Trying Not To Love You

by Amabile Giusti

  ‘I might just agree that it’s better not to play with fire, so what do you know?’

  ‘With that face there? I don’t buy it. You wanna be fucked by me, no doubt about that, but you’d die of a broken heart if I treated you afterwards like I treat any woman who’s not Francisca.’

  Penny felt a chill, imagining the outcome: Marcus walking away after making love, without the slightest show of tenderness. The very idea was appalling to her, even more so than the certainty that she would never in a million years end up in bed with him.

  A gigantic sneeze interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Having said that, we’ve reached an impasse, as they say,’ she said. ‘Where will Penny sleep tonight? As we’ve just heard, pneumonia is closing in.’

  Marcus let out a muted snort that sounded like a rumble of thunder in the silence of the stairwell. ‘Well, OK then, come sleep at my place – but behave yourself.’

  ‘You’re ridiculous. You’re like the living embodiment of lust, and you’re telling me to behave myself?’

  ‘You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you? I’m trying to protect you, but go too far and I’ll show you what I mean all right.’

  Penny was almost tempted to ask him to show her. But another sneeze brought her back to reality. ‘Marcus, don’t go fooling yourself you’re God’s gift to all women, OK? I just want a place to lay my head for the night. Having said that, can we move it along a little? It’s going to be dawn soon and I’m really tired.’

  ‘You can sleep there,’ said Marcus, pointing to the couch. ‘The bed is mine. Now go to the bathroom and change, then lie down and shut up until tomorrow.’

  ‘And what do I change into, pray pardon, good sir?’

  ‘I’ll lend you one of my shirts.’

  Penny locked herself in the bathroom, peeled off her wet clothes and put on the long-sleeved T-shirt whose sleeves dangled beyond her fingertips. It was so big it fell off her shoulders. It had his smell. She sniffed it as if it were a rose in June.

  I’m a pervert.

  When she came out, Marcus was in wearing grey cotton pyjama pants and nothing else.

  You doing this on purpose? You definitely want me to jump you.

  Penny pretended to ignore him and lay down on the couch, wrapped herself in the blue blanket and closed her eyes.

  Marcus carried on around her with his regular bedtime routine. She heard him peeing in the bathroom, could hear water running, then the door opening and the bed creaking under his weight.

  ‘What if I get thirsty at night?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘You’re just gonna be thirsty,’ came the abrupt response from her unfeeling host.

  ‘And if I want a snack?’

  ‘I’d like to avoid being vulgar, Penny, so spare me that kind of question.’

  ‘Vulgar? In what . . . Oh right, I get it.’

  ‘Good. So stop it, OK?’

  ‘Is this really the first time you’ve hosted a woman guest overnight without . . . ?’

  ‘First, you’re not a guest, you’re a blackmailer who got her way. Second, apart from Francisca, I don’t host, I fuck. Third point, I’m tired and I’d like to sleep. Is it possible to turn you off somehow?’

  ‘I’d like to avoid being vulgar, Marcus, so spare me that kind of question.’

  She was sure she heard him laughing softly in the dark. His laughter was reassuring and oddly familiar. In spite of Marcus’s rough ways, Penny felt in no danger whatsoever in that room, under that roof with its window to the sky. She thought of so many things, most of them highly improbable, the kind of vivid, lazy fantasies one has before drifting off to sleep. She imagined kissing him, taking his hand, touching him. She fell asleep, right there on her back.

  When Penny awoke, it was daytime. Marcus was still asleep. She stood on tiptoe and gazed at him. She reached out her hand, tempted at the sight of that skin, that granite slab sheeted with painted silk, but immediately drew it back. His arms and most of his chest were covered with black-and-white Maori tattoos. Curves, coils and swirls that nestled together like birds in a flock – flames, leaves, eyes, waves on the sea, daggers and rising suns, and finally, grinning dolphins and a huge stingray on his chest. Alongside the stingray, she noticed the one exception to this glory of wild and fascinating tribal visions: a red heart that seemed to throb like the very heart of Christ in a sacred painting, pierced by a crown of thorns. Penny had no doubt that the heart symbolised his feelings for Francisca. She swallowed down her pain and annoyance and took a few steps back. It was better to leave before he woke up.

