I shake my head for the umpteenth time. Not that she’s all wrong – I really have been thinking of Penny, just not in the sense that Sherrie means. And there are no beautiful women. I’d have noticed. I have a radar for pussy, wherever it is and whoever I’m with. Francisca and I had a game where she’d identify the most beautiful woman in the room and then ask me if she was more beautiful than she was. So far, I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than Francisca.
Curious, I look over Sherrie’s shoulder and almost choke on my last sip of coffee.
At the table on my right there really are two women. They’re around twenty, scantily dressed. They’ve been there for a while, because their lunch is almost gone. They were probably sitting there when I walked in.
And I didn’t even notice them.
Since I got here, I’ve done nothing but think of Penny and what happened with her last night.
I’m not one to repeat myself but . . .
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening. To. Me?
I lose a little time but then decide. I have no idea what I’m going to tell her, but I can’t just stand out here forever. The library is warm and welcoming and has a strange atmosphere, almost holy, like in a church. I look around but I can’t see her anywhere. Everyone stares and follows me with their eyes like I’m some alien. It’s my curse – I can’t go anywhere without people noticing me. If I tried to pull off a robbery I’d get recognised in a line-up for sure.
I ask an old woman who seems to work there where Penny is, and she points me towards the Russian literature section. I feel like a perfect idiot. It’s not like Penny and I have great things to say to each other.
I slip into the fantasy section. Two kids are sitting with their noses glued to the pages. They seem to love what they’re reading. A blinding flashback transports me back into the past, to many years ago when I too would take refuge among books in search of a better place to live. I didn’t go to school regularly and I couldn’t consider myself any kind of genius, but I did like reading all right. Until I reached a certain age, that is, when I finally understood how foolish it was to try to sneak away from real life because real life will suck you right back in. Before that, reading took me beyond the walls of my filthy room, and it seemed like everything was more bearable when I was hypnotised by a book, less mired in bullshit and blood.
But the Marcus who dreamed of growing wings and flying away to discover some secret treasure or travelling down a river on a raft soon became the Marcus who dug a pair of scissors into the flabby back of a fucking piece of shit. I hope these thirteen-year-olds here never have to experience the same transformation.
Finding the right section, I peer into the empty space between two volumes and I can’t help it but my stomach gets so knotted it might bring up the steak I just had for lunch.
Penny’s with Igor – if that truly is his name. They’re talking, laughing and eating I don’t know what. He even reaches out suddenly and touches her lip. I pick up a slim book and grind it to a pulp.
Bitch!
I can’t think of anything else.
Bitch.
I see her game now. She’s not stupid. She’s a bitch but she’s not stupid. Look at how she’s smiling at him. She wants a man with money.
It really is true then: all women are like that. Ultimately they’re all whores, every one. And to think I was worried about her – but no, it really wasn’t worth the effort of coming here.
Now I understand what she’s really after, I’ll give it to her all right. I’m gonna ruin her. I’m gonna eat her up, and in the end there’ll be no way back to all the innocence she lost along the way.
I go home seeing red. The punch bag becomes my mortal enemy. I beat it like I want to kill it. All my thoughts disappear into a void, black as tar.
Suddenly I hear noises outside the door and go to open it. Penny’s shaking so much she looks like she’s about to fall backwards down the stairs.
I let her in, but ignore her for a while and just keep punching the bag to soothe my overwhelming rage. In the end I’m exhausted, sweaty – but calm. Getting physical through sports has always stopped me from taking apart every single person I wanna kill. In this case, Igor. Him and his golden fucking curls.
I look at Penny as if to ask her what the hell she wants, and she shows me Francisca’s letter and the money. Money? What money? Ah yes, the money for yesterday. Two hundred and fifty well-deserved dollars.
For an instant Penny’s blood flashes through my mind, her grimace of pain, my unknowing brutality, and I make a rapid decision.
I owe her an orgasm. I owe her a little pleasure to make up for yesterday’s pain.
And then I start to do it nicely with her, taking my time, just so she doesn’t hurt too much.
I pretend like I’m sixteen again. I’m stopping at third base. I touch her with my tongue and my fingers. She has the taste and feel of an angel.
It’s ridiculous but I like it. I like it! It excites me to think that I’m the only one who has ever touched her in this way; violated her. I think that every man, once in his lifetime, wants to be with a virgin, for the perverse flavour of having been the first and only one.
But the most shocking thing happens afterwards, after she comes with a whisper that seduces me more than a hundred grunts or yells. It happens when she asks if she can put me in her mouth. She’s so uncertain, so hesitant, so blushing, bold and scared all at the same time, and this turns me on even more. Her combination of fragility and boldness makes me almost explode.
I don’t recognise what I’m feeling.
I don’t know what it is.
I don’t know.
It’s not the usual thing.
It goes beyond the relief of my penis in her hands and her mouth.
It’s some feeling that’s mysterious, nameless.
Half an hour ago I was furious, and now I look at her and I don’t understand anything anymore. She’s a bitch, she’s certainly a bitch, but I like this bitch way more than I should like any woman who’s not Francisca. As she’s leaving, I have to bite down the temptation to ask her to stay, to tell me exactly what’s going on between her and Igor, to order her never to speak to him again.
