Marley Felix

Sunday, 1st March 2015

11:05pm

Marley Felix pulled a cigarette from its pack, tapped it twice against the bar and put it between her shocking red lips, leaving a distinctive scarlet print upon the filter. She rummaged through the pocket of her coat for a lighter, but she knew that there wouldn’t be one there. She never kept them.

“Need a light?” A suit-clad man appeared before her, presenting a box of hotel matches. He’d been watching Marley from across the bar since she’d arrived and had jumped at the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the beauty.

Marley flicked her gaze upwards and stared at the thirty-something year old through her false eyelashes. He was dark skinned with slick, black hair and a clean shaven face. There was an air of cockiness about him. Instead of taking the box of matches from his outstretched hand she leaned in.

The man fumbled with the box for a moment in his hurried attempt to extract a match. As he presented the fire to the tip of the cigarette Marley saw the wedding band around his ring-finger.

Marley inhaled and the tip glowed. She leaned back, pulling the cigarette from between her lips.

“Thank you,” she said in a sultry voice before exhaling a long stream of smoke.

He smiled. Marley enjoyed these moments beforehand – loved the way they squirmed as they entered her web.

“You can keep them,” he said, handing over the box of matches. “I don’t smoke.”

She smiled and took the box, pretending to observe it for a moment. “How kind of you.”

“So, uh, what’s that accent you’ve got there?” he asked, perching himself on a stool next to her. “You’re definitely not from around here. Russian?”

The corner of Marley’s mouth twitched. “Ukraine.”

“Oh wow. A long way from home then.”

Marley did not want to talk about herself. “So, are you staying in this hotel?” She already knew he was, of course. She could tell a lot by looking at someone. She pocketed the matchbox knowing that it would be in the trash within the hour.

“Yeah, business trip,” he nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You?”

“Just stopped in for a beverage,” She shook her empty drink, the ice chinking against the glass. Usually that was enough indication for the target to offer her a beverage.

“You on holiday here? Your English is really good.”

It took Marley a lot of willpower not to roll her eyes. “I’ve lived here for five years.”

“Oh, cool. So, what’s your name?” he asked, leaning against the bar as casually as he could muster, clearly missing her invitation to buy her a drink.

“Marley,” she said, taking another drag of the cigarette. “You?”

“Sanket.”

“Sanket?” Marley repeated. A Hindu name.

“Yeah, as in I got on a boat and sank it.” He waited for Marley to laugh at his joke. He said it fast, like a well-rehearsed line. She could tell he’d introduced himself in this way on more than one occasion.

Marley forced a smile. “Funny. Nice to meet you, Sanket.” She extended her free hand, which he held delicately.

“That’s an interesting name, by the way, Marley.”

“Not as interesting as Sanket.”

He smirked, showing straight, white teeth. “Were your parent’s fans?”

“Of Bob Marley? No.” She flicked the ash from the tip of her cigarette before taking another drag, watching Sanket closely. “Ever read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens?”

“No.”

“There’s a character called Jacob Marley. It is his ghost who visits Scrooge first-”

“The face that appears in the door knocker?” He gave her a sheepish look. “I’ve seen the kid’s movies.”

Marley’s red lips curled into a smirk. “That’s the one. He’s your run-of-the-mill worst case scenario. A literary device to show scrooge what awaits him if he doesn’t change his ways.”

“Isn’t that a little morbid?” Sanket asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Marley stubbed out her cigarette and smiled delicately. “Like a taxidermied family dog. I’ve always found beauty in the morbid and macabre. I guess it’s one of the few things I inherited from my parents.” It was all lies, of course. The story, her name, everything. Marley toyed with her empty glass, wondering if Sanket would pick up on this hint.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, right on queue.

“Gin and tonic,” she replied.

Sanket caught the barman’s attention and ordered Marley a drink, adding it to his room’s tab.

“So, what brings you to town, Sanket?” asked Marley, curling a section of blond hair around her index finger and allowing it to unravel. It was a human-hair wig, though the men never could tell. She loved the way it made her look, but god it was itchy. The men never paid her any attention when she was a brunette. Black hair was a no-no with her pale skin as it made her look gaunt and unapproachable.

“Business,” said Sanket, straightening his tie. Marley could tell he was about to begin bragging. “I’m the business manager for an international gaming company specializing in slot entertainment.”

Marley could tell by looking at this young-man that he was not the manager of anything. A sales-man, perhaps. Business managers didn’t stay in three-star hotels on business trips. Clearly it had been a case of finding the most affordable accommodation within the city’s heart. Marley knew all about men and business, and Sanket’s one-hundred-dollar suit was a dead giveaway.

“Impressive,” said Marley, picking up the gin and tonic that had been placed in front of her by the barman.

