The only programme that caught his fancy was Friends. It was a repeat episode but nostalgic to say the least.
Despite his desire to ravish Jennifer Aniston, he enjoyed the comical storylines, the offbeat humour, and the situations the characters found themselves in. During the commercial break as he munched on a chocolate bar, he reflected on his chaotic and very stressful morning.
It all begun with Beverley King, she’d spent the night at his apartment playing fiddle to his violin and there was no doubt from the rhythm they were making, they made fantastic music. It had been a really great night, he couldn’t deny it.
First they had sex in the kitchen, then on the floor in the bathroom, in the hallway, on top of the washing machine and finally in the bedroom.
She certainly knew how to please a man and if he had to describe her sexual rowdiness it would be, ‘she had rhythm in her hips and fire in her tongue’.
He tried to settle down, unwind and just watch friends but his mind was spinning out of control, it played liked a video recorder. Stop, pause, rewind, fast forward and finally play.
Last night after he’d bent Beverley over the kitchen table and took her from behind, he never thought for one moment he’d wake up in the morning to a deranged woman expressing her undying love for him. He’d met and slept with a fruit loop, a psychotic woman. This had to be his worst fear as the twenty-nine-year-old, busty brunette refused to leave his apartment. At first he thought she was playing some kind of joke, but there she was chained to the bathroom sink with a pair of handcuffs they used the night before, screaming at the top of her voice which had probably caused some damage to her lungs.
Mark played the whole event in his mind. He remembered her saying, ‘I love you, Mark, I love you and I’m not leaving here until you say you love me too.’ He worried what the neighbours were thinking. Sure enough his neighbours were used to the bed head banging but not some crazy fool screaming as if she were being strangled.
In an attempt to keep her quiet, he told her he loved her too but she didn’t believe him. He remembered thinking, ‘You’re a mad deranged psycho. I don’t love you, why I don’t even know you. It was just sex!’
OK, so she knew how to work the muscles in her mouth but for crying out loud it was still only sex. That was Mark’s thought on the matter. She knew how to get her swerve on but again it was still only sex. Again he played the whole thing in his mind. ‘Do you really love me,’ she said with tears in her eyes and ‘I love you, of course I love you, I loved you the moment I saw you,’ was his reply.
He could have won a golden globe award for outstanding actor, especially when he told her he couldn’t commit to her as much as he wanted to; due to his mother passing away two weeks ago. He felt awful for using that line and prayed no harm would come to his mother who was extremely fit and well. Fortunately for him, after three hours of pleading with Beverly she finally left and after making a few calls that morning he found out she had recently been released from a psychiatric hospital. It wasn’t easy getting information on her but after threatening Victor who worked at Highlights Strip Club, Victor was only too happy to help, considering Mark had inside information on him and his antics with stripper, Lorna Baxter. His wife wouldn’t be too pleased if she found out, threatened Mark. Well, that was his gentle reminder to Victor who certainly wouldn’t be blowing his whistle for a while, at least not in Lorna Baxter’s direction.
Victor told him, that Beverley was mentally ill, just as Mark had suspected. She had been diagnosed with a multiple personality disorder and there was no telling what she could do.
It had been a close call, he thought as he opened a can of lager and the film Fatal Attraction came to mind. For a moment Mark felt his heart racing. He had visions of being stalked and his cat being carved into small pieces; only he didn’t have a cat, but he did have a budgie. But what if she came back? What if she started stalking him? What if she got hold of the budgie and roasted it alive? The thought was unbearable.
OK, that's enough, thought Mark. Stop, don’t play it over in your head, eject it from your mind right now.
He tried to reassure himself that everything would be fine only to think that last night she was on his top list for being a regular sleeping partner. There was no chance now, she was a loony and that meant ‘Don’t even go there, coz she could kill your beautiful black ass.’
For a while he sat back on his sofa and reflected on the last six months since he and Veronica had broken up. He missed her. He missed her so much it hurt like hell. It had been a big mistake sleeping with her friend. The biggest mistake of his life.
