than I had planned.

  He backs off and nods, looking at me and then looking to the floor. ‘This time it will be different, Gloria. I really promise you that.’

  ‘We’re in our sixties. How could it not be different?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he says, and then finally pushes the door.

  As it opens, I breathe a sigh of relief. I half-expected the key card not to work, thinking that my credit card’s feeble limit had already been reached, that our inability to survive in a place like this has already become clear to those at reception and that they had cut us off from ever being able to experience what awaits behind that door. For the last 48 hours I have been convinced that all of this is a dream, but as I follow Stan into the room, I finally start to allow myself to think that this is real, that this is something I deserve.

  I pull our suitcase into the room and look around in astonishment. It’s huge, easily the size of a small suite. Stan is in the middle, his arms held out wide as he shows off what he has found for us. He quickly turns, pointing out all the things I can see for myself, before he stalks his way towards me.

  ‘Didn’t I say it would be great?’ he says, stroking a finger down my arm. ‘Didn’t I say that I would give you only the best from now on?’

  I silently nod as I look around and count the pieces of furniture. There are so many: different chairs for different purposes, and more tables and dressers than I could ever spread our few possessions around. And then I see it – the imposing four-poster bed. It takes up one whole corner, a declaration of importance.

  He’s suddenly behind me, taking my breasts into his grubby hands, his gravelly voice ringing in my ears. ‘Didn’t I promise you the bed would be perfect?’

  ‘Perfect for you,’ I say and then push him away. I walk towards the bathroom, not wanting to picture that bed for one more second. ‘I’m going for a shower. It’s been a long journey.’

  ‘I could join you?’ he says, his face full of sickening hopefulness.

  I quickly shake my head and only then do I think to force a smile. My desperation to get away from him combines with my need to get through the next few hours, and I come up with a solution that has him touching me as little as possible, without arousing too much suspicion. ‘I need some lady time,’ I finally say.

  ‘Well you come back quickly, babe,’ he says and winks. He watches me leave, picking up the phone. ‘I’ll get us some champagne. It must be at least ten years since we’ve ordered room service.’

  ‘More like twenty,’ I mutter, slowly closing the door to the bathroom. I lock it, quietly, yet symbolically putting a physical barrier between us. I turn around and take a look at my opulent surroundings. The room is white marble from floor to ceiling; the many bath sheets are all crisp and white and folded to perfection. I look at the oversized shower, then at the bath in the other corner and I smile, allowing myself this small victory as I look through the vast selection of toiletries I have not been able to afford for such a long time.

  I think about starting with a shower and then moving onto a long bath, but however exciting that sounds I know that I will do it alone, with him always and forever in the next room. As sad as that feels, it is far preferable to having to spend it with his hard cock poking at my back as his slippery tongue lashes at my neck. That lost its appeal somewhere in the ‘70s.

  I can hear Stan shouting things to me but I let the shower drown him out. I let it splash water all over my body and I don’t make any attempt to answer him. When I’ve finished scrubbing my body, washing off the effects of the long journey, as well as any trace of him, I smother the sponge with a new product. I take my time to rinse and repeat, lathering my body and washing off every trace of the past. I inspect each new bottle, breathing in the scent of my future, rubbing them all over my body like I’m marking my new territory and I dare anyone to try to take it away from me this time.

  When I finally walk back into the bedroom I expect him to jump in front of me, immediately throwing his overbearing desires to make everything good in my face with a complimentary glass of bubbles. Having relaxed I feel ready to do battle again, to show enthusiasm where none exists, but I’m met with only silence and I don’t see him at first, until I look over to the bed and see him lying on the pure, white sheets, his body spread-eagled and his cock hard.

  ‘Please!’ he says, somehow knowing that I’m back in the room; his cock pointing to the ceiling, the black mask and restraints lying casually next to him.

  I sigh but don’t say anything, as the life I desperately want to leave behind invades this place I hoped would become neutral ground. My head shakes, feeling a familiar sense of anger, as that odour of leather and sweat, which reminds me of only an unhappy past, starts to smother the pure and floral scents of my new future.

  ‘Oh, please do it now. Oh God, Gloria, please do it now.’

  ‘You’ve sniffed poppers, haven’t you, Stan?’

  ‘Oh, God, yes, just before you came out. Come take hold of it now. Oh, please, now!’

  I turn and move to the window, sitting down in the oversized armchair that’s angled perfectly so that I can see everything happening in the big, exciting world outside. ‘Not right now. I’m not in the mood.’

  He’s still pleading, his cock jerking as he teases it himself and I quietly stare out to the unknown. I try to get as far away from him as possible, my gaze casting its way down the street. It’s quieter than I expected for Central London, yet the streets still have a frantic feel to them. People don’t seem to be walking with the confidence I remember when I was here in the early ‘80s, the last time that Stan and I stayed in a swanky London hotel.