But I don’t, damn it, I don’t. I’ve never been jealous before – it would be crazy if I started now. People who get jealous are losers – weak, insecure people, the kind who need to feel safe so they don’t get swallowed up in all the emptiness of this shitty life, but I’m not like that. I’m alone by choice. I don’t have doubts, I don’t get vertigo, I fill up the space and deny my fears, and I will beat back these unknown sensations that are trying to fuck with my head.
But I think about it all evening, even when I’m working at the club, and all the time I’m thinking about Penny like crazy. A beautiful and provocative woman shoves it in my face, and I say no.
Me, say no?
Yeah. I do it without thinking. No thanks, go away, I have shit to do. She goes away looking confused, but actually I’m even more confused than she is. She was a babe, like the women at the diner I didn’t even notice.
This is starting to piss me off.
When I close my eyes all I can see are Penny’s lips, her closed eyes; I can hear her breathing, smell her skin. I can’t get her out of my head. Even in the midst of the deafening music, all these posers – this mess of a hard night – the whole film of her naked body, her shivers and quivers, her aching sighs, plays through my head on some crazy kind of loop. I’m going totally out of my mind here.
Maybe I need to toughen up.
No violence, no, but I need to put an end to this whole useless charade of confusion and upset.
From now on I’m gonna fuck anyone.
It doesn’t matter where, how or who.
I can’t only be with Penny, and I’m not gonna be gentle with her anymore either. I have to show her zero regard, zero pause, zero consideration. From now on we’re only gonna fuck – no more of this making love.
In the mi
dst of all this, the weirdest thing is that when Penny leaves at six o’clock in the morning, I still haven’t read Francisca’s letter.
19
Everywhere. They did it everywhere. In the afternoons, before going to the library, Penny would go up to the attic and there’d be no talking, they’d just fuck, straight and simple.
He’d wait for her and undress her and then take her and enjoy being inside her body.
She’d go upstairs and undress him and take him and enjoy him and his body equally.
At night it was the same. Sex, just pure sex – hungry, rude, panting – and nothing more.
Penny thought about it all the time, unaware that Marcus was thinking about it even more often than she was, because the more either of them thought about it, the more they wanted it for real.
By now Marcus’s body held no more secrets for her. She had learned to decipher his tattoos and gone online to discover their meaning. Just as she had imagined, they were symbols of power and courage. She didn’t yet know the significance of the pierced heart, but it didn’t feel quite appropriate to ask him. After all, he was continuing to act as though he hated her, as though he was merely using her flesh and fucking whatever came his way. Sleeping with him gave her pleasure and that was enough for her.
He’s leaving with Francisca in three weeks, in any case.
Who knows what Francisca said to him in her letter?
Why hasn’t he responded yet?
In exactly three weeks’ time, he’ll be gone from here.
But I don’t want to think about that just yet.
For now, I just want this.
In exactly three weeks he’ll be gone.
Barbie wanted to go to the hairdresser so Penny went with her. She’d been neglecting Barbie recently and wanted to devote an entire day to her. She gave her a wonderful morning of pampering, a fun manicure and helped her apply strawberry-coloured lipstick. Penny refreshed her own dyed lock of hair, and in place of the fading pink, there was now a vivid and hopeful emerald green.
On returning to the apartment, however, fate gave her something else to think about. Penny was just settling down to prepare lunch while her grandma was busy admiring her new manicure, when there was a knock at the door.
Penny started when she saw Marcus leaning against the doorjamb, looking not exactly joyful. He beckoned her on to the landing for a moment.
The novelty of this request wasn’t a problem – at least they were talking now in addition to rolling around together on any surface capable of supporting them – but Marcus’s face betrayed disquiet, and this concerned her.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, wiping her wet hands on the apron tied around her waist.
It was strange to welcome him like that, with the air of a virtuous housewife dedicated to simple and healthy things like making meals and feeding an elderly relative. It was especially strange after recent days which had overflowed with sweaty moans and deep kisses.
‘Mr Malkovich would like to see you. He’s back on my case. Can you come upstairs for a second?’
‘That’s fine, I’ll come now. Did something happen?’
‘What happened is that he’s not happy unless he’s busting my balls.’
Marcus’s comment was soon explained. When he saw Penny, the parole officer expressed the reason for his visit.
‘My wife and I would like to invite you to dinner over at ours.’
Penny stared at Marcus in amazement, while he, standing by the bathroom door, rolled his eyes sardonically without it being noticed by his unwelcome guest.
‘At yours? And is . . . well, is this standard?’
With a big smile on his face, the man nodded. ‘As a parole officer I like to take the occasional former convict under my wing – especially the ones I consider most deserving: the ones who are good at heart and just got mixed up with the wrong people. That way I can keep half an eye on them, but it also lets me extend a few perks. My wife helps and supports me, and given the affection she has for our boy here, it seems natural to extend the invitation to you too, Miss Miller.’
‘Oh . . . er . . . of course. I think it’s a great idea.’
Behind Malkovich’s back, Marcus made a face and raised his middle finger.
