TABOO TALES(erotica)

“So how have you been?”

“OK, I guess. I was promoted to Director.”

“I heard. That’s well done.”

They sat awkwardly, the silence stretching out, and at length he spoke.

“I thought the ceremony went well.”

“Yeah. Dad is so happy. Melanie looks such a nice person.” She regarded him. “I don’t want to talk about that, Ben. I want to talk about us.”

“Right”

She looked into his face. “I nearly didn’t come today because I thought you’d be here.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I came for Dad only. You know I never wanted to see you again.”

“I guess I deserved that.”

She shook her head, angry for the first time. “You deserve a Frying Pan on the side of the head, Ben!” She waited until the flash of anger subsided. “What we had wasn’t a game. It wasn’t something you could put on and take off like a shirt each morning.”

“I know that now.”

She stared at him. “So what’s given you this amazing wisdom all of a sudden? Don’t tell me you’re starting to think with your head instead of your dick!” She looked around. “And where’s that schoolgirl you shacked up with – or have you walked out on her too?”

“She wasn’t a schoolgirl.”

“Well, she looked like one.” Chelsea leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “What the fuck were you thinking Ben? Wasn’t I good enough for you?”

He raised his eyes from the table and looked at her steadily. “I made a dreadful mistake, Chelsea. Haven’t you ever made a mistake? Haven’t you ever done something that you know you’ll regret for the rest of your life?”

Chelsea stared at him, thinking of Rebecca lying in her bed each morning and what they did to each other. Every day they were together tied the knots of complication tighter, and she knew she would have to do something about it. Ben was right – people did make mistakes. The question was whether they learned from them. She remembered the Ministers words that morning … always stand by him for good or ill. She felt her anger dissipating, replaced by a great weariness. Life was so fucking complicated.

Ben continued talking, his eyes on her face. “Don’t you think that I think about it every day of my life, Chelsea?” He reached out and gripped her arm, his fingers warm on her skin. “I’d say sorry, but that wouldn’t even begin do justice to how I think.”

She wasn’t going to let him off so lightly. “So where is Lolita?”

He released her arm and expelled his breath, leaning back in the chair. “If you mean Sophie, she’s gone.”

“And who pushed who?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?” There was a shout of laughter from a nearby table and he waited for the noise to subside. “I know it sounds trite, but when I left it was never about her… she just happened along at the same time.” He looked at Chelsea’s expression, seeing the cynicism in her eyes. “It’s true – I never left you for Sophie. It was all about us having to hide what we had for each other, and my fear of people finding out. I thought we could never be really together – you know, without always looking over our shoulders to see who was looking, and I couldn’t handle it.” His voice tailed off, aware of how inadequate it sounded. “I guess I was tired of being ashamed of loving you,” he finished lamely.

Chelsea shook her head. “Was that all?” she said bitterly. “Didn’t you ever think of talking to me about that?” She stopped, aware that people on the other table were looking at her, and she dropped her voice. “Look, Ben, what we do isn’t anyone’s business but our own. Sure there will always be a few busybodies who poke and pry, but that’s not our concern. Don’t you think that you and I could have lived together for the rest of our lives? Who was ever going to change that, other than you and Lolita?”

“The authorities, for one.”

“Bollocks! We move to another town and set up together… we already have the same surname. Who’s going to bother – I mean, really, Ben. Who’s going to poke around and find out that we are related for God’s sake? And even if they do, who’s to know what goes on between us… we could just be sharing a place to live.”Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

He smiled at her. “Does that mean we are back together?”

She turned her grey eyes on him, like chips of steel. “No it does not! I’ll have to think about whether I even want to see you again – and I haven’t ruled out the Frying Pan therapy, either.”

He smiled. “Go for it… at least it will mean that I see you again.”

“You wouldn’t see anything for a week if I hit you with a skillet.” She stood up and gathered her bag and gloves. “I’m out of here, Ben.” Her voice softened. “You take care, do you hear?”

“Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll have to think about it.” She turned and walked away, and Ben watched her until she turned a corner and was lost from sight.

Epilogue

Ben took a final look around his apartment to make sure everything was perfect. He’d just finished an extensive refurbishment, scouring away the last traces of Sophie’s taste in paint and furnishing, and he’d gone for concealed lighting and soft, pastel colours offset by bright prints and fabrics. The Christmas tree stood in the corner of the lounge, inexpertly draped with tinsel and coloured balls that reflected the twinkle of the candles that he had lit a few minutes ago.

