∞ 10 ∞
THE REAL WORLD
Back at the market, the white Renault was still running its exhaust into Valentina's stall, scenting her goat cheeses and soaps with petrol. She had promised herself she wouldn't get into it with him today, but she was at her limit. Everyone else had their own stalls to attend to, so she had to risk leaving all her things unattended. She marched into the bistro where Martin Martin was gossiping with two other post middle-aged cronies – smoking, eating andouillette, and drinking beer. He didn't take any notice of her standing there looking furious, quietly waiting for him to finish his conversation and continued on with his conversation:
«[Those lazy Polacks. They think I'm paying them for today. Fuck their mother if I will.]» The others nodded their heads in approval. «[It's my own fault, I'm too soft-hearted. The useless girl can hardly lift a side of bacon. All the money I've wasted training them,]» he bellyached, through his mouthful of sausage and potatoes.
«[The blonde? Haha! she could make her money better bent over the end of my cock,]» said one of the cronies who was portly, red-faced and balding like Martin Martin. He had a frown shaped mouth and unusually large lips that collected an excessive amount of saliva in the corners when he spoke. He reminded Valentina of a French Mastiff. «[You're too good Martin, I would have chucked them all out myself... Unless that one wanted to give me a good ride,]» he gestured crudely to affirm what the poor girl would have been in for if she worked for him. The three laughed with gusto and Martin ordered a brandy. They made no attempt to keep their voices down; they might as well have been talking about the football.
With the mixture of strong tobacco and smell of andouillette added to the petrol fumes, the thought of some poor girl having sex with any of them suddenly made Valentina feel like she needed to vomit. She wanted to say something to knock them back, but her French wasn't fluent enough for a situation like that and she knew she would only get tongue-tied and they would laugh at her. (They would probably even find it titillating – undoubtedly it would be more attention than any of them had had from a female that wasn't buying their wares, or married to them, in ages.) When Martin's other crony started describing the appearance of his man-parts due to lack of sex, Valentina interrupted:
«[Martin, I am videoing your Renault.]»
«[Oups! Annnd there we go, another foreigner,]» he said covering his mouth, yet speaking in remarkably loud hushed tone.
«[I am videoing your van for 20 minutes. You move, or I call the police.]» Threatening Martin with video proof of his antics was one of the only things that seemed to work with him.
«[WHAT! Those stupid Polacks! I'm taking the petrol out of their pay! See what I mean?!]» he moaned to his friends. «[DO-YOU-SEE-WHAT-MEAN?! As if a Frenchman has petrol to waste!]»
Valentina turned on her heels, leaving before he had finished. He obviously must have meant he was taking the money out of a previous pay, since he had already declared he wasn't paying them for the day at all. And while he was being so 'soft-hearted' and spending so much on 'training' them in the best way to carry the severed leg of a pig, he obviously hadn't averaged in all the money he was saving, paying them a fraction of what he would have paid a French worker, she thought, feeling her dislike for Martin grow.
As she passed, she wanted to tell the young couple what Martin said about not paying them, but she had enough trouble on her shoulders. He would just claim she was lying and she would end up looking like a troublemaker yet again. She bought a Coke from a vendor to try and settle her stomach. She put it under her sweater to warm it up and went back to her stall. She could soon hear the shouting up the row. Martin stomped over in a fury and parked his van inside the archway behind Valentina.
The beautiful old building needed renovation; in the meantime, the city used the space for storage and maintenance supplies for the market. It particularly irritated Martin that the market sweepers used where he parked (part of his heritage!) for their break area. It was sacrilege! As he left, Martin stopped to take something from the chain at one of the old archway doors. Putting the thing in his pocket, he shook his head muttering loudly: something about «[fucking Gypsy trash.]»
A little later, the Polish girl came over to Valentina in floods of tears. She wanted to know why Valentina had told Martin they hadn't been working. Martin owed them both a week's pay and now refused to pay them, or to let them collect their things at the farm, until they settled things with him. He claimed they owed him money for petrol and stuff they had damaged in the past. They were leaving for Germany in the morning; as it was, they hardly had enough for a place to stay when they arrived and were counting on every penny. They couldn't go to the police because they were illegals. Valentina promised that she hadn't said anything against them. She tried to comfort the girl, but wasn't certain herself if Martin's threats were empty ones. She wanted to help them, but there was nothing she could do. She barely had money for petrol herself.
As the day went on, Valentina had only taken 82 francs, not enough to pay for her stall. One of the market sweepers passed smiling at Valentina as he took a cool drag from his cigarette. He seemed to pass more often than he needed to and occasionally stopped for a chat, but Valentina always kept at a polite distance. He was Spanish and looked to be in his mid forties. His skin was like deep, tanned leather. He swore a lot, smoked a lot (and probably drank a lot – as well as partaking of a lot of other substances). He had several tattoos on his bear arms, rings on most of his fingers, several piercings in each ear, a gold tooth and a few beads randomly threaded into his black, shoulder-length hair. Valentina found long hair on men extremely sexy and his would have been, except there were various matted clumps in it. (And it undoubtedly smelled like Marlboro cigarettes most of the time – eckkh!) He looked half rock star, half pirate. He was actually very handsome, but... no, he was too rough and raw for her. Still, she was drawn to him and often found herself looking at him longer than one would when they 'weren't interested'. It was probably the hair. Anyway, she saw him with a different girl every time she did the market, so she was certain he wouldn't be broken hearted from her evading his attentions.
Something other than Valentina caught his eye and he stopped. Glaring at Martin Martin's van, he asked if Valentina knew about it being there. Valentina told him what had happened and also about Martin's 'Gypsy' comment. The thing Martin had taken was the padlock. The rock star pirate shut the archway doors and taking a heavy padlock out of his pocket, chained them shut.
«[If that fat, piece of shit asks, you tell him I said I'll be back at four – or five... or when I'm ready.]» He winked at Valentina and strolled off.
The market ended at one. Martin would be furious. Valentina was looking forward to the spectacle, but she needed to concentrate on selling cordials and cards.
∞
In the end, she didn't take any more cash. An enthusiastic American bought several things and paid with 30 euros in travellers cheques that he was having difficulty getting anyone to accept and told her to "keep the change." Valentina had no idea if she would be able to cash the cheques, or if the tourist was being honest about the exchange rate of the new currency, but she was grateful for anything – the day had gone that badly.
It was chaos as expected, when Martin Martin came to find his van locked in. He demanded Valentina tell him «[where the fucking gypsies went]» and was furious when she laughed at him, telling him it was his own fault and to be careful with his racist mouth if he was going to talk to her. He stormed off to the office to complain, but the market manager was off sick and the secretary directed him to: «[Lucho, the Spanish guy who cleans up. The one who looks like a rock star. He's in charge today.]»
Martin returned shouting until he was hoarse, that he was going to get some bolt cutters and send the bill to the market and of what he would do when he saw the sweepers. Martin was in luck, because Lucho and his friend, who looked like a cage fighter, turned up during the rant. Martin Martin tried to keep up some bravado, but swallowed his rage immediately. Lucho asked the Polish workers if Martin had paid them and they said he hadn't. Valentina had come to offer to drive the workers back, so witnessed most of the event. Martin demanded the key, claiming it would be reported if he didn't have his van out before he was finished packing up.
«[You're not gonna do anything. You stupid, fat, fuck! Now pay them their money,]» Lucho commanded.
Martin paid up. He tried to protest that he wanted his van, but was clearly afraid.
«[You'll have it when we find the key. You see there's only one key and I lost it. We have plenty of keys for the normal lock, but some fat cunt stole it. And if you don't shut your mother fucking mouth!! I'll have the city tow your fat, sweaty ass, so you can pay them to get it out and what's more, we'll send you a fine for parking in there and blocking the runnings of the market for the entire day, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!]» Lucho barked.
Martin's workers looked so relieved, they wouldn't let Lucho and his friend leave without thanking them half a dozen times each. The girl hugged and kissed Lucho enthusiastically and then kissed him again, which he accepted graciously as if it were all in a day's work. After checking the pay was all there and all was well, Lucho touched Valentina's waist lightly, puckering his pouty, rock star lips slightly in place of a goodbye, and with a little smirk, he and his friend strolled off.
Valentina drove the workers back and they were able to collect their things from the cabin where they stayed at Martin's. They would sleep in her kitchen and she would drive them to the train station in the morning. Lucho must have returned to the market quite late, because Martin didn't drive in until 8pm! Valentina was pleased; for once Martin got what he deserved. It was a tiny victory, but it felt –at least for that one day– that someone else cared about kindness and what was right. Some small amount of balance was restored in the world.
In bed, Valentina thought about Lucho: She hadn't realised he was so heroic. She loved that! He had protected the two workers against the «crétin» and didn't expect any thanks. Maybe she had been snobbish about him. He was very good looking. And he was kind of sexy in an untamed sort of way... but he just wasn't her type. Her problem was, the man she was looking for wasn't alive. He existed only in eighteenth century paintings, perhaps (and probably wasn't interested in odd, exotic looking young women). She needed to remind herself that her unrealistic taste for noble, lofty men was the very reason that she ended up with heartless-narcissistic-playboys that cared more about their image and their bank balances than her (and more recently left her settling for creepy-penniless-charlatans that didn't have their own personalities and only needed to latch onto someone –anyone– in order to function in the world.) She needed to get a taste for 'real' men.
She had to accept reality: Real men swore and drank and smoked. They talked about cars, looked at 'tits', watched the football – and sometimes looked like they needed a good wash. But they were normal and decent deep down. Weren't they?... She was being excessively picky. Lucho had buckets of girls dripping off of him. None of them seemed to have any objections. Still, she couldn't imagine what they would really talk about... Anyway, she was being presumptuous; Lucho might not have any real interest in her – spoiled for choice as he was. And he'd probably cheat on her after a week... She didn't mind a little swearing, but he swore an awful, awful lot! What was he doing sweeping the market at 40 something? What if he used heavy drugs?! What if he had a bad temper?!... He really did have a pretty face though (and a nice body); his legs and his bottom looked gorgeous in those tight, rock star trousers he wore. And the tattoos and ear piercings suited him actually. Yes, she could probably learn to appreciate all that. He certainly wasn't ordinary, or lacking a personality. And that hair! (if she could just get him to comb it every other week).
She imagined him there kissing her. He would be intense... He'd probably be extremely ROUGH. Oppfh! Yuck! And he probably would have been with another girl the night before (and the night before that). Oh no! And his KISSES would taste of cigarettes! And {choke} the beautiful hair would be all cigarette-smoky! Eckkh! Awful!...
"Rex" said her own voice inside her mind, as clearly as if she had said it aloud.
Valentina despaired. Why wouldn't he go?
Yes, she was doomed to be alone forever.