  It would have been better if I hadn’t come . . .

  What if I’m falling in love with him? What do I do?

  She shook her head, picked up her clothes, which had dried overnight, and went to change in the bathroom without bothering to close the door. Marcus moved and turned over, but continued to sleep.

  Penny headed downstairs, imagining Mr Malkovich arriving at that moment. He would have no further doubt about their connection. She looked like a young lover just out of a warm bed and smelling of sex, and not like an unwelcome guest – or blackmailer – who had slept on a very uncomfortable couch.

  Fortunately, Penny’s grandmother was already awake and had unlocked the door. She didn’t notice the time when Penny came in, but merely asked if she had taken out the garbage. Then she asked if she’d like her to make pancakes.

  ‘Why don’t I make them for you, Grandma? You watch that TV series you like so much.’

  ‘Oh yes, you’re right. Today Gonzalo’s going to tell Hermosa that he loves her. I can’t wait. It’s so beautiful when love triumphs, don’t you think?’

  Penny did indeed think so, though she had the sinking feeling that the sentiments borne by Gonzalo for Hermosa, expressed in a thousand overblown romantic expressions, would be the closest her own little life would come to true love, and she would just have to settle for the sick attentions of someone like Grant instead.

  8

  MARCUS

  Malkovich barged into the apartment right when I was teaching Penny a few self-defence moves, and my heart almost stopped. He’s so fucking suspicious. I wanted to tell him to mind his own fucking business, to think about his wife’s withered pussy and not to get involved in my personal life, but as long as I’m not completely free, I have to make the best of it. Penny, however, was good – she kept up the act. And she also offered to go talk to Francisca. I hope she doesn’t change her mind. I want to know how Francisca is, what she’s thinking, and the silence is killing me. I really don’t get why Penny volunteered – if she wants a thank-you fuck from me or if she’s just trying to be kind. Kindness is alien to me and I’m just not used to it. I don’t even think it’s real, so I think Penny definitely wants me to fuck her. I have to be careful, because a saint can be way more dangerous than a whore. And I don’t want to hurt her. She’s like some character out of a romance novel, with her big eyes that look straight into me, even if there’s nothing to see inside and she’s wasting her time, and sometimes she even looks at me as though she were convinced – and I mean really convinced – that if I cut myself I would bleed human blood. But I don’t bleed like a proper person; I ooze bile instead.

  Penny also asks a lot of questions. She’s almost as prying as Malkovich. Sometimes I humour her with an answer, but I have to be smart. I can’t tell her everything.

  I do like Penny. Not to fuck, which is unusual for me. That’s generally all I care about – I either like a woman sexually or I don’t. In the latter case, she doesn’t exist. I wouldn’t sleep with Penny, and yet I see her, she exists. Sometimes talking to her gives me a kind of rush. I never know what she’ll say – she’s so unpredictable. She’s like some weird little mystery I find dangerously intriguing.

  She wasn’t supposed to sleep here. It’s the last thing in the world I wanted, but I couldn’t just leave her on the landing, and if she gets sick we’ll have to skip the trip on Sunday. I’m a damn opportunist,
I know.

  Luckily, after a lot of yakking, she suddenly drops off. I don’t dare shut an eye. I hear her breathing softly, making little sounds sometimes, like a cat softly meowing.

  I get up, I’m thirsty, so I open the fridge and take out some water. I drink it straight from the bottle. Penny moves and the blue blanket slides on to the floor. She’s curled up like a cat, with my shirt that’s three times too big for her. A silver cross hangs from one ear, resting on her neck. She has a beautiful, full, peach-coloured mouth. I look at her and have a vision that stops me right in my tracks. Her lips on my skin. I shake myself, stretch my shoulders vigorously, tell myself I’m an idiot. I pick the blanket off the ground, cover her up and run back into bed.

  Did I just run away? Yes, I did. Shit. Penny and sex need to remain two separate things. I can’t think anything like that again, even just messing about.