“Yeah, it’s tough work and long hours, but the pay is good.” He gave an indifferent shrug.

Smug cock, Marley thought as she sipped her drink.

“Can I just say,” Sanket said, placing his hand over his heart. “You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They are so green.”

It took Marley all of her willpower not to sigh in exasperation. How many times had she heard that one? They were contact lenses. Nothing about Marley was real, but she was very good at faking it.

“You are too kind,” Marley said, uncrossing her legs and re-crossing them the opposite way. Sanket’s eyes darted to her thighs which were exposed due to the short length of her tight red dress.

One thing Marley had come to notice about men was they never asked her what she did for a living. They simply didn’t care. She was an object to be admired – not questioned. However, Sanket took her by surprise.

“So, what about you?” he continued. “You must be a model.”

“Well, aren’t you charming?” Marley said. She wasn’t sure why men thought it was a compliment. They often assumed that beauty and brains could not coincide. But Marley was clever. Very clever. “But, no. I’m not a model.”

“You should be,” Sanket said, continuing his praise. “So, what is it then? What do you do?”

Marley stirred her drink slowly and allowed a smirk to play her lips. She grew tired of this conversation and no longer wanted to waste time. It was getting late and she had plans. Let’s get this over and done with. “Why don’t you try and guess? You get five chances.”

“Guess?” he repeated.

“Mmh-hmm. Guess what I do and win the grand prize.”

“What – what’s the grand prize?” asked Sanket, trying to remain calm, though he was visibly excited. He brought his drink to his lips, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

“Me.” Marley said simply.

Sanket’s pupils dilated. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. They were often taken by surprise when she spoke so plainly. It was the quickest way to get the job done.

“I … I’m flattered but I’m actually, uh, married.”

Marley knew this already. He might think that he’d approached her of his own free will, but their meeting had been carefully orchestrated by Marley. However, she was mildly surprised that he had confessed it to her. Most men did not bring it up.

“Yet here you are, buying a strange woman drinks at a bar, telling her how pretty she is.”

Sanket’s jaw tensed and he straightened up. Shit. Bad move.

Marley leaned in, her ample cleavage on display, aided by a very good push-up bra. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she said, smirking.

Sanket put his drink down and studied Marley intensely, his eyes sweeping over her form, mentally undressing her.

“Well, my first thought is air-stewardess.” He said, Marley was relieved that he had decided to play her game.

“Why is that?”

“The airlines always hire the prettiest girls.”

Marley felt a pang of impatience. “Thank you, but no. That’s one guess. Four left.”

“Hm … what about a hairdresser?”

Another common guess. “No. Three left.”

“Shit, okay. Um … something in retail?”

“You need to be more specific than that.” A smile played her lips.

“Right, like, fashion retail?”

“No. Two left.”

“Maybe a – a make-up artist?” Sanket asked, clearly becoming nervous. Marley shook her head slowly, and he swore. “Fuck. Can I get a hint?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Marley chuckled and leaned towards him.

“Aw c’mon, it could be anything.” Sanket was pleading now.

“All right.” Marley drained the last of her drink and placed the glass on the bar. “My work involves … punishing naughty boys.”

Sometimes she saw the answer flit across their face, just for a moment - but they never said it. They denied the possibility that she could be such a thing. Not a sweet, young thing like Marley Felix.

“You’re not … I mean … you’re not a-” He did not want to insult her by suggesting such a thing.

“A what?” She cocked her head to the side. She knew what he wanted to say. Prostitute. Dominatrix. Hooker. Whore. They never insulted her by naming professions.

Sanket scrunched his nose and exhaled loudly. “Argh. I can’t even say it.”

Marley grinned and leaned forward. “Have you been a naughty boy, Sanket?” Her voice was low and teasing.

He gulped audibly before nodding.

“Well, then.” She stood and took him by the hand. “I guess you need to be punished.”

Sarah Benn

Monday, 2nd March 2015

7:31am

Sarah looked at her distorted reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. She opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed some pain-killers and popped two pills into her open palm. She put them in her mouth and lowered her head to the faucet, allowing the tap water to wash the pills down her throat. She’d slept badly and her head throbbed painfully.

After straightening up and wiping her mouth on her sleeve Sarah opened the bathroom door to call out to her son. “James if you don’t hurry you’re going to miss the bus!”

Sarah knew her eight year old son was sitting at the breakfast table absorbed in his new game console.

“Hang on, I’ve almost beat the Gym Leader,” he yelled back. She heard him clicking buttons furiously.

“Save it now,” his mother ordered as she marched into the kitchen. “Or I’ll confiscate it.”

“But you can’t save in the middle of a battle, Mom!” he cried desperately.

“New rule; no game-boy until after school, once you’ve done all of your homework.”