He wiped his hands on the tea towel he was carrying, and smiled ruefully. He was as nervous as a kid on his first date, desperate for everything to go right. He thought about the days since the wedding – how he and Chelsea had met for coffee a couple of times, and then taken the first halting steps towards rebuilding their relationship. Actually it had been fun rediscovering her – he had forgotten the quick sense of humour and her vitality. It had been a slow process, though, and aside from a peck on the cheek and a quick hug there had been no intimacy. Tonight was a big step forward as she had agreed to come to his apartment for dinner.

The doorbell rang and he hurried to answer it. She was stood on the doorstep clutching a carrier bag, and she had a little Santa hat on her head tilted to one side.

He laughed. “Why, it’s one of Santa’s little elves!”

She patted her tummy. “No so little, unfortunately.” She held up the bag. “But I come bearing gifts.”

“Then you are welcome.” He stood back. “Come in, Sis.”

She walked into the room, looking around, handing him the bag. “This is lovely, Ben. It’s yours, isn’t it – I mean you’re not renting.”

“No, its mine – well, me and the bank. Can I show you around?”

“Absolutely.” She followed him through the rooms, impressed by what he had done, noting the way he had blended colours and how neat everything was. They arrived back at the lounge and she turned to him. “It’s beautiful, Ben. You’ve done so well.”

He smiled at the compliment. “What would you like to drink?”

“Champagne, if you have it. We’re celebrating tonight.”

“Really? Celebrating what?”

“Lots of things, Ben – being together a month, being together at Christmas, your first dinner in your beautiful apartment…” She looked at him with bright eyes. “Oh, I forgot,” and she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.”

He had forgotten how soft her lips were, and he struggled to think of something to say. “You might not feel the same after you’ve tasted my cooking.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Not a problem. I’ve been on my own for two weeks, and I could eat a scabby rat.”

Ben poured her drink, watching her take it with her slender fingers, the skin of her arm burnished by the sun. “I don’t have a scabby rat,” he said, “would Rat au Van do?” He laughed. “Do you remember the Black Adder series? Baldrick’s recipe?” He cleared his voice and did a passable imitation of the little soldier “… you take a rat, and run over it with a van…”

Chelsea laughed. “I think you needed a Brit sense of humour to get that.”

Ben regarded her. “Why are you on your own? I thought you had a housemate – Rebecca, wasn’t it?”

She shook her head. “She quit a couple of weeks ago – her ex boyfriend came back, asking her for another chance, so she went back to live with him.”

“Were you sorry or pleased to see her go?”

“Pleased, I think…. she was a lovely girl and we got on well, but it’s nice to have the place to myself.” Chelsea thought of their last night together – candlelight and an intimate meal, and afterwards their gymnastics in the big double bed. They had taken each other to new heights, each of them aware that a chapter of their lives was closing. She smiled: Bec had been right – they had been good for each other, and she thought they would both look back on their time with pleasure.

She became aware of him looking at her enquiringly. “I’m sorry, Ben, what did you say?”

He smiled. “I said dinner is ready.”

“Right. Just give me a moment.”

The dinner was an unqualified success, and Chelsea was touched by the time and trouble he had taken. She held up her glass of wine and looked across at him searchingly, and he smiled back.

“What?”

“I know it’s a forbidden subject, but what happened to Lolita? Last I heard she was living here and next thing you’re renovating.”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know, Chelsea. I guess she decided to move on… she didn’t tell me where she was going.” He fiddled with the stem of his glass. “We didn’t part on particularly good terms, you know – I’ll tell you the story one day.”

It was true – he didn’t know what had happened. He had tried ringing the apartment a few times after speaking to Hussein but she didn’t answer, so one day he had used his key to get in. Every single item of hers had gone, just as if she’d never been there – except for one. There was a manila envelope on the table with his name on it, and inside he’d found the print -outs of his letters. He remembered the post -it note stuck on the top page, and its message in an unknown hand: ‘One good turn…’. That’s all it said. One good turn deserves another. Her diary must have been as damaging as the Detective had said it would be, and that was the payback. He sometimes wondered what had happened to her, but that was dangerous ground. Best he forget.