Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 305

BOOK: Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 305
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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.

BOOK: Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 305
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