He thought about Tony and wondered how he was. It had been a few weeks since they had met up and the last conversation he recalled was over a week ago.
Mark was so engrossed in thoughts of the past, present and future that he didn’t hear the doorbell ringing until there was loud banging on the door, and he quickly jumped up.
‘I heard you the first time,’ he yelled. ‘I’m coming.’ He opened the door and standing in front of him was a young greasy hair, slightly spotty young man, no more than eighteen years old.
‘Yes.’
‘Good evening, sir, my name is Andrew Boeing.’ He waved a badge with his name and photo under Mark’s nose.
‘How are you, sir? I’m conducting a survey on housing services. The survey’s on behalf of Dickenson’s Housing Corporation. It’ll take five minutes of your time to complete.’ The young man pulled out the survey, clipped it to his clipboard and was about to hand it to Mark. Mark looked at his watch, it was 9.45 pm.
‘Slow your roe, young fellow, you want me to fill in a survey at this time of night? Have you lost your mind?’
‘Really, sir, it won’t take more than five minutes of your time.’
‘Are you for real? I’m not interested,’ bellowed Mark.
‘But sir—’ before the young man could finish his sentence Mark slammed the door, marched into the living room and mumbled under his breath.
‘What is the world coming to and why on earth would a young spotty face kid be doing a survey at flaming 9.45 pm, when he should be in front of the mirror with some Clearasil for goodness sake!’
Mark was just about to flake out on his sofa again when the doorbell rang. He knocked over his can of lager, cursed the day he was having and shouted.
‘I’ve told you before, you spotty face kid, I’m not interested, come back another day, and at a decent time.’
‘It’s me, Martin, you daft twit, open up.’ Mark opened the door and there was Martin, leaning on the wall adjacent to the door with a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bag of fish and chips in the other.
‘Boy, I’m glad it’s you, come in buddy.’ But before Martin even got his foot in the door, Mark came at him with a bear hug.
‘OK, Mark, take it easy.’
‘I see you’ve brought our favourite dish – fish and chips and a bottle of red vintage wine. Such perfect timing, Martin, because I’m absolutely famished – tired but famished.’
‘What can I say? I’m a genius anyway who were you yelling at?’
‘Oh, some spotty face youngster who wanted me to fill in some stupid survey at this time of night.’
‘Oh, that’s who I saw walking down the hallway. Mrs Roach was dragging him into her place by his tie.’
‘Urrh.’
‘I’ll get the plates Mark, and try your best not to think about it, you’ll be sick.’ Mark motioned a jovial heave. The thought of Mrs Roach and the young boo was far from exciting and more so sickening.
Martin placed the bottle of red vintage wine on the coffee table and made his way through to the kitchen, grabbed two plates and two glasses from the drainer, went into the lounge, scanned the room for the most comfortable chair and settled himself snugly, into the recliner.
‘Nice cosy pad you have here Mark,’ said Martin.
‘And I intend to keep it that way anyway. Let’s eat.’ It didn’t take Mark long to plough hi
s way through his plate of fish and chips and took two glasses of red wine.
‘So Martin, have you heard from Tony?’
‘No, have you?’
‘Not for a while, I’ll probably give him a call at the weekend.’
‘Do you think he’s seen Tara yet?’
‘The last conversation I had with him, he said he had an appointment with her.’
‘These things happen, right?’
Mark mumbled under his breath, ‘Yep they sure do but I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s just going through a crisis. I know what that feels like.’
‘What are you moaning about now?’
‘A crisis, I had a crisis this morning,’ said Mark.
‘What do you mean you had a crisis?’
‘I think I need a drink before I tell you.’ Mark took a large gulp of wine and went through the events of the day in detail.
‘So you had a one-night stand with some woman – what did you say her name was ... Beverley King, right?’ Mark nodded. ‘And she wouldn’t leave your flat because she loves you, then she chained herself to the bathroom sink,’ reiterated Martin.
‘Yeah, exactly what I thought. How crazy is that? I have a one-night stand with her, admittedly the sex was brilliant but now she’s in love with me.’
