Penny frowned. ‘Of course I’m going back.’
‘No, you need to find another job – not a night job.’
‘But listen, that’s my job and I’m going back there.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Is it your passion? Your secret dream?’
‘No, of course not, but you can’t always satisfy your dreams! Is it your secret dream to be a bouncer?’
‘No, and I don’t plan to do it much longer.’
‘I didn’t think you believed in dreams.’
‘Let’s just say I’ve had it up to here with all kinds of prisons, including low-paid, shit jobs.’
‘OK, but your case is different. You’re leaving soon. You can live under the stars, in a barn, wherever you want. I have to stay here and I have to work, whether I like it or not.’
‘You can find another job.’
‘Marcus, if I could have found another job I wouldn’t have ended up at Well Purple. I don’t have any qualifications, I didn’t go to college, and it’s not like there are these great jobs out there just waiting for me to show up.’
‘What would you like to do?’
‘The thing I want to do I can’t do here.’
‘What is it?’
Penny curled up on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her. She bit her lip for a moment and then shrugged. ‘I’d like to live in the country and take care of animals, cut wood and sell whatever I produce on the farm for a living.’
For an instant Marcus stared at her quietly, as if absorbing some new revelation, until finally he said, ‘That seems like a great dream to have.’
‘Yes, so how do I make it come true? Start growing basil on the fire escape?’
‘No, by finding another job that’s somewhere between shit and your dream.’
‘There’s nothing in this neighbourhood, Marcus. I’ve already looked.’
‘Maybe you’ll have to change neighbourhoods then.’
‘That’s crazy. First of all, I’d spend everything I make on my commute, and second, I need to stay as close as possible to my grandma, even more so now.’
‘I’ll drive you.’
‘Of course! You’ll drive me! So how long will that last? For a week or two? And what happens then? Let’s just drop it – I have a headache.’
She switched on the TV to some random channel. She wanted to hit him. It was all so easy for him to say – easy for someone who would be off with his magnificent Francisca so soon.
For a few minutes, the TV croaked on in the silence that lay between them. Penny was sitting with her knees pulled up to one side and her arms folded defensively across her chest. Suddenly she heard a rustling beside her, and Marcus moved closer, resting an arm around her shoulders.
‘I don’t want you to go to Well Purple anymore, Penny,’ he said stubbornly.
‘You have no right to ask me not to.’
‘Yes, I do.’
She glared at him. ‘And why would that be?’
Marcus scrutinised her rather than offering any kind of explanation – the silence full of things that screamed out to be spoken – then finally reached out his other arm towards her. He placed his hand on her cheek, brushing her lips with his thumb. He did nothing else – only that slight movement, only that finger, which for one enchanted moment parted her sulky lips.
Penny didn’t yield to his gesture and again went on the attack. ‘You have a terrible face that looks like a butt. Did they ever tell you?’
‘“Buttface” is practically my middle name.’
She let out a snort of exasperation. ‘I’ll remind you that I also still happen to owe you money. You think it grows on trees?’
Marcus said nothing. He remained still, his arm around her shoulders and the hand that had just caressed her clenched in a rough fist in front of him, his eyes fixed on the TV, which was playing some old movie in black and white. Penny felt a pang in her heart when she realised it was a western with John Wayne. She thought of her grandma and her mysterious John and had the urge to call out to her, ‘Barbie, come – look who’s on TV!’
Suddenly Penny understood what it would be like to live without her. Loneliness and silence. No one to love and be loved by. She had no brothers, sisters, aunts or uncles – she had no one but Barbie. With no warning at all, she suddenly burst into floods of tears, her head now between her knees.
She was in so much pain at the thought of it that she didn’t notice until after her sobs had eased: Marcus’s arms were wrapped tightly around her. She leaned into his chest, sniffling, looking at John Wayne pointing a gun, his hat cocked to the side with that crooked, ironic smile on his face.
