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ZOMBIE TALES
PRIMROSE COURT
APT. 305
By
Robert DeCoteau
A
ZOMBIE TALES PRESS
Publication
APT. 305
“Baby, please,” Charles begged.
“Why do you doing this every time?” Mariana asked with her thick Spanish accent, stamping her foot, “I tol’ you it is jus’ a job, jus’ work, Charlie. Now get out of the way so I don’t be late again.”
Charles hated having to do this in the courtyard for all the neighbors to see. He wiped his forehead and took a half step towards his wife so she would hear his quiet words.
“But, baby, we talked about this,” Charles said in a low voice, “I have a lot of money, I have enough that you don’t have to work anymore.”
“I know, Charlie,” she replied, putting on her pouty face, the face she made when she wanted to get her way, “but I need to work, I always take care of myself.”
He loved her accent. He loved her long legs and her thick mane of wavy, black hair. He loved the tits that he had bought for her as a wedding gift. He loved everything about her but her job. Four years running, she had been the main attraction at Rendezvous, the hottest strip club in the Seattle area. Charles used to be a regular there, back when his mother was still alive. He would go there straight from work three or four nights a week and stay until well into the early morning hours. Avoiding his mother and her incessant complaining had been a big part of it, but mostly he went to see Mariana.
She had caught his eye the very first day she got up on the main stage and awkwardly flung herself around, trying to be provocative. When her song was over, he had hurried to intercept her as she carefully plodded down the three stairs. She hadn’t yet developed the knack of walking in eight inch heels either. She had been wearing an embarrassed and bashful expression when he came to stand in front of her. He had wiped his sweaty hands on the front of his slacks nervously then offered his hand to shake.
“I’m Charles,” he had said.
She looked down at his hand, back up at him, and back down at his hand again, timid, like a little mouse. Finally, she clutched his hand with her fingertips and gave it a little shake, so demur.
“So what’s your name?” Charles had asked.
“Marianna,” she had said, “… I mean, Destiny.”
Destiny, it sounded so lovely the way she said it in her Spanish accent. That was the day Charles began to believe in destiny, the day he fell in love.
“Can I have a dance?” Charles had asked, using his cocktail napkin to wipe the sweat off his upper lip.
She looked around the small club as if she had lost someone and then turned back to him.
“Maybe you like to try one different girl,” she had said, “I am, how you say… new and…” she shrugged.
“I don’t mind,” Charles had said with a smile.
He had spent over two thousand dollars that day. Over and over he had paid for one lap dance after another. She would go off to take her breaks or have to take her turn on the main stage, but the rest of the time, she was with him. By the end of her shift, she had learned a lot. She had become comfortable on stage as well as dancing for him. Charles had become comfortable too, so comfortable that he had ejaculated in his boxers twice towards the end of the evening.
~ You’re a dirty pervert, Charles Grimly; you’re a dirty, nasty little boy. ~
Quiet Mother.
“Charlie... Charlie!” Mariana snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, “Awe, forget it, I’m going to be late.”
She spun on her heels and began clomping across the courtyard again, digging in her purse for her keys.
Charles blinked away the memories and wiped his upper lip with the paper towel clutched in his hand. He glanced around as if trying to remember where he was or what had brought him outside.
~ That Whore. ~
Mother, please.
Charles raced after his young wife.
“Baby, please, just give me a few minutes to talk,” he said, moving to block her path.
“We’ve been over this a dozen time!” Mariana shouted, “I’m sick of this chit, Charlie, you know who I am when we get marry.”
Charles loved the way her English got worse the harder she tried, but he wished she could keep her voice down.
“Baby, please, don’t make a scene,” Charles whispered trying to get her to calm down. He glanced around the courtyard and was glad to see that no one seemed to have noticed the outburst.
~ You should make your filthy whore wife put some clothes on. ~
Mother, let me deal with this, please.
~ If you had any sense at all, you would never have married that tramp. Was it worth it, Charlie Boy? Was it worth sending me away to have this little tramp in your life? ~
Mariana was yelling in Spanish at him and Charles tried to listen. He understood the language on a basic level, but in Mariana’s current mood, he couldn’t decipher one in four words.
“Mari, honey, I can’t understand you,” Charles confessed knowing how much it would irritate her, but also hoping that he could keep her talking. If there were any chance of him convincing her to quit her job, he would have to keep her talking. She had a way of using the silent treatment on him like a master. She could go days without a word, in English or Spanish.
“Charlie, stop treating me like I’m sun kind of whore, I go to my work and I make money.” she was yelling again.
“I know, Mari, but I just want to take care of you, why won’t you just stay home and let me take care of you?”
“I take care of me jes’ fine,” she stated as she began digging in her handbag again, “Damn, I lef’ my keys u’stairs.”
She clomped back the way they had come. Charles put his head down and followed.
She may not have mastered the language yet, but she had definitely master walking in the tall heels. She exuded sensuality with every step even if she was in a hurry.
Charles scrambled after her, unable to match her long strides. He waddled up the front steps and got the door open for her just as she arrived. She slipped past him without a word and strode straight to the large hardwood staircase. Her tall black heels clacked, echoing throughout the wide open lobby.
