THE LAST NIGHT
by Rosalinda Hutton
He sat on the edge of the hotel bed attempting to tie his
shoelaces as she leaned her body close to his. ‘I can change’
she whispered breathlessly, ‘I’m learning all the time’. He
turned towards her and held her face gently in his hands, looking
closely at the desperation in her eyes. He was amused at her
childlike attempts to please him, but he felt uncomfortable and
threatened. He needed to calm her, to quieten her down. He leant
towards her softly shooshing her fears with light butterfly kisses.
Her lips responded and moved to meet his, but he broke the spell and
turned to continue dressing. He toyed with his tie, occasionally
allowing one hand to fall behind him to stroke and caress the
seductive body, reclining sensually on the bed.
She had turned away from him and was lying on her back,
her eyes now filled with tears. He looked down at her and spoke
reassuringly. ‘Don’t ever change - I like you just as you are’.
He spoke to her like a father, stern and masculine, and normally she
would have melted. Normally she would accept whatever he said, she
admired and looked up to him so much. She felt safe when he was with
her, protected. She could see the pain in his eyes too, the
overwhelming need, the love, the desire. Sometimes she thought he
was as vulnerable as she was. She knew that what he said made sense,
acknowledging their affair would wreck both their lives, she knew
that, but yet?
He could sense a storm brewing, and he was anxious to
avoid a scene. He playfully undid the button of his trousers and
looked up at her bashfully with his hair flopping carelessly into his
eyes. Ok it would make him a few minutes late, but he was starting
to become worried.
She sat up abruptly, brushing his hands away. ‘I need
a drink’ she muttered angrily, as she stumbled across the floor,
trying desperately to hold onto her dignity. She was angry, she
wasn’t going to let him get away with it, not tonight. She wasn’t
prepared to stay in the background any longer. She was as good as
his wife, just as good, in fact, she was better - she had made it on
her own.
She needed more than this. She couldn’t bear to be
alone any longer. The continual days of solitude that ran into each
other as she waited for a brief phone call or a stolen afternoon.
Never a night! Oh no, never a full night. She needed to feel his
arms around her, to fall asleep with her body moulded into his. To
share their warmth and their pain together. Why didn’t he feel the
same!
He watched her walk across the room, struggling to walk
straight and to hold her head high. He felt a mixture of pity,
amusement... and lust! She had pulled the satin negligee back into
place, and the folds of material rustled invitingly, the lace
clinging to her voluptuous curves. She had poured herself another
drink and had turned to look at him with her glass swaying unsteadily
in her hand. He remained sitting on the bed and gazed up her sweet
baby face. Her eyes were blotched with black mascara and her lips
were puffed and swollen. Her blond hair was mussed up, sexually
bedraggled. She looked pathetic and wanton. He could feel his groin
stirring, the passion rising in his chest. He didn’t know whether
to embrace her or hit her! He wanted to overpower her, to dominate
her, to hate her. He didn’t know if it was anger or desire!
He wanted and needed her desperately, but having her
would destroy him. He watched in silence as she gulped back the
large glass of straight liquor, and he felt disgust and loathing,
even for himself.
She turned back to the bar and poured another drink.
‘Leave her’, she mumbled. He heard what she had said but
remained silent. He sat with his head hung down, his hands clasped
together in desperation. Any previous feelings of passion he had
were now overtaken by panic. She was becoming too clingy, even
unhinged. In the past few weeks she had become more unstable,
telephoning him constantly, day and night, even at his home. He was
terrified of what she might do.
‘I can be like her, I can be anything you want me to
be’. She was starting to scream so he rushed over and held her
tightly in his arms. If only she would understand. He tried to
pacify her, whispering into her ear. She had heard it all before,
she knew the reasons. She wanted to understand, she wanted to be
patient, to do the things he said, if only he would give her one last
chance.
She knew in her heart that this was their last night,
that she was losing him forever. He rarely returned her calls, those
early heady days of passion were a distant memory, he had lost
interest in her, he had moved on. She had had to beg him to meet
her, for what she knew, would be one last time.
She buried her face into his strong chest, he smelt
wonderful, the soft sensuality of his damp, freshly showered skin
overwhelmed her senses. She could feel him pushing her away, but she
held tight.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever met, and she
had met many! He oozed power and confidence, something she had never
had. At least not without the booze and pills. He was adored,
idolised. Everyone who met him was instantly won over by his
handsome looks and charismatic personality. Why should she be any
different? Yet she knew she could be so good for him. The family
would accept her, why wouldn’t they? if only she could have a
chance to meet them!
They stood in the centre of the room, locked in an
embrace. He breathed in the smoky, musky perfume of her hair, she
smelt of their lovemaking and again he felt aroused. He was losing
his resolve, but he knew too that the situation was getting out of
hand, it was becoming too dangerous. He tried to push her away,
slowly and gently, terrified that the smell of her might cling, and
that he would need another shower. ‘The kids are too young’, he
pleaded. ‘ I would be crucified’. She stepped back and looked at
the defeated figure in front of her, she knew that she had lost him.
In her mind she searched frantically, clutching for a
word or a reason to make him stay, anything that would mean this was
not the end. ‘It doesn’t have to be everything - not straight
away’. She banged her glass down onto the bar, ‘can’t we just
be seen together... go to a restaurant!’ He looked up at her and
smiled, half laughing, he spoke softly, ‘you know that’s not
possible’. As he spoke there was a knock on the door and he walked
back a few paces to acknowledge it. He watched her in silence, he
didn’t know what to say, what could he say? She had poured another
drink and was fumbling in her handbag for pills. She looked so sad.
She tilted her head back in a dramatic gesture as she swallowed the
tablets with huge glugs from her overfull glass.
He felt guilty as he walked towards the door, that was
what she had wanted him to feel.
The voice from behind the door spoke urgently, yet
softly, ‘we have to leave now Mr. President’. He turned back for
one last look, she was struggling to maintain her stance and her
dignity, gazing down at the mixture of pills in her outstretched
hand. ‘Don’t drink vodka with them Marilyn’, he said, as he
closed the door behind him.
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