‘Let’s do this . . .’ Marcus suggested. ‘Tonight you rest, and tomorrow we’ll talk about it.’
‘The two of us have nothing to talk about,’ Penny muttered, her sentence punctuated with great, shuddering sobs. ‘I don’t understand. You don’t even care about me.’
‘I care a lot about you.’
‘I know you want to console me after what happened today, but don’t lie to me now, even if it is for my sake.’
‘It’s no lie. I care a lot about you.’
Penny leaned away for a moment to look at him. ‘You’re being too kind to me tonight. I’m going to have to make you pay for it,’ she murmured sadly.
‘Make the most of it, because it’s not going to last forever.’
‘I never expect things to last, Marcus. I don’t need warnings. Forever doesn’t exist. Santa Claus is more likely to exist than forever.’
‘Stop thinking and talking. Close your eyes and get some sleep.’
‘I can’t. I have to stay up in case they call from the hospital.’
‘I’ll stay up.’
She looked at him in wonder. ‘You’re staying here?’
‘Don’t you want me to?’
‘What about work?’
‘You said it yourself, it’s not exactly my dream to be a bouncer. If they fire me, who cares.’
‘So what is your dream?’
She felt Marcus’s hand caressing her hair.
‘I wanna be free,’ he replied. ‘But really free. To go places, do things, have things but also to have nothing. I’m tired of chains. I lived for fifteen years in a brothel and – I say this in a literal sense – without a moment of peace. I was in juvenile detention for three years, even if I wasn’t a delinquent, just because my mother was a whore. Later I was in prison for four years, just thinking about getting out as soon as possible. It’s a pattern. A life sentence. I may look free at the moment but I’m not free. I will never be forgiven. I will forever be the boy who stabbed a man and the man who killed a boy. Which is true – that’s who I am. Blood doesn’t lie.’
‘Freedom starts from within, Marcus, and forgiveness comes from your own conscience. Give yourself time, stop seeing yourself as the son of a prostitute condemned to be a scoundrel because it’s written in your DNA. You talk about your mother like that, but who was she really?’
Penny didn’t think he’d answer. The question was a gamble. In the background, in the silence that followed, John Wayne grabbed his rifle and fired it, at the same time mounting a stallion.
But Marcus surprised her again. ‘She was a simple woman. She had a dream of her own: to be an actress. It failed.’
‘Did she love you?’
‘I think so.’
‘She definitely loved you. Don’t think of her with a grudge. Think of something beautiful you did together and try to remember that and forget all the bad stuff.’
Unexpectedly, Marcus slipped two fingers into the neckline of his sweater and pulled out the ring he always wore on the leather cord around his neck.
‘This was from her,’ he explained, and Penny’s heart throbbed. ‘When she died, she only left behind a few things. I didn’t take anything except this. She wore it when she was eighteen, when she left her small town for the big city in search of fame and fortune
. It’s worth nothing, but it meant something to her. When I was about ten, she told me I should give it to my bride. She actually put it that way, “Give it to your bride.” She was so naive in her ideas.’
Penny tried to imagine Francisca with this trinket, seemingly made for a little girl. It was a delicate silver thing, a crocodile wound round in a loop, with a small residue of green enamel around its snout and two splinters of red stone for its eyes. She couldn’t imagine the beautiful brunette she’d met in the prison wearing that little thing on her finger. The woman she’d met in prison was more like a giant crocodile herself, waiting to gobble it up.
I’m jealous, thought Penny. It’s jealousy, along with a million other awful feelings.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said. ‘You got so upset the first time.’
Just when you were about to kiss me.
And you were beautiful, and arrogant, and fragile, all at once.
And I wasn’t afraid.
And I’ve wanted to make love to you ever since.
‘I didn’t get it . . .’
‘Get what?’
‘That you really wanted to know.’
‘I really care about you too, Marcus.’
