No Place in the Sun (17 page)

‘Another bottle of the Rioja please.’ Tania Sherry was hard work; Tom felt like a sheriff taking a prisoner back to jail. He had stuck like glue to his client all day, showing her around the project in Playa Verde and pointing out all the features of the scheme. He was tired now and not in the mood for entertaining this pushy middle aged woman; he would have preferred to have gone back to his apartment and have an early night, but he had his orders.

The apartment; that was another thing. Why had he agreed so readily to put the bitch up in his apartment? Apart from the headache of having her in his face every waking hour, his reputation had now firmly disappeared down the drain with everyone he knew in Puerto Banus. Carmen had been working in the office when he had dropped by to collect his keys; she had practically thrown the bunch at him and turned sharply on her heel. ‘Stupid Irish bastard, now you sleeping with your grandmother. I am glad I dump you.’

The only way to pass this evening was to get enough of the wine inside him to numb the tedium, but at least Miz bloody Sherry seemed to have the same idea and they were now on their third bottle. Pepe invited him to try the wine but he waved him on. ‘Just fill her up, Pepe, don’t interrupt the flow.’

The food had as usual been superb; Tom felt comfortably full from the grilled sole that had barely fitted on to the large oval plate. He passed on desert but Tania had ordered the lemon tart, although she had barely touched it when it arrived and seemed to be concentrating on drinking as much as possible of the vintage Rioja. Mesa Bella never failed to please and was ideal for entertaining a major client, but at this stage Tom was of the opinion that maybe it might have been easier to sell the fifth block off one apartment at a time. At least there would be less questions; this woman wanted to know everything.

‘Are you married, Tom?’

‘No, never got round to it. Not yet anyway.’

‘Stay away from it as long as you can. I tried it twice; neither of them were any use. I was a good housekeeper though; I kept the fucking houses!’ She screeched with laughter as she poured more wine into Tom’s glass.

‘You’re a good looking young fellow, that combination of sandy hair and an olive skin is very attractive to women you know, do you get that from your mother or your father?’

‘My father was red haired in his younger days; my mother was the daughter of an Italian family that came to Ireland years back.’

‘That explains your skin colouring. Is she beautiful?’

‘She was, she died when I was quite young.’

‘I’m sorry. Have you a partner or do you still live at home?’

‘No, I live alone. There isn’t much time for a social life in this job. Anyway, I never met the right woman.’

‘Would you like to settle down? Most men have a vague ambition of life with a nice wife and kids.’

‘I suppose I would, but there’s plenty of time for all that.’

‘Time passes a lot faster than you think. Before you know it, you’ll be thirty, and it’s a slippery slope from there on. Did you never meet anyone that you thought might be the one?’

‘One or two, I met a nice girl before I went to Spain, but I lost touch with her.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Amanda. She was cute. I tried to find her one evening recently but I couldn’t remember where her flat was. It’s a long story.’

‘Nice name, Amanda. So, how much commission do you get from the developers to sell this project?’

Despite the wine, Tom was alert enough not to disclose the commission level. Irish buyers were happiest if they thought that you were getting nothing for selling property, or cars or washing machines for that matter. It was important never to disclose that bit of information. If this lady knew that they were on a massive eight percent of the total she would want that amount of a discount, or she might go directly to the developer and offer him a better price than he was getting. No, important to keep shtum on the old commission.

He fielded the question. ‘I’m afraid that that is commercially sensitive information, between us and the developer. If other companies knew how little we were getting for this marketing work they would have an advantage on us, I’m sure you understand.’

She smiled across the table at Tom and raised a glass. ‘Of course, just wondering, just a friendly interest, but of course I understand. Here’s to a successful outcome to our discussions this week.’

Tom felt the wine beginning to go to his head. His eyes wandered to the deep cleavage that Tania Sherry was displaying, wondering if the enormous globes protruding from this woman’s chest could possibly be the real thing. Surely not?

‘They’re real all right.’

Tom was embarrassed, had his gazing at her breasts been that obvious? ‘Real, what do you mean, what are real?’

She hefted her boobs in both hands. ‘These puppies, they’re real right enough. Real fucking expensive.’ She cackled with laughter.

Tom laughed nervously. ‘I wasn’t wondering, honestly, they look fine to me and all that.’

‘Best that money can buy. Cost me nearly ten grand each, but worth every penny, don’t you think? I know you were looking at them, men always look at them.’

Tom was uncomfortable at the way the conversation was going, he wasn’t used to middle aged women going on about their boob jobs. ‘They look great, not that I noticed, but now that you mention it…’

‘Senor, Senor, more wine.’ She was getting louder.

Pepe was smiling politely, but the smile was strained. ‘Of course, madam, another bottle of the Rioja?’

‘Bring it on, my toy boy and I are having a night out and Sunspots is paying, no expense spared. Open it up there, Senor.’

Tom caught Pepe’s eye and tried to convey his apologies for the behaviour of his guest; he liked this restaurant and he didn’t want to offend the friendly owner or his staff. The old man tapped the side of his nose with his index finger; the matter would never be mentioned. He poured the wine into the two glasses and she swallowed half of hers in one gulp.

‘Drink up, Tommy, the night is young and so are you.’ She cackled manically again, laughing at her own jokes.

Tom was a little worried now, wondering what was coming next.

She leaned forward and spoke conspiratorially, her voice slurred. ‘My mother had a black sense of humour, calling me Tania Imelda Teresa Sherry. Can you imagine; how a girl had to live with that all through her teenage years? Can you?’

Tom couldn’t see any problem with any of the names, maybe Imelda was a bit old fashioned, but the bitch must be nearly fifty, and maybe it wasn’t such a bad name fifty years ago. He was feeling the effects of the wine and she was looking a bit blurred; he tried to focus on her face but his eyes kept being drawn back to those enormous breasts.