‘Mark, Mark, Mark, it could only be you. Why Mark, Why?’
Mark shrugged his shoulders. It was a question he couldn’t answer because he wasn’t quite sure himself.
‘Never mind, it’ll blow over. Let’s just say you’re like a cat with nine lives and fortunately for you it looks as though you have one life left.’
‘I’m not so sure Martin. There’s more,’ said Mark.
Martin threw his hands up in the air and shook his head from side to side.
‘OK, lay it on me.’
‘It took me a couple of hours to get the inside track on Beverley. Well, it turns out she’s got a personality disorder, a flaming multiple personality disorder.’
Martin’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re kidding me?’
‘I wish I was kidding. Now what do I do if she stalks me?’ ‘That’s some pretty heavy stuff,’ said Martin.
‘Don’t you think I know that? I mean you should have seen her eyes. They were bulging out, man. She had this glare. One minute she was laughing then the next minute she was crying on me.’
‘What can I say? I hope the sex was worth all the aggro. Besides, how many times have I told you, if you’re going to have a one-night stand you don’t bring the chicks back to your place! Have sex in the car, in the lift, in a barn, for crying out loud, then it’s over, it was great, thank you, bye, adios. But you never ever bring them back to your flat. Surely you know the golden rule of a player. If you’re going to be a player, then you’ve got to follow the rules. Ok? Ok! So, what is the number one rule?’
Mark’s mind was blank and Martin was frustrated by the puzzled expression on his face.
‘The number one rule is before you even whip down your pants you have your mates to hand.’
‘What do you mean by mates?’
‘Condoms, you dimwit, you did wear a condom. Tell me you wore a condom, a pair of gloves, possibly a carrier bag, something you could use to protect Larry?’
Mark shook his head but this was followed by a clout from Martin across the back of his head. ‘You fool, have you totally lost the plot? Have you tripped and banged your head. Are you on drugs? What is it, Mark? I don’t believe you. Don’t you know you how easy it is to contract a sexually transmitted disease? HIV, Aids and let’s not forget unwanted pregnancy … hellooo!’
‘I know,’ snapped Mark.
‘What exactly do you know? Do you know you’re an idiot, Mark?’
‘I got caught up in the moment. She was dancing on me, playing with my stuff. She made me horny as hell. I mean what’s a brother supposed to do? The booty was there?’
‘A brother was supposed to be sensible and wear a condom, but you’re not sensible, are you Mark, you’re just a sex-crazed fool.’
‘Look, I don’t need the lecture right now. She may come back and kill me. It happens you know.’
‘Now you’re being melodramatic. She’s not going to kill you.’
‘Look.’ Mark pointed to her G-string on his living room floor that appeared to lie unscathed under the coffee table. He picked it up with his index finger and wafted it under Martin’s nose.
‘She’s left her G-string. Why did she leave her G-string, Martin?’
‘Hey, get that away from me. I don’t know why she left her G-string. So she left her G-string, so what?’
‘It means she could be coming back to kill me.’
‘Mark, she’s not going to kill you.’
‘How do you know? Do you think I should phone the police?’
‘And say what, that you met a girl in a strip bar and brought her back to your pad; then had hours of unforgettable sex. She then chained herself to the bathroom sink and refused to leave your apartment because she thinks she loves you. Oh and you heard a rumour that she’s mentally ill but you have no real evidence. Oh and let’s not forget she left her G-string and you can’t fathom out why, so she must have plans to come back and kill you. Will you take a chill pill and get it together Mark?’
‘OK, OK, I may be overreacting a little, maybe I’m a little tense, and it’ll pass.’
‘Yeah, it’ll pass, just be careful next time, these chicks can be quite demanding, especially if you’re scoring man points with her. You gave it to her good, right?’
‘Yeah, I did my thing but I had no ideas she was deranged.’
‘Like I’ve told you a thousand times before, you’ve got to be careful. Get yourself together and settle down. Don’t be like me.’