Silence, and John Wayne saving the good guys. Penny watched the movie for a minute. The volume was on low, the sounds muffled. Marcus’s hand was in her hair, while his other arm held her tight. His large body, like that of a stone angel, sat close by her side. He certainly didn’t have the look of an angel, but he felt like one with his presence. All at once Penny was flooded with the notion that Barbie would make it, that Marcus would stay here with her, that she would find a fantastic new job and that life would be beautiful and full of forevers.
She fell asleep with that dream in her head, as childlike as the ring around Marcus’s neck.
22
MARCUS
I can’t sleep. I think of Penny and I can’t sleep. She trusts me, she trusts me. Usually women offer me what little I ask of them and leave taking what little I give. Francisca has never given me all of herself, she always holds back – there’s always a secret, a hostility in the way she lets herself be penetrated. It’s normal after what happened, and I never ask anything more of her.
With Penny something so extraordinary is happening that it scares me. She gives me her soul. When I touch her, it feels as if her heart is beating under every inch of her skin. Her eyes speak to me even when she’s silent. Her smile is like a punch in the gut. I enter her and it’s an unknown world. I’m not talking about what she has between her legs, but what I feel when I’m there. My own needs are amplified, and suddenly what I have is not enough, what I am is not enough. I want more, but I don’t know what this ‘more’ is. Or maybe I do know and I’m denying it because admitting it would be too much for my pride.
One thing is certain: I’m not gonna let that asshole hurt her. Even to imagine that he’s thinking of her in his vulgar way arouses something primitive in me. I feel like I could kill someone again, but not in the heat of the moment; I could plan to kill him, like I did with the man who wanted to hurt my mother. Sharpen a weapon, prepare myself, position myself and strike. There is no other way. I have to leave soon, and I can’t leave Penny alone with this danger lurking.
I have to leave soon.
I can’t leave her alone.
Why do I have to leave?
I want to leave.
And in terms of her being alone . . . why does my leaving mean she has to be alone?
I’m too full of myself here. She’s not gonna be alone – I’m nobody to her.
But if I’m nobody, why does she offer herself to me in that way, why does she open her eyes and let me into her emotions? Why is it that when she does it she seems to be doing it for me, and not just for herself?
Damn it, maybe I have a brain tumour or something. There’s no other way to explain this insanity.
And it doesn’t explain why, whenever I think of Francisca, I can only think, I need to tell her; I have to talk to her.
What do I have to talk to her about?
We talk about us or we don’t talk at all. We’re about to find out how much we miss each other after four years of no sex. We’ll leave this shithole, and fuck Malkovich if he says otherwise.
Yeah, maybe Francisca is the cure for this unknown sickness . . .
I leave home early for that used car dealer. I buy an old Camaro on instalments. The guy trusts me because Malkovich vouched for me. If he knew I was leaving so soon, he’d sure be pissed.
Then I go to the Maraja. During the day the club is closed to the public, but not to the staff. I’m looking for Jason and I find him. It helps my case that he has a thing with Grace and made quick work of that asshole Grant when he bothered her. I ask if he remembers him and he immediately nods and swears. He knows him all right – Grant’s a shit who likes to hang around and insult the help. He lives in some snooty neighbourhood and is always bragging about it when he wants people to know he’s rich.
We talk about something else and I tell him that I won’t be able to work for a few nights, that I’m busy, and he doesn’t ask any questions.
I have shit to do, yes. If I wanna smash that piece of shit, I need to understand how he moves, where he goes and when would be the best time to smash his face in.
First, I’m going to find out where he lives. It’s even easier under the cover of the hailstorm. All this icy water hides stuff, and since I’m not the type that goes unnoticed, it helps me not to stand out like a bright splotch on the landscape.
