Chapitre 2: Chapter 2
Marilyn. A petite Latin American beauty, with long dark hair. Frank had me ether a year earlier at a Casino. Sitting alone at a long bar overlooking the tables.Both quietly enjoying their drinks. Frank was not a man to hit on women. He preferred keeping to himself. For some unknown reason they started talking.After the fall out with his ex-wife he certainly did not want a repeat performance. But some things in life we have no control over. As if the Universe had conspired to push Frank's life in a specific direction.
It couldn't be avoided.Marilyn initiated the conversation."What are you doing?" She had asked innocently.
"Oh... Just taking numbers down."
"What for?"
"It's cheaper than playing. I get to see if I can win without losing money...It's what we Accountants do for fun... So what's your name?" Frank diverted back to her.
"Marilyn." She smiled and flashed her eyes.
"That's a nice name... I'm Frank."
And shook her small delicate hand.Further small talk revealed Marilyn was married, with her husband still . And that she waited tables at a restaurant catering Mexican cuisine.Sending back what she could afford to her family Tijuana. It was a relationship Frank had trouble understanding. But one which Marilyn had little trouble accepting. Some cultures are just different to others thought Frank. Within of casual meetings they had fallen into bed and became lovers. 's sexual drought.
And finding a peace he had long since forgotten. To Marilyn it satisfied her own sexual frustrations.Moving in with Frank soon after their affair began. Frank's little disruption to their relationship. But what was their relationship?Being Catholic, Marilyn was unwilling to divorce. The writing was on the wall unless something happened to her husband. No doubt he had a mistress tending to his own carnal digressions. For Frank it was better not to think about affairs. Knowing it could end at any time.Frank enjoyed the best of both worlds. A sexual arrangement, without the commitment. Marilyn filled a hole in Frank' life.
As no doubt he filled one in hers. Worries of the ex-wife faded as he found himself falling in love with Marilyn. This time he had nothing to lose. His ex-wife had taken everything the first time. The emotional bank was empty. Marilyn was the perfect lover.Sensual. Sensitive. Seductive.
Everything he ever wanted in a woman.Everything his ex-wife was not. Compared with Marilyn, there was no comparison.Frank glimpses the mirror on the wall and sees the reflection of the man in the dark suit looking at him. Who is he? IRS? Debt collector? Frank gulps a mouthful of bourbon. And turns about hoping to catch the man staring. But hehad resumed his newspaper.
"Psst... Tomo..." Frank catches his attention.Tomo moves closer polishing a glass in his hand.
"What's up? You want another one already?"
"Nah I'm good... What's with the guy in the dark suit? Keeps looking at me." Frank whispers trying to keep his voice down.
Tomo looks over to the man sitting quietly in the booth.
"Don't know... Been here a few times now... Just sits there and reads the paper. Keeps to himself... Always looking about at people. Don't take it personally... Unless he hits on you... Want me to have a word with him?"
"Nah. Nah. I'm good... Just get a feeling I'm going to be served with something."
"What you been up to?"
"Nothing I swear.... Just a feeling."
"Well... Get that drink down you... He looks more like one of them secret agents if you ask me... Maybe he thinks you're looking at him." Tomo suggested turning the tables on Frank' thoughts.
"Yeah. I'm getting paranoid... Maybe one more before I head off. Marilyn will be waiting."
"Okay... But it's your last one... You have to drive. Though I doubt the cops will be out in this weather." Saids Tomo pouring two fingers into Frank' glass followed by a fresh cube of ice.
"I hope that's not your dinner."
"Wish it was." Frank relishes the thought.The day had passed like any other that week. His mobile was no closer to ringing with a job prospect. Recruitment Agencies had written him off. Thinking of them as parasitic flesh traders, punching a ticket on other people's sweat. But he needed them, as much as they needed him. Only when the agency got desperate would the call him.
Frank checks his mobile. No emails. No missed calls. He would jump online later. Hit the employment sites, sending out his CV to all and sundry.Hoping someone would take the bait and see some worth in him. The market was saturated with unemployed accountants. Younger, smarter, and cheaper.
He had already cut his rate to that of ten years ago. And still had no takers.
"Damn merchant bankers... Fuckin wankers... If I had a gun." cursed Frank.
"Careful what you wish for Frank." Said Tomo passing.
Sniffing in a lungful of air and looks to the fogged windows. Lights of passing vehicles suggested it was late and he would soon be joining them.He contemplated a thought that had been percolating in the back of his mind.What else could he do if he could not be accountant?
