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
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
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