  I turn to him, forgetting his devious plan for our afternoon. ‘Don’t you think the streets are a little too quiet, and the people around here seem a little frazzled?’

  He stands up, muttering to himself, putting his pants back on as his little man tries to poke through the hole in his baggy briefs. ‘And what would you know about what London is like?’

  ‘I know it should be different to this. It didn’t feel right when we got the cab from the station, it didn’t feel right when we checked in, and it doesn’t feel right now.’

  He comes over and kisses me, wrapping his arms around me like I should somehow feel safe just because he’s here. He smiles, making sure our eyes connect. ‘It only feels different because we’re different now. We are never going to have to worry about money ever again.’ He holds out his arms in celebration. ‘We’re rich!’

  ‘Not until we meet with them tomorrow and the money is in our
accounts.’

  ‘Honey, do you have to keep saying our accounts?’

  I nod, entirely sure that there will forever be two accounts. ‘The money will be split, and I’m not having this conversation again.’

  He nods back, knowing better than to start this again. ‘From tomorrow everything will be fine. Our money will be in our accounts, and our marriage will be back on track.’

  ‘You had better hope so because we only have this place for one night.’

  He steps away, his hands planted on his hips. ‘Do you think I would have wasted our last remaining savings if everything wasn’t guaranteed?’

  ‘It was the last of my savings that we used, and the last few hundred on my credit card.’

  He smiles and nods. ‘And it’s my lottery ticket.’

  I keep quiet, knowing that the power I hold comes from the past, and the power he now has comes from the future. I must remember what is still to come, and until I have half of that money in my account I need to keep my place.

  He lurches forward and kneels down in front of me, taking my hands in his. ‘You’re my wife, so what is mine is yours. We’ve shared the good times and the not-so-good times together, so my win is a reward for both of us. Now we can start a new life.’

  I simply nod, knowing the game we are playing. He squandered our savings and threw our life away but he’s still my ticket to a happier world, and so I kiss him. I kiss him so hard that his cock rises to the occasion. I grab it and I tease it, just how he likes it. I don’t jerk at it like some violent monster, trying to quickly placate it. No, this moment requires me to play the game. Two, maybe three, dirty sprays from that ugly, veiny, red thing, and only one more fake orgasm from me and then my escape plan will start in earnest.

  He suddenly pulls away from me. ‘The champagne still hasn’t arrived.’ He walks to the phone, his eyes still on me. ‘We need to start celebrating, don’t you think?’

  I nod and continue looking out of the window as Stan taps away on the phone. I watch the few people scrambling around beneath me. ‘I haven’t seen a black cab or any other car pull up outside since we got here.’

  Stan doesn’t hear me as he taps a finger on the oak table. ‘No one has picked up yet. Can you believe this? It’s supposed to be one of the poshest hotels in London and no one has bloody answered.’

  ‘Give them a minute. Perhaps they’re just busy.’

  ‘They might be busy, but it’s still their job to answer the phone and make our stay a comfortable one.’ He heads to the bathroom, finds his white bathrobe and puts it on. ‘I’m going to go down there and give them a piece of my mind.’

  ‘Why are you doing that?’ I ask, knowing that Stan getting involved in anything is never a good idea.

  ‘Gloria, we deserve some bubbles, and I’m going to get us some, okay?’

  I pick up the phone and redial the number, hoping that someone will answer and solve this minor issue, wanting to stop Stan going down there and giving them grief. Much to my relief, someone answers. ‘Could I possibly get some champagne to room 412 please?’

  ‘I’m not room service,’ the voice says, slow and ever-so-slightly sarcastic.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Could you please put me through to them?’

  ‘Room 412, you say? I’ll be up in a few minutes.’

  The line goes dead but I take this as a success. I don’t bother to mention how abrupt his tone was to Stan: the risk of him demanding to see the manager is just too great.

  ‘Well done to my darling wife,’ he says, and drops his gown on the floor, the poke in his pants back for another round.

  I turn on the TV and start flicking through the channels. ‘After some bubbles, perhaps,’ I say, giving him a quick glance, and seeing that pathetic, sad face staring back at me.

  I watch the news as he watches me. Despite the immediate future looking bright and hopeful, I can’t help but feel that this is the lowest point in my life. I feel depressed, my husband is sat next to me and the grey world outside seems bleaker than I have ever known it. Only Stan and Gloria could turn a stay in the best hotel in London into something so shit; everyone else’s dream just the climax to my lifelong nightmare.

  ‘Someone was shot outside Ikea yesterday,’ Stan says, focusing on the TV, quickly revealing that I’m not concentrating at this important moment.

  ‘What?’ I say and turn up the volume.

  ‘Well, coming out of that place it was bound to happen.’

  I tut at yet another view of his that has changed. ‘It’s nice – we have been there lots of times and you never complained before.’

  Stan shakes his head, frowning at me like I’m stupid. ‘We haven’t been there in years and we will never set foot inside there again. It will be only the best for us from now on.’

  I don’t answer and instead I realise that Stan is right. I’ve been to Ikea a lot lately but not with him. I think about how many times Antonio and I have been there in the last few months and I suddenly see the how easily I could have been caught. It was all I could afford to help him sort out his little place and it desperately needed some colour, some organisation, and most of all a woman’s touch. The few hundred pounds I spent on kitting out mine and Antonio’s little love nest is the only secret I’ve ever kept from Stan, and it still pales into insignificance to the thousands he squandered. Despite the big dent it made in my small, secret savings account, it was worth it all to see Antonio’s bright young face when we finished decorating. That day was the most pleasurable one of my dreary existence, as I watched my Spanish lover do all the work, admiring his ripped, smooth torso, covered in splashes of white paint. When he finished the last wall he smiled at his work, then silently ripped my skirt off and took me in every position we could think of.

  I remember every bit of him was primal. He had teased me for hours as he stretched and worked, before silently letting his pants fall around his ankles and my lips settle around his monster cock. The smells and juices that ooze from Stan would normally make me feel sick, and since at least the ‘80-s, I have refused to go down on him unless he has showered thoroughly, but with Antonio those scents were like an intoxicating drug to me. That night he fucked me into heaven, and every night since then, I have wanted only him.

  ‘Are you okay, darling?’ Stan says, tapping my arm.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I say, as I stand up and head to the bathroom.

  Stan doesn’t say anything as he watches me leave. I know his gaze is fixed on the door as I slowly close it again; his beady little eyes watching the lock turn, no doubt.

  I turn on the shower and sit on the toilet as I leave Antonio another voicemail. There’s still no answer but this time I tell him everything I’ve wanted to tell him for so long. I tell him about the lottery win and that I intend to spend all of my side of the winnings on our new life together. I whisper, ever-so-quietly, as I confess my plans for us both to escape the chains that keep us from being together forever; his student debts and my indebted husband – both of which will be a thing of the past in just a couple of days.

  I put the phone down and imagine Antonio and I sitting on a first class flight, the ching of our champagne flutes as the plane takes off. Stan will likely be at home, trying to figure out where I am and when I will be coming back. I won’t leave him a note; I won’t tell him anything. He will forever wonder where I have gone and he’ll never be able to trace me. I will transfer the money to Antonio and we will live together in a Spanish villa by the beach. Antonio will swim every day as I lie on a sunbed. I imagine watching him walking out of the sea, water dripping down his muscled body, both of us smiling at what lies ahead of us.

  We’ll be happy and Stan will be nothing. While he wastes his share of the winnings I will build a new life with the kind of lover who should have been mine from the start, my real man – half Stan’s age and double the man he will ever be.

  I suddenly hear a tap on the door. ‘Gloria, are you okay?’

  I sit forwar
d. I know he is not about to burst into the room and discover my darkest secret, but I clear my phone’s call list anyway. ‘Yes, I’ll be out soon.’

  ‘You won’t believe it, they’re saying zombies have started appearing and they have shot one in West London. The world has gone crazy, I tell you.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, as if that’s a half-good answer to what he has just told me. ‘I’ll be out to look in a minute.’

  He says nothing back and for a moment I think he’s gone, until I see a shadow moving, creeping across the small gap at the base of the door. I wait, wondering if he’s listening – both of us quietly sizing up the other’s movements. ‘I’ll get ready,’ he finally says, and the shadow disappears.

  My heart sinks as I let out a gasp. I imagine what will be waiting for me on that bed, his darkest desires overshadowing any genuine concern for the world outside. I load up my pictures of Antonio on my phone, using the secret app he showed me – his clever way of letting him always be with me – all of them taken by me and hidden by Antonio. I flick through them, taking every part of him in, from his cute young face; a few days’ stubble on it, to his thick cock, bigger than I even thought was possible. The first few times he stripped off I always wondered why he wanted to be with me, a woman twice his age. I would look at my body, my desperate attempts to make myself appear younger, and then I would look at his smooth, tanned skin and I never understood what the attraction was. But as we spent more time together, our experiences growing, I realised that what I offered him other women of his age never could. I brought depth and experience to his flat life, and as our love-making sessions got longer and more intense I forgot about the age issue, just as he stopped letting my lifelong wisdom and so many more stories than him be anything but a clear turn on. I think now of all those times together and how it couldn’t just be about money, couldn’t just be sex, and so could only be love, separated by decades but has now finally come true.