‘You’re not so bad, Martin.’
‘Listen to me, there’s only so much playing around you can do before it all becomes a bit boring. There comes a time when you need love from a woman and not just sex. There’s more to life than a casual fling.’
‘I’ve never heard you mention the word love and the word woman in the same sentence,’ said Mark.
‘Like I said, there’s only so much playing around you can do.’
‘You’re right,’ said Mark. ‘D’you know the biggest mistake I ever made besides this one? I cheated on Veronica. She was my soulmate but that wasn’t enough for me. I had to go and sleep with her friend.’
‘You weren’t ready for commitment, that’s all.’
‘No, I guess I wasn’t.’ He wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself but he let out a deep sigh of relief and nodded in agreement. Martin was right, he wasn’t ready for commitment.
‘Anyway Mark, it’s getting late and I’d better get going, us older men need our sleep, oh and about our game of golf next week.’
‘What about our game of golf, don’t tell me you’re cancelling?’
‘No, not quite, more like rearranging.’ Martin couldn’t get to the front door quick enough. He knew what was coming next.
‘You did this to me last week, you rearranged our game last week,’ shouted Mark.
‘Mark, buddy, this is the last time, I promise. I won’t let you down again, it’s just that I’ve got a rather important date.’
‘Is that so … what you really mean is you’re blowing me out. So who is she, what’s her name, is she a Halle Berry, or a Kylie?’
‘As much as those women want me, I’m afraid it’s neither of them, it’s Joan.’
‘You’re blowing me out for Joan?’ Mark held his head down then looked up at Martin in astonishment.
‘I’m not blowing you out.’
‘Yes you are. How can you stand there and say you’re not? You’re ditching a good game of golf with me for Joan. Besides, isn’t she the Christian with the big breasts, huge booty, always wears black and has the most annoying laugh I’ve ever heard?’
‘Yep that’s the one, only she’s got the greatest laugh and those breasts are mighty fine, perfect pillows for laying m
y weary head, if given half the chance.’
‘Well, are you doing the dirty with her or what?’
‘Contrary to belief, I don’t shag anything that’s got breasts and a pulse, those days are behind me. Anyway, it’s not like that with Joan; she’s special.’
‘Yeah she must be,’ said Mark quite sarcastically.
‘At least she’s not some psycho.’
‘Don’t even go there, Martin, don’t even go there.’
‘Anyway Mark, I’ll call you and we’ll sort something out.’
‘I’ll hold my breath and wait.’
‘Give me a break. I love golf but this is Joan I’m talking about and whether you understand it or not, that’s not my problem, it’s your problem.’
‘You’re right, I don’t understand but if you must cancel our game of golf then hey, do what you’ve got to do, but I’m telling you Martin, you’re falling for her in a big way.’
‘Maybe I am.’
‘Martin, I was being flippant.’
‘Maybe I am falling for her, is that such a bad thing?’
Mark shook his head. ‘You can’t help who you fall for, it’s just that she’s a Christian and that means no booty. It means, Martin, no fornication, no sex until there’s a ring on her finger, and you like de booty.’
‘I know.’
‘Wow, you surprise me.’
‘I surprise myself, pal. Anyway I’m going. Take care of you and don’t worry about Beverley.’
It had been a long day for Mark. He was tired and his bed was calling him home to sleep land. The elephant figurine lamp glowed in the dark and the cosy ambiance of the room invited him to lay down on his king size bed.
It was now 12.20 am and he needed to be up for 6.30 am to get to Kensington for 8.30 am. The budding freelance writer was at the peak of his career and his meeting with his agent Vicky Hendricks of HNM was vitally important, but he wasn’t looking forward to the journey. He hated commuting by train although it was easier than driving through the city.
His complete attire was already prepared for work the next day. A pair of navy blue slacks, white shirt and blue jacket was neatly draped across the back of the chair nearest to the bedroom door and his black silk socks were tucked into his black shoes. He’d sooner wear his bad boy clothes, casual style but he had to make an impression.
Those Mid-Life Blues Page 4