He had always fancied the idea of driving trucks. Give away the accounting lark. Swallow his pride. And get to live among the working class for a while. Make a change from being stuck in an office. He could always look for a proper job while he drove.
The primal thought appealed to his sense of adventure. Eye brows knitted together as his mind digested the dynamics and vomited them back at him.Nah. Without experience, trucking companies would just laugh at him. Why bother he told himself. Staring into his glass hoping to find the answer. Seeing his glass had emptied itself again he pushed it forward and released it from his grip. Throwing money on the counter to cover his tab. He slides off the bar stool which had held him in place for the past four hours to regain his balance.
"You okay to drive?" Ask Tomo coming to collect the empty glass.
"Yeah... I good. Just getting my sea legs... Catch you tomorrow." Said Frank pulling on his thick jacket and securing it to face the bleak weather howling outside.Turning briefly he looks back over his shoulder to the man in the booth. Now looking directly at him. Observing his departure. The man nods and resumes his paper, as if to wish him farewell. Frank dismisses the gesture, keen to get to his car and home in one piece. Cops wouldn't be out in this he thought. So long a she did not hit anyone on the way home he had escape their attention for the evening.
Pulling up the thick collars of his coat he opens the bar door and is immediately struck in the face by a wall of cold air. He looks about to where he thought he had last parked his car. A cherry red '56 Buick. It was not too hard to spot among the imports. His one last prized possession. The one thing he had managed to retain from the train wreck of a marriage. Digging his hands into his pockets to find some comfort from the biting wind. And to find his keys.Just then he looks up and sees a squad car cruise pass.
Frank watches cautiously if the officers see him. Driving on unaware of the intoxicated pedestrian fumbling for his keys on the sidewalk. He was the least of their worries. And they were the least of his. Opening the Buick's door he slides himself onto the red leather bench seat.
Closing the door behind him and shutting out the cold buffering wind. Cocooned inside the Buick's metal the key and the V8 rumbles to life first time. Purring softly as he rocks the accelerator. A harmonic rumble shakes the body of the vehicle as the torque of the engine awaited to be unleashed."Take me home Sweetie", Frank asked of his classic love.Windshield wipers blinked in unison like long eye lashes back and forth.Smearing away the falling tears. Lights flooded the drenched road ahead.
as heavy rain hindered driver's visibility. Above him, the sound of muffled rain pounded on the roof of the car. It had withstood the elements thrown at it over time. The Buick knew the back roads back to better than Frank did.Straining to focus his eyes on the road ahead. Struggling to see through rain. Wondering if he had had one too many as the Buick drifted into lane. Before correcting it at the last moment. A car horn sounds .
But Frank ignores it and forgives the driver for their indiscretion with a warning."Fuck off!" He calls out to the closed window beside him.The other driver flips him a birdie and accelerates passed him."Fuck you too." Frank curses in return. "Fuck off!"Now was not to time to engage in social intercourse. The last thing was a cop wanting him to blow into a breathalyzer.
After a series of turns down side streets the Buick finally parks itself outside the apartment building.He could see lights on. Marilyn was home. Killing the engine and lights. Taking in the moment of silence. Recollecting on the man at the bar? His intuition was telling him there was something more than just a stranger passing through town.The thought unsettled him.'Hmm', Frank thought summing up everything he knew about the man.
"We'll see if you're there tomorrow." Said Frank to himself.Frank scrambles from the car. Adjusts his jacket to prevent the bite of and rain leaking through. And hurries inside the apartment building.Climbing the flight of stairs to the first floor apartment.
"Honey I'm home!' He calls out.
"Just in here bad man." Marilyn calls back.Finding Marilyn in the kitchen over a pot, stirring gently.
"Hey sweetie, how was your day?" He asks kissing the top of her head.
"Good... How was yours?"
"Same as ever."
Wrapping his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. "It's turned nasty out there."
"You're nasty... And cold!" She protests.
Smelling the bourbon on ."I know... And you're warm and lovely." Reluctant to let her go.
"Go wash up while I dish up."
She orders him."You're no fun." Frank protests.
"Later bad man." Pushing him away.
"Okay, I'm holding you to it."
"You always do." She responds with a grin.Frank heads to the bathroom and splashes his face with water. Hoping to awaken himself from the bourbon induced state. And looks at a reflection in the mirror."Who are you?" He asks the man staring back at him. The answer never came.
The man in the mirror knew as much as he did. Yet the man in the mirror was responsible for where Frank found himself.
"It's on the table!" Marilyn calls out from the kitchen.
"I'm coming!" Calls back Frank,
"I'm coming..."The man in the mirror watches him leave.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone