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Extended Work
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| Needs Must | |
| By kevinrobson73 | ||
| 07 March 2007 | ||
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has an adult theme -those who may be offended i apologise but you have been warned Needs Must (when the Devil drives) I had just finished fixing the elevator by the time she came out of the hotel. She was making a show of drying her mountain of glossy black hair on two large blue towels and she was cursing. “Diz you do this?” “Diz you do that? fucking moron, why can’t he speak properly?” “Perhaps because he’s Polish” I ventured as I studiously packed away my tools in their individual earmarked slots. Each one into their rightful place in the roll up of oilcloth that was my toolbox. In truth, me fixing the lift had been no more than me having to press the “reset” button in the elevator cupboard. Howeber I wasn’t going to let anybody know that. My time sheet and materials cost were already clear in my mind for my invoice. “Where to?” I said as I opened the passenger door on the expensive sports car that I intended to own one day. That was provided I could clear the three payments I had missed. Plus keep avoiding the repossession men who thought they had more right to it than I did I stowed the oilcloth in it’s correct holdall in the boot before sliding into the drivers seat. God, I loved this car. The woman, I could take or leave. She’d discarded the towels in a heap beside my seat. “So do you know where you want to go?” I folded the towels in my lap and stewed. I was impatient, I’d been up since five. My belly was growling, no food for nine hours. “Oh, just drive around, I’ll think of somewhere.” “So, can you speak Polish?” I asked her as I negotiated the car down the winding road that leads to the beach. The hotel that we had come from, the Excelsior, showed smaller in the rear view mirror.It sat looking like an expensive sweet confection on it's snow covered mossy mountain top “What’s that got to do with anything?” she petulantly flipped the top of her jewelled cigarette box, broke out one of the black cigarillos, that I disliked so much. She lit it in her glossed lips from a tiny Dunhill lighter. “Well, you’re slating him for not speaking our language properly, you couldn’t put two words together in his, could you?” She threw her head back and blew out a plume of purple acrid smoke in my direction. “You’re still angry with me about yesterday. !” “Of course I am.” “Well, don’t be, learn to live with it.” she laughed I reached across and tried to pull the cigarillo from her hand. She resisted and sparks of tobacco filled the air. I grabbed at her smoke, keeping one hand on the wheel and my eyes on the treacherous road ahead. I wrestlled and won, more sparks fell but I got hold of, and then threw the offending article behind me over the car’s rolled up soft tonneau. It was her turn to sulk. She’d perfected sulking. Her shoulders hunched into the seat away from me as she made herself as small as she could. “It’s for your own good, you know those things’ll kill you.” “You do that again, I’ll fucking kill you.” It was some minutes before she ran her hands through her hair and then re-applied her make up. I noticed that there were little pin holes from the dots of tobacco in the polyester of my trousers. I didn’t dare look to see if the white leather interior had also suffered. Feeling the seat around me there seemed to be no damage. I crossed my fingers for luck. With her make up armour back on she resumed. “Oliver’s, we’ll go to Olivers” she commanded “But that’s back up the hill, why didn’t you say that when we were passing his turn-off twenty minutes ago.” Ignoring my rebuke she continued. “We need to get him a peace offering, I can’t just turn up empty handed.” How about a couple of soggy towels” I asked reaching across and dumping them in her lap. “It is about yesterday, isn’t it?” “Yes” I replied “and all the other yesterdays.” “Well, if you don’t like what I do for a living, you don’t have to put up with me, there are plenty of others willing to take your place.” With the burst of adrenaline that I should have used to punch her, I handbrake turned the car, overtook a dawdling Sunday motorist before switching back to my side of the road as I approached the hairpin bend that would take us back up the mountainside Her lips had whitened as she contemplated her future, or lack of it. I continued to throw the responsive steering so that she was jerked in her seat. “Olivers, it is then” I said through gritted teeth. We arrived at Olivers in less than seven minutes. “I haven’t got a gift,” she reproached me as she levered herself out of the body hugging seat. “Well, you’ll have to think of something fast, here he is - and he does not look happy.”
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