‘I don’t see any problem with those names, very o.k. names most of them actually, no problem.’

‘Are you thick? Can you even begin to imagine how a girl felt when her initials were T.I.T.S? Tits, that’s what they called me in school, fucking Tits. And me as flat as a fucking wardrobe door. But not any more, no sir, I have tits now, oh yes I have, best ones in the shop. Haven’t I, Tommy baby?’

Tom started to laugh, he couldn’t help himself. Tits, what a set of fucking initials. And what a set of bloody tits, they were like two footballs stuck to her chest. He almost choked at the good of it; Jesus, wait until I tell Harry and Walter he thought to himself.

He focussed on the mad woman across the table; she was laughing as well, juggling her two huge breasts in her hands and shouting ‘Tits, Tits!’

The other diners were laughing too, politely behind their hands, but all conversation had stopped and she was now the centre of attention. The waiters were hovering nearby, smiling as she roared again.

‘Tits, Tits, now I have tits, haven’t I, Tommy baby? You’d like to see my tits, Tommy baby, wouldn’t you?’

A woman at the next table was able to contain herself no longer. She almost choked on her food, and burst out laughing as her embarrassed husband tried to pretend that everything was normal.

Tania grabbed the bottle and sloshed wine into the two glasses, downing hers in a couple of swallows and rapidly filling it up again. ‘You’re not drinking, Tommy baby. Eat drink and be merry; Sunspots is paying.’

Tom resignedly swallowed most of glass and refilled it again. If she was going to get plastered, then he might as well get some more inside him. It would cover his embarrassment if nothing else.

‘The doctor asked me if I wanted peaches or melons.’ Her voice was slurred now, and getting even louder. Every diner in the restaurant was silent, waiting for the next outburst.

‘What do you mean, he told you to eat fruit?’ In his drunken state Tom was lost at this turn of conversation.

‘No, he wanted to know how big I wanted them.’ She hefted her breasts in both hands. ‘I went for the melons Tommy. A peach is only a mouthful, but a melon can feed a whole fucking crowd.’

The woman at the next table was now laughing out of control, her shoulders shaking and tears running down her face. Tania turned her attention to the woman’s hapless husband, who had been trying in vain to hold the laughter in.

‘What are you looking at, you pervert? Did you never see a pair of tits before?’ She peered at the woman and looked her up and down. ‘Not at home you didn’t anyway.’

Drunk as he was, Tom knew that this had gone too far. He took his companion by the arm and attempted to lead her to the door. Pepe and two of the waiters were hovering nearby, doing their best to keep straight faces, but not always succeeding.

‘Pepe, I’ll drop by tomorrow and pay you, ok?’ Tom didn’t want to let go of her arm, he just wanted to get her out of the restaurant.

The owner waved him away. ‘No problem, Tom, whenever you are passing, it’s ok. I have called you a taxi; he is here in two minutes.’

Tom led his staggering client through the crowded restaurant between the tables of laughing diners; all of them were trying to avoid catching the gaze of this crazy woman in case she turned her attention on them. She stumbled and almost fell as she came down the steps, grabbing at a large statuette of a naked woman whose raised arm held an unlit candle. The nearest waiter made a dash and caught the statuette before it could be smashed to pieces on the marble floor, and a bizarre tug of war ensued until she finally relinquished control of the candle-holding figure. She gave one last look at the small breasts on the statuette. ‘Peaches, only peaches. Not a real woman. Take me home, Tommy baby.’

Tom felt ill; he had drunk far too much and his head swam as soon as he tried to close his eyes. He could hear her blundering around between the spare bedroom and the bathroom; with any luck she would soon go to bed and stay there and he could stop worrying about her. This was the last time he would ever put up a client in his own apartment; it was just too complicated.

It had been hard enough getting her to go to bed. She sang all the way home in the taxi and made several suggestive comments about his youth and lack of experience with women, but he managed to get her inside the apartment without any major incident. She wasn’t finished yet though.

‘Look what I found!’ The bitch had gone to his sideboard and pulled out the brandy bottle. ‘Bring glasses, Tommy baby, brandy makes me randy, never know your luck.’

In the hope that she might get so drunk that she would fall asleep and stop giving him a headache, Tom got two brandy glasses from the kitchen and poured a decent measure for her and a smaller one for himself. ‘Here’s to a successful trip, Tania, and I hope that you liked what you saw.’

‘Oh I liked what I saw, Tommy. Question is, did you like what you saw?’ She hefted her expensive breasts and jiggled them at him, leering at him drunkenly.

‘Very nice, I’m tired though, see you in the morning.’

‘Well if you’re not too tired, I won’t lock my door.’

Tom was drifting off to sleep when he heard the door handle. Shit, he thought, she’s in the wrong room. Too late, he realised that she knew what she was doing; the mad bitch was in the bed and grappling with him.

‘I know you like them, Tommy. You can play with my melons, I know you want to.’ She grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on one of the enormous breasts. She was naked and she stank of wine and brandy fumes.

He wanted to throw her out, but in his drunken state he vaguely knew that he needed to keep her on side. After all, if she bought the full block he stood to pocket more than a hundred grand for his efforts. Worth putting up with the bitch for a couple of hours for that kind of money.

He was shocked at how hard the breast was; it was nothing like a real one, felt more like a football that had been over inflated. The football comparison was all the more apt by the thick scar that ran all the way around the lower surface, like the stitching on a soccer ball.

‘Yes, Tommy baby.’ She grabbed his right hand and slapped it on the other giant protuberance. He felt the other scar and the laughter started low down in his body, rising to the top in spite of itself. It was football time. He squeezed the left breast.

Rooney has the ball.

He squeezed with his right hand.