“It’s not a game-boy,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s a Nintendo 3DS XL. Duh.”

“Well pause your Nintendo 3DS XL and plug it into the wall while you’re at school.”

“Ugh. Fine.” He plugged the game into its power cord.

“Now, go, go, go!” Sarah ushered him from the kitchen and towards the front door as she heard the bus pull up outside their house. James retrieved his backpack, which he’d abandoned in the hall the previous day.

It was raining outside so he balanced the bag on top of his head as he ran to meet the bus.

“Bye!” Sarah called from the front door. “Have a good day!”

James didn’t reply; his friends were watching from the bus, and ever since his eighth birthday he was adamant that he was too old for a kiss goodbye. It was embarrassing enough, he said, that she waved from the door wearing her dressing gown and slippers. Other moms went to work.

As the bus pulled away from the curb the mailman walked up the garden path, flicking through a stash of envelopes.

“Hey Mrs. Benn. Miserable day, isn’t it?” he said, handing Sarah an electricity bill and a royalty check.

“I feel sorry for you, Erik, working in this weather,” Sarah replied. “How’s your wife?”

Erik was in his sixties, and his wife was sickly. He’d been Sarah’s mailman for the last ten years.

“Ah, she’s all right,” he said, looking up at Sarah’s gutters. They were clogged with leaves and beginning to flood. Great streams of water cascaded from the roof like miniature waterfalls, splashing upon the porch and soaking the feet of anyone who came to the front door. “I think you need to get someone in to unclog those,” he said. “I’m getting trench-foot just standing here.”

“Darrell was the one who took care of that stuff,” she said, “And Chris isn’t exactly the handy type. He’s more … academic. Guess I’ll have to call a man in.”

Erik looked guilty as he handed Sarah a stack of envelopes. “Sorry Sarah … I didn’t think-“

“It’s fine. It was five years ago. Try to stay warm, okay?”

Erik tipped his hat and bade Sarah goodbye as she stepped into the house and closed the front door on the swamp developing on her front lawn.

Sarah opened her electricity bill, which was always higher than she expected. She blamed it on James’ video game consoles.

Before Sarah’s husband had died she was a freelance writer. She’d even assisted in ghost-writing for some well-known personalities. Sarah had been unable to write anything remotely interesting since Darrell had died. The words refused to come to her and she often found herself sitting in front of the computer staring at a blank screen for hours on end.

Now that James had gone to school Sarah was left to her own devices. Her boyfriend, Chris, wouldn’t come over until at least five-thirty. He was a history teacher at a very prestigious private high-school. The kind that wore blazers and ties and cost about twenty-thousand dollars a year to attend.

Chris was a great guy and quite handsome, a fact proven by the number of female students that constantly sent him love-letters. He had asked Sarah to marry him on their one-year anniversary. She had said no. It was too soon and he was too eager to jump into things. Their relationship had struggled through the rejection, but Sarah was adamant that she would not marry again, not after she had lost the father of her child.

However, Chris was persistent. On their third anniversary, just a month ago, he had proposed again. This time she had agreed to be his fiancé, but would not marry him for another few years, when her son was old enough to understand.

Bran Grate

Monday, 2nd March 2015

8:30am

Every Monday and Wednesday at eight-thirty she was there at the coffee shop. She always ordered a small soy caramel latte. Some days she bought a white chocolate and raspberry muffin, too. Bran knew this because he was there every Monday and Wednesday morning too. He’d stand one or two people in line behind her, watching the dark-skinned beauty make her order. He’d been working up the courage to talk to her going on five months now. Instead he stared longingly at the back of her head twice a week, admiring the tightly wound chocolate curls that cascaded down her back like hundreds of tiny springs. He knew nothing about this woman apart from what time she arrived at the coffee shop. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know what she did for a living. All he knew was that she was here, every Monday and Wednesday, without fail. He liked consistency.

Today, however, was not consistent.

A man wearing a tight white vest with large tattooed arms passed by the coffee-shop window and did a double-take, staring at the dark-skinned beauty. She had just picked up her order and was walking towards the door. He stepped into the doorway, blocking the exit with his massive form.

Bicep-man openly gawked at her, eyes travelling over her body. Bran understood why the semi-giant was staring; her body was ridiculous. At least Bran was more subtle about his staring.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, trying to edge around him. When he spoke his voice carried throughout cafe. A few people paused to stare.

“Damn girl!” He pursed his lips and looked her up and down. Bran tightened his grip upon the strap of his shoulder-bag as he watched the exchange between the pair. “You are fiiiiiiine.”

“I – I beg your pardon?” She stared at him, alarmed.

He reached forwards and pushed two thick fingers into the top of her white chocolate and raspberry muffin before he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them.

“Mmmh, yeah. I would definitely pound that ass. For sure.” He licked his lips.