‘So if you’re not busy tonight, would you like to come over? Would that be possible? I promise you won’t be late for work. We’ll have you out by ten.’
‘That’s fine with me. I . . . I go wherever Marcus goes. We’re basically joined at the hip,’ Penny commented, hoping that Malkovich wouldn’t notice her blushes. He did, however, notice, and he interpreted it correctly: not as a clear indication of a lie, but as a timid expression of a very genuine emotion. Marcus, still standing behind Malkovich, mouthed a silent ‘Lying bitch!’ in Penny’s direction. She held back the urge to return his look with one of her own, or at least something along similar lines, as she needed to maintain an air of detachment.
They finalised the arrangements for the evening and, when Malkovich had gone, Marcus lit a cigarette and said through the smoke, ‘He’s looking for the best way to send me back to prison but he can’t find it.’
Penny shook her head. She didn’t see it that way at all. She saw kindness in this gesture from the man who had just left.
‘You tend to see evil everywhere, in others as well as yourself. You can’t even imagine that someone could like you unless you happen to like them back, and yet you don’t even really know how to like another person. I, on the other hand, think he wants to protect you and set you back on the right track. He seems like a conscientious man who’s just doing his job, and a good person who’s going above and beyond to help you.’
‘You got all that from him during this one short visit?’
‘Learn to trust people more and you’ll be surprised.’
‘I don’t even think about it.’
‘Yeah, it’s all shit for you, isn’t it? Only three things count for you: Francisca, fucking and money – and not necessarily in that order.’
‘While you have these great ideals,’ Marcus countered ironically. With his usual cigarette between his lips, his five o’clock shadow and the tough look on his face, he absolutely looked like the epitome of someone who could only ever feel hate for other people. Recently it had been even worse between them. All that sex had somehow turned him away from her, and despite taking and touching each other in every conceivable fashion, somehow they both sat on separate planets, light years apart in the giant cosmos.
Penny shook her head, sensing the usual pang that threatened to split her fragile heart in two every time she remembered that Marcus could never truly be hers. ‘I believe that good things happen. I want to love and be loved, to help other people and make my dreams come true.’
Marcus laughed mirthlessly. ‘You don’t say? Well, I think you’ll need a whole ton of money for these beautiful dreams of yours.’
‘What are you trying to say? If I had money of course it would be easier, but I’m going to manage it anyway, even if I have nothing.’
‘Get together with Igor with the golden curls and the money should come flooding in.’
‘It’s not surprising you think I’m a whore, since I sure act like one when we’re in your room, but let’s leave it at that, OK? I don’t want to hate you, because otherwise I might not be able to pretend that I’m crazy about you tonight when it counts.’
Marcus stubbed out his cigarette in a glass. ‘That said, take your clothes off, please. I need to burn off some stress.’
Penny marched to the door, her face set. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘If you need to burn off your stress, you can take care of yourself. I’m a woman, not some kind of sex doll, OK?’
Penny dressed simply, to give the impression that she was a good girl, even though she knew she wasn’t. She wore a pleated skirt with a blouse and flat shoes, her hair was combed straight around her face, and she’d applied almost no make-up. In her backpack she’d stuffed far-less-chaste clothes, which sh
e’d change into later at work. She looked like one of those dangerous murderers who go to their sentencing dressed modestly to try to deceive the judge.
Marcus, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about his appearance. He wore black jeans, ripped at the knee, leather boots and a leather biker jacket. He still hadn’t shaved, so he looked even more dangerous than normal.
The Malkovichs lived in a suburban neighbourhood that was in no way high-class but was surrounded by plenty of greenery, and this made them more sympathetic in Penny’s eyes. Anyone who chose to live among trees could not be counted as a bad person.
Marcus went through the front door with a cigarette in his mouth, as if to spite his hosts. Penny handed the lady of the house a plate of cookies she’d baked for her, and her hostess’s face lit up with joy. She was a small, plump woman with a heart-shaped mouth, honest eyes and a 1920s hairstyle, soft waves sculpted with the aid of who knows how much hairspray.
She showed Penny around, proudly pointing out all her little things: her collection of glass swans, the beautiful tapestries she’d embroidered in the bedroom, as well as photos of their son. Especially the photos of their son.
He was a sturdy boy with vivid dark eyes, and for a moment Penny felt as if she already knew him – then she understood. He kind of looked like Marcus. Pissed off with the world.
That’s when the lady let her know, in a somewhat-sad voice, that Cameron (that was his name) was gone. Penny understood that he had not simply left but was dead. She was so sorry that she felt like bursting into tears. The lady saw her glistening eyes and was moved.
‘You’re so sweet, Penny. When Monty told me that our Marcus had finally found a good girl, I didn’t believe it right away, but now that I’ve met you, I’m so happy. He needs it, you know – he’s suffered so much.’
Penny felt a thrill. It probably wasn’t right – in fact, it certainly wasn’t right, because if Marcus had wanted to talk to her about his past, he would have done so already – but Penny was unable to quell her curiosity. She had no idea how else to learn more about him, and since they were alone and the lady seemed inclined to talk, she ventured, ‘I know, he told me something about . . . his mother.’
Trying Not To Love You Page 18