Charles glanced longingly at the elevator. The ‘out of order’ sign there was faded and dusty. He turned back to the stairs and huffed as he hurried to keep up with his wife. He watched her ass swaying in front of him. The tight leather miniskirt she wore did little to cover her. Two steps behind her, he could see she had chosen the leopard print thong today. He wished he had had the nerve to get rid of all her skimpy clothes.
~ Don’t be such a push over Charlie Boy. Take control, you’re the man, the husband. Don’t let that little tart walk all over you in those nasty hooker boots. ~
Mother, please let me do this my way.
By the time Mariana reached the third floor landing, Charles had fallen behind. He wheezed short gasping breaths, his calves burned with the exertion. Sweat ran freely down his forehead and into his eyes. He patted at his face with his damp paper towel and fumbled in his pocket for the house key.
Mariana waited at the door, tapping her foot. When he finally reached her side, she rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly.
“You been cheating on your diet,” she said.
“No I haven’t, honey. I have been doing good. I only eat what you tell me to.”
Charles looked down at his body self-consciously. He had lost eighty pounds in the eleven months that he had been a vegan, but he could stand to lose another eighty.
“Well then, you eat too much of what I tell you.”
Charles hated vegetables; steamed, blanched, raw, stir fried, it was all the same. It wasn’t fair that she still brought home chips and meat and TV dinners. Watching his hundred and fifteen pound wife tear through an entire bag of Doritos wasn’t his idea of a good time.
He missed bread the most. Some nights he would dream about a thick slab of prime rib smashed between a golden, sesame seed covered, sweet roll, not a single carrot or celery stick in sight.
~ Oh, my poor Charlie Boy. I never did this to you; I wouldn’t starve my baby like this. ~
“You’re a peeg, you need to go to the geem more, Charlie, how you espect me to go in public with you?”
Charles fumbled with the lock and finally got the door open. He refused to respond to her. If he let her start in on him, she would degrade him until he was a broken pile of self hate, a huddled mass of whimpering self loathing. The way she talked to him made him want to lay down and die.
“Get out of the way,” Mariana said pushing passed him and clomping across the apartment. She checked the kitchen first, sometimes her keys ended up in the candy dish on the counter, or in the junk drawer next to the fridge. Having no luck there, she moved to the living room and then on to her bedroom.
Charlie followed her down the hall and stood at her door as she rummaged through the miscellaneous items on the nightstand. He wasn’t allowed in her room. She valued her privacy so much he normally wouldn’t have even stood at the door, but he still wanted to convince her that she should stay home.
“Honey,” he addressed her as she crossed to the pile of clothing on the floor and started shaking each item, listen for the jangle of keys, “You promised to quit that job once the Porsche was paid off.”
She didn’t respond, pretended not to hear. Charles stepped out of her path as she crossed the hall to the bathroom and then moved on to his bedroom. He followed closely behind her and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She rifled through his drawers and his nightstand with no regard for the person items. She opened the closet and began pulling everything down from the high shelf. Charles could see that she was no longer looking for the keys; she was vindictively tearing the room apart in the hope that Charles would tell her where they were.
She snatched a small travel case off the shelf and dropped it at her feet.
“Be careful, that was Mother’s,” Charles blurted as he moved in to pick up the case.
She kicked it to the back of the closet and sidestepped him as he lunged into the mess to retrieve the valued item.
~ Charlie Boy, she has no respect, you aren’t going to let her get away with that. ~
When Charles heaved himself to his feet with the case in hand and turned back, he saw that Mariana had flipped the mattress up and had her fist full of keys in her hand. She spared a second to glare at him then started flipping through the keys; it only took her a moment to realize that the key to her car wasn’t there.
“You fat piece of chit, give me my key!” she screamed and hurled the knot of keys at his head.
Charles turned his face away and the heavy set of keys slammed into the side of his head. Before he even had a chance to turn back and confront her she had grabbed the travel case from his hand. He fumbled after it as she lifted it over her head and flung it across the room.
The mirror over the dresser shattered from the impact and the little, hard leather box thumped to the floor.
~ Charlie Boy! ~
Vaulting over the exposed box spring, Charles dropped to his knees in front of the twisted box. The latch had popped open and one of the hinges had broken. On the floor, a few inches away, were the dried remnants of his Mother’s left hand. Her wedding ring glimmered brightly against the tight, gnarled skin.
“Oh, Mother…” Charles whispered. Slowly he picked up the severed hand as if it were a tiny kitten. He gently placed it back on the velvet padding inside the box.
“What the fuck is… Oh, you seeck bastard… you …” Mariana began backing towards the bedroom door, all thoughts of her missing keys forgotten. Charles turned to face her and the rage that he had carefully locked away for almost four years came bursting out of him. The fear in her eyes was gratifying. Mariana had been feeding his evil since the day of their wedding, feeding it with every snide comment and cruel joke, with every miniskirt and tube top. Every time he had bit into a bland sprig of broccoli or tasteless celery stick, she had fed his monster. All this time that she had refused to sleep with him, it all went into the evil that had finally given him the power to stand up to his mother. Now he would share that evil with his wife.