Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Eight

17

 

Barbara

 

 

I couldn’t stop crying. I could barely see because of it and in the dim flashing lights of the night club and the blur of the tears my eyesight, already poor, had gone to hell.

 

I pushed my way through the jostling crowds, hating the din from the toneless “music,” just desperate to get out of there, apologising and begging people to get out of my way. Everyone there was half my age, scantily clad strumpets and rough looking gigolos. I didn’t fit in here. This wasn’t me. It wasn’t Charles either. I had to get out! But I was still only half way through!

 

I stopped, covering my face, hyperventilating, wishing I’d never started all this, wanting to roll back the clock. It had all gone so horribly wrong. I didn’t know what to do! This wasn’t how my life was! My life was always so safe and normal. Charles made all the big decisions. I just went with the flow from restaurant to penthouse suite to first class air travel. This wasn’t meant to happen.

 

I forced my way on again, my throat tightening, my breath becoming shallow. The crowds thinned suddenly then thickened again and I became even more panicked. I could barely see anything. I couldn’t even be sure I was going in the right direction. It was just a consuming noise and lights flashing, silhouettes of youngsters, bare arms and chests coming up against me.

 

And then I was out!

 

I ran across the road without looking, pushing past a young couple and leaned forward, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

 

I’d left Charles in there. I couldn’t believe I’d left him in there. But what could I do? He wouldn’t listen to me! He wouldn’t come out! He hit me!

 

He wasn’t Charles anymore. I’d lost him. I’d lost my husband! And maybe things would change the other way now! Maybe I’d forget I ever had a husband – think I was just… think I was just a single woman here on my own.

 

“Oh God,” I muttered, holding my cheeks. “Oh God, what am I going to do?”

 

The club was jam-packed now, the lights dimmer, the music even louder. There was no sign of Charles anywhere. I started crying again, plopping down on the side of the pavement. I bowed my head and rested my elbows on my bare knees, hands limp above my neck. I felt lost. Completely. What on earth was I meant to do now?

 

I stayed like that. I couldn’t move. I was afraid to. I so wanted Charles to change his mind – for him to appear next to me suddenly, his old comfortable self, helping me up with a kind smile and a warm hand.

 

But he didn’t come. I was alone. And eventually my tears dried. I raised my head, looking at the entrance to the club.

 

I didn’t want to go in there again. I couldn’t face confronting that boy, seeing his sneering council-house expression and narrow eyes. I couldn’t bear to see nothing of my Charles in him at all.

 

But I had to go back. I had to go right away.

 

Because he was my husband.

 

He was my husband and if I didn’t act immediately he would be lost to me forever.

 

I had to go now!

 

 

18

 

Charles

 

 

Barbara didn’t fucking understand; it was as simple as that.

 

She had no frikkin clue because she’d changed back. She wasn’t feeling what I was anymore. She’d had a sissy fucking panic attack or something and now she was just a fat old woman.

 

This was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I felt amazing: like I was fired up on drugs or something. I was pissed as well which was a lovely feeling. I hadn’t been drunk like this in years. Too many fucking poncy glasses of brandy, thinking I was some big business mogul and trying to act the part. In fact I’d just looked like a twat. But not anymore.

 

And Barbara was talking shit about forgetting who I was. It had only happened for a second and now I knew about it I could just stay focussed; stop it happening. I wasn’t a moron; I had a will of fucking iron!

 

The beat was vibrating down through my body. I just stood, feeling it for a minute then I went to the bar and ordered another shot on the money she’d given me. Just find some bird and shag her. That was the plan. If Lorraine— If Barbara didn’t want to put out then it was her frikkin loss. I could change back anytime. There was no hurry.

 

A couple of birds were hanging off the bar a few metres away, tank tops and short skirts; brunettes. They noticed me, giving me the eye and then giggling to one another. I tipped my drink to them and gave them a wink then I knocked it back. I slammed my palm down on the bar twice to get the barman’s attention and ordered three more. I kept contact with the girls, enjoying the non-verbal flirtation. I looked like a nasty piece of work – I knew that – but with this wiry body, girls that age didn’t give a shit. It was what they wanted. They weren’t looking for a husband. They just wanted a good time. And I was one to give them that now. I wasn’t some fat old fucker anymore; some jumped up middle-aged businessman. I was pure bad-boy sex appeal and these birds knew it.

 

The barman set the drinks down. I gave him a nod, handing over the cash then fixing the two birds in my gaze again, I sidled over, loving the anticipation build up on their faces, knowing what was coming.