  Unfortunately, in the morning, after I worked so hard to fall asleep, I wake up and find her standing right there in front of me. Her back is turned, she’s changing, and she doesn’t even notice that I’m looking at her. For a brief moment her naked torso slips out of my shirt. She’s curvier than she looks when she’s dressed. She has a nice back, smooth and as white as cream. She’s wearing pink polka-dot panties. She turns to pick up her clothes and exposes her breasts without knowing it, since I’m pretending to be asleep.

  I guess I’m too healthy about certain things, because my animal instinct is instantly unleashed. It is so obvious that I have to turn over in bed. If she saw me, she’d notice a huge bump in the crotch of my pants. Of course that’s normal for a man when he wakes up, but I prefer to keep these things to myself.

  But there’s something worse. Sure, it’s normal to get turned on when I see a naked woman who’s prettier than I expected. But the unthinkable part happens later, once she’s gone. Because I have the tragic urge to masturbate while thinking of her. She doesn’t exist for me like that. I can’t – I can’t handle this bullshit.

  So I take a cold shower until my hard-on softens and I stop thinking about my tongue on her round, innocent nipples.

  9

  As soon as her grandmother found out about Penny’s trip, she phoned Mr Donaldson, who lived on the ground floor and had an old car. She couldn’t bear the idea of her darling little Penny on one of those filthy, draughty trains. She imagined her as a child, travelling on some school trip, with her classmates throwing paper balls and opening the windows wide. At the same time, she was equally convinced that Marcus wanted to take Penny to meet his parents before announcing their official engagement. For either or both of these purposes, the car seemed like the best idea.

  Too bad that Mr Donaldson’s auto was an old sky-blue Bentley, cumbersome and ridiculous, one of those cars that guzzle gas like camels drink water and doesn’t go more than fifty miles an hour. As soon as Penny saw it, she thought of Marcus’s reaction. He would be horrified, to say the least.

  And Marcus was horrified.

  It was Sunday morning. Mrs Leboski, who wasn’t working that day, had offered to keep Barbie company. Since all retirees are a bit sleepless and bored, they were all glued to the windows to watch Penny and Marcus set off in the infamous vehicle.

  Marcus looked like he wanted to kill someone. He glared at Penny as if he intended to scalp her once the onlookers had dispersed.

  ‘How could you ever think . . . ?’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

  ‘It wasn’t my idea. It was my grandma.’

  ‘Was that outfit your grandma’s idea as well?’ he exclaimed, with a sideways glance.

  Penny tried to shrug off her annoyance. She knew he was right about the car and her outfit. The car was a wreck and her outfit wasn’t remotely suitable for a prison visit. Early that morning, however, looking long and hard in the mirror, she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to put on the jeans and sweatshirt she’d put out the previous evening, so she’d decided to dress up. Not for Marcus – or not directly, at least. With a melancholy and naivety of which she had not at first been aware, she had done it more for Francisca’s benefit. Penny had no desire to meet her while looking sloppy, ugly or pathetic – not Francisca, the most beautiful woman in the world, according to how Marcus saw her. So she had put on a pretty dress – the only one in her wardrobe, which otherwise consisted entirely of casual clothing. She had bought it in a second-hand store, and so often gazed at it lovingly on the hanger, waiting until the right occasion arose. It was a bottle-green velvet sheath, very short and tight, and totally out of place for the day’s objective. She had paired it with high-heeled boots that made her wobble a little, and a flame-red leather jacket. She’d even put on make-up. She was going to restore hope to a thwarted love – sabotaging her own happiness in the process – and she didn’t want to do it looking like some loser.

  Marcus, in his regulation jeans that clung to his muscles, a blue sweater and a sports jacket, looked back and forth between the car and her dress.

  ‘We’re not going to the disco,’ he muttered in disgust.

  ‘This is my outfit and I’m sticking with it.’

  ‘Besides, you have to drive. I can’t for at least another year. If they catch me, I’m in trouble.’

  ‘I’ll take care of it – what’s the problem?’