She gaped at him, speechless. A few customers giggled and brought out their cell-phones to record the exchange.

“I … what? Are you serious right now?” Her tone was one of disbelief. She couldn’t believe what was being said to her so loudly and publicly. “You just stuck your fingers in my breakfast, asshole!”

Rage bubbled up within Bran and he soon found himself walking towards them. This man was a foot taller than Bran and twice as thick. Any onlooker would assume Bran would have his ass handed to him.

“Yeah, gimme your number and we can have some fun. Whaddya reckon?”

“Uh, no,” she said. “Move out of my way.”

“C’mon babe. I wanna taste that tight little ass-” He stepped to the side, preventing her from leaving.

Bran stepped forwards, standing beside her. They were almost the same height – she only two inches shorter than him. “Back off man. She said she isn’t interested.”

Bicep-man glanced at Bran and gave an undignified snort of laughter. “Sit down, son.” He shoved Bran, who caught his balance on a table.

“You don’t talk to women like that,” Bran said, nostrils flared. He was ashamed of the quake in his voice. “Just get out of here, man.”

This made the hulk laugh. “Or what? You gonna make me, bro?

“Yes,” Bran said firmly. “I’ll make you.”

The large man laughed again, pointing at Bran and looking around the café with an expression that clearly said ‘Can you believe this guy? He thinks he can take me!’ “This your boyfriend, sweetheart?”

Her nostril’s flared angrily. “Yeah, he is!” she said, voice shaky. Bran felt his chest tighten.

“This scrawny fuck? He’s the width of my arm!” Yes, Bran was small, but you didn’t need big muscles to defend yourself.

“Hipster piece of shit.” The hulk grabbed Bran’s beanie, tugging it from his head. Bran’s shoulder-length hair had been hidden inside the hat, but it cascaded to his shoulders once freed.

“Oh, fuck! It’s a chick!” The man jumped back, laughing. “Holy shit, I thought you were a dude! God damn trans-dyke, dude.”

Cheeks pink, Bran snatched the beanie back and pulled it onto his head, tucking the hair away again. “I could still kick your ass, douche-bag.”

“Fucking lesbos, man!” He called to the rest of the cafe. “Nasty rug-munchers! I don’t fight girls, I fuck ’em. Want me to set you both straight?”

Bran snapped. In one swift movement the heel of his hand made contact with the Hulk’s nose, blood pissing out instantly.

“You little bitch!” he held his nose which was most likely broken.

Customers in the cafe gasped when the giant man went to tackle Bran. It all happened fast. One second the Hulk was standing – the next he was on his back. Bran had used the weight and power of his aggressor against him, sending him crashing to the floor.

Having sufficiently humiliated his attacker, Bran stepped back. “Get outta here man, before you make more of an ass of yourself.”

Pink-faced, he got up and lumbered from the cafe, glaring bitterly at Bran and the woman he had accosted.

A little shaken, Bran turned back to the dark-skinned woman he’d been admiring from afar for over five months. “Hey, are you okay?”

Her hand was over her mouth, eyes wide with alarm. “Oh my god I can’t believe that actually happened.”

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t you apologise!” She dropped her hand and placed it over her heart. “You did nothing wrong!”

“Guys like that give all of us a bad name.” He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves setting in.

Her expression softened. “Thank you so much for helping.”

“No problem.” He gave a tiny nod and made to walk back to the line to order a coffee.

“Hey,” she caught him by the arm. “What’s your name?”

His throat felt dry. “Uh – Bran.”

“Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. “I’m Leia.”

“As in-?”

“Yeah, as in Princess Leia from Star Wars. My dad is a fanatic.”

He smiled. “Nice to meet you.” Finally.

“The world needs more men like you, Bran.” She gave a bright smile. She’d called him a man. His heart skipped a beat.

Ask for her number, damn it. You can do it.

“Thanks…”

Fuck, you are so awkward.

“Well … see ya round.”

You’re missing your chance, Bran, the little voice in his head chimed in.

“Hey … wait!” Bran called. She glanced back at him. “D’ya want another muffin?” He nodded towards the defiled one in her hand. “Don’t think you wanna eat that one anymore.”

She gave a small smile. “Yeah … that would be nice. Thanks.”

Bran ordered the muffin with his coffee whilst Leia waited near the door. Once he’d picked up the order he approached her slowly, holding out the brown-paper bag. She smiled and took it.

“Thanks. That was really sweet of you.” She hesitated for a moment and Bran knew this was his opportunity to ask for her number. However, the timing felt off. She’d just been harassed and probably did not want to give out her cell phone number to another strange man.

Finally, Leia gave a tiny wave before leaving. Bran watched her go, thoroughly aware that he had missed his opportunity.