Turns out, Grant lives in a snooty neighbourhood about a mile away. I pace the streets a few times over the course of an hour, trying to do long laps so no one notices. Suddenly I’m convinced that whatever god is up there – assuming there is someone – wants to see this asshole in pieces, because he passes right under my nose in a Mercedes SL, driving out of a gate that looks like it belongs to some mega-mansion. His nose is still swollen, and who knows how he explained that one. I’m sure he didn’t tell the whole truth or even part of it, considering that no one has come around yet to accuse me of anything. Maybe he knows that if he lets on where he lives, he’ll end up under the ground. Who knows how many other girls would come forward to accuse him of things if they weren’t so afraid to do it. He’s no fool, this guy – he’s a calculating monster.
I throw away my cigarette and follow him in my new wheels. He leaves his neighbourhood for another that I’m sure he thinks of as a slum. It’s similar to where Penny and I live, in fact. He’s going hunting again. He looks for his prey among women he considers inferior, women like Penny or Grace, or this one right here . . .
An assistant in a kind of trinket shop. Nothing precious, all ‘Made in China’, though I’m no connoisseur.
I can’t go into the shop because I don’t want him to notice me, but through a window I get the gist. The woman is flattered by his attention. It doesn’t seem possible to her that someone like him should have noticed her. I think of Penny and imagine how she felt. I imagine the night he brought her who knows where and tried to put his hands on her. I imagine her fear and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. When the time comes, you’ll pay for it all, you piece of shit. You’ll pay for the fact that you forced yourself on her. I will reduce your face to a mask of blood.
But I have to do it properly. No one can suspect me and no one can guess it has anything to do with Penny. I’ll never tell her. This will be my parting gift.
I’ll kill this reject so she no longer has to be afraid.
If I looked like your average guy I’d follow him all morning, but in reality I’d risk tipping him off. So after a while I leave. I’ll be back very soon, and before he dies I’ll find the right moment to make him understand exactly how other people should be treated.
As soon as I get home though, I walk into a mess. The whole building is in turmoil; the old people are rushing around and remind me of ants. Finally they tell me what happened, and straight a
way I find out which hospital Penny and her grandma have gone to.
‘Straight away’ is all relative, of course; you always get endless explanations where the elderly are concerned. In the end, I find that it’s not too far so I go there.
Penny. All I do these days is think of her, for one reason or another. I think of her while we’re making love, when I’m on my own, when I’m planning to kill someone who’s hurt her, and actually right this minute. I’ve done nothing but think of her since the second I woke up. Or since I tried to fall asleep that is, since I didn’t sleep a wink. I’m fairly sure all I’ve done is think of her for nearly two months now. That’s an infinite amount of time for someone who usually thinks very little.
And just when I’m thinking about her, I see her right there. All alone on the wet sidewalk, and she’s still wearing her pyjamas from last night, the ones I took off her with my own hands. She’s wearing a pair of soggy sneakers and is hugging herself in a thin red coat. She stands out like a bloodstain against the cloudy backdrop of the hail. Even from here, I can see her teeth are chattering. She looks cold and lost.
I can’t stand it any longer. I get out of the car, run to her and take her in my arms.
Penny, you have to stop forcing me to think about you all the time. You have to stop it. I can’t go on like this, I can’t; whatever you’re doing to my life, stop doing it or I’ll be screwed.
She’s been crying, she’s in shock and very frightened. While she’s in the shower I try to clean up what looks like a bar fight. I rummage around in the fridge and find some eggs. I’m not much of a cook, but I can rustle up an omelette. When she appears in the kitchen, I realise I must be in a bad way if a woman dressed like she is – in a hideous old sweatshirt with some faded design on the front, thick socks and ancient sweatpants – still excites me to the point that I’m ready to go, but that’s just how it is. Even when she’s dazed and tired and is having to force a smile, and her hair is damp and she’s not wearing a trace of make-up, I can’t stop wanting her. She sits and eats and thanks me, and I think about how I’m sorry to see her like this, and how I’m sorry for her grandmother, I’m sorry for everything in the goddamn world but . . . if only she gave me the nod, I’d do it with her right here on the table, in the midst of all the dishes. I’m sick, yes – I’m definitely a sick man.
Trying Not To Love You Page 22