  ‘If you sit down in that thing the skirt will come up to your navel.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t look at me in that way, and since you’re used to Francisca’s long, long legs, mine are hardly going to be of any interest.’

  ‘I don’t look at you like that, no, but you’re about to meet a lot of prisoners who have worse taste than I do.’

  ‘How kind you are. Anyway, who cares – let’s have fun today.’

  ‘Penny, don’t piss me off any more than I already am. We were supposed to be discreet and now there’s a whole building looking on from the windows. We were supposed to take the train, and now I’m sitting in some junk heap that might fall apart in two miles’ time. You were supposed to get dressed so you didn’t stand out from the crowd, and instead you look like some fucking weirdo.’

  ‘Well, buckle up, sunshine. If you want to see Francisca, we’re doing it my way.’

  ‘You’re more of a bitch than I realised, you know?’

  ‘It’s not my fault you underestimated me. I’ve always been a bitch.’

  Penny hadn’t driven in a long time, and to start with it was a game of sudden jolts and the engine shutting down. The radio didn’t work, the heating didn’t work, the rear windows didn’t close properly and the engine made an angry noise.

  Marcus was sitting beside her, stiff and seething. His eyes were brutal, and he stared straight ahead. He didn’t say a word to Penny for many miles.

  ‘Not that it’s anything new,’ she said suddenly, chasing her thoughts.

  Marcus ignored her. He lit a cigarette and the smoke was sucked out of the open windows.

  ‘Not that it’s anything new!’ Penny repeated, louder this time.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ Marcus suddenly growled.

  ‘Like I said, it’s nothing new that you won’t talk to me. You’ve treated me like shit for three days now.’

  ‘I haven’t treated you like anything.’

  ‘Exactly. What did I do to you? Did I contaminate your couch? Did you find any dirty plates, ’cause if you did, they weren’t from me. You won’t even give me self-defence lessons anymore.’

  ‘You only pay me to be your escort at night and I don’t have to talk to you. If you want to continue the self-defence lessons, you have to pay for them. Only the first one was free.’

  ‘I don’t have a penny left.’

  ‘That’s your problem.’

  ‘No, really, what did I do? If I offended you in any way . . .’

  ‘You are the dirty plate. Watch the road! Stay in the lane. Where did you learn to drive?’

  ‘Where you learned your manners.’

  ‘Can you be quiet for a moment? Focus on what you n
eed to tell Francisca. It’s the only thing that matters to me. The rest is bullshit.’

  Penny didn’t respond. She gripped the steering wheel hard and felt her heart shrink to the size of a button. It was true that Marcus hadn’t spoken to her for three whole days. When he walked her home at night, he was silent, as if his tongue had been cut off, and he answered her questions with meagre monosyllables. Perhaps he was already imagining his future with Francisca, and the moment he would ride off into the sunset with the love of his life. He only escorted Penny for the money, otherwise he would have sent her straight to hell, she was sure of it. Penny’s heart shrunk further, to the size of a grain of rice.

  After a couple of hours consisting mostly of grumpy silence, the engine began to sputter. The tank was almost empty. They had to stop at a gas station.

  ‘I’ll go pee while you fill the tank,’ Penny said to Marcus when they pulled in.

  ‘Wait, you idiot, and I’ll go with you,’ he replied in a less-than-kind tone.

  ‘No need, thanks.’

  ‘Are you nuts? There are a bunch of men over there. You do the math.’

  He wasn’t wrong. A few men sipping beers at a nearby bar stared at Penny with interest – or rather, at her lower half, squeezed into her very tiny dress. Penny felt exposed and out of place, and for the first time on the trip she thought she should have worn jeans after all.

  Marcus grabbed her hand roughly, yanking her off towards the bathrooms.

  ‘Hurry up and take a piss then, will you?’ he said.

  ‘You’re such a gentleman.’

  ‘Penny, I’m not kidding here, hurry up. I need to check the car out and I only have two eyes.’

  She did what she had to do. When she came out, they filled up the tank.

  ‘I’d like a bottle of water,’ Penny said. ‘Is that asking too much?’