Last Slow Dance

THE LAST SLOW DANCE Part 1 of 3 by Nelz Agustin

"The Last Slow Dance" is part of an original unpublished novel I wrote called WHERE ANGELS FEAR. You can read it at < http://www.nelz.org/angels/ >. To read my other writings, please visit www.nelz.org. For comments or other pertinent information, please e-mail me at isaw@nelz.org. Your input and feedback are very much appreciated. Thanks for your time! -- Nelz

--one--

The house is already dark when Anton arrives. He pushes the gate open and boldly walks to the veranda. He wrinkles his nose in disgust at the litter of beer bottles, paper plates and plastic cups. Bits and pieces of spaghetti and meat sauce lay strewn across the marble floor. A lone mirror ball is still spinning slowly on its axis, throwing glittering fairy light around the yard.

Music filters out softly from inside.

Anton pauses. It's Madonna, he muses. I didn't know she liked her music....

He strides towards the door. He doesn't knock. He opens it and slips inside.

An art deco lamp casts a cheery yellow shade upon the dishevelled living room. Madonna is still singing, her voice full of loss and longing.

I've always been in love with you....

"Clarissa," he calls out. His voice rang resonantly in the cavernous house.

I guess you've always known it's true....

A slim, wispy figure emerges from a left hallway. She seems to be floating, almost ghost-like. She wears a sheer black silhouette gown; her lacy bodice a sharp contrast to her white skin.

She looks at him calmly, her eyes large and doleful. She runs her fingers in her long, straight hair, brushing it back.

You took my love for granted, why oh why...

"You look pale and horribly thin," she murmurs, taking a step closer to him. "What have you been doing yourself?"

"Clarissa..." Anton stopped. He suddenly didn't know what to say. He could only gaze at her, his eyes slightly watering. "Christine... How is Christine?"

"She's fine, Anton... She's sleeping in the other room," she says softly. She does not break her gaze in his eyes. She waits.

Anton's face clouds with pain. "May I see her?"

She nods. She leads him to the left hallway. She pauses before a door and softly opens it. They enter.

The show is over say goodbye....

A child lay on a plump, quilted bed. She is angelic; her pure innocence glowing delicately in the dim lamplight. Anton breaks into tears. He wants to hug her, and kiss her, but he restrains himself still.

Clarissa continues watching him. Still waiting.

"Clarissa," he murmurs, his voice above a whisper. "Why do you have to go? Why do you have to leave me?"

"We've been through this, Anton," she says quietly, her voice hardening "We cannot live together anymore...."

Say goodbye....

Anton says nothing. Tears continue streaming down his face. He gazes tenderly still at Christine.

This is your fault, father, Anton thinks vehemently. All your fault. My misery shall be yours.

--two--

"So, Anton, when are you going to get married?"

Anton's fork stopped in mid-air, his mouth hung open to accept the morsel of ham pierced on the fork. He didn't expect this query at all.

His father, a broad man with a weathered face and sparse brown hair, had set his own fork down. He was clasping his hands together and looking intently at him. Waiting.

Anton slowly lowered his fork. His throat made a strange noise.

"Can we talk about this some other time, Father?"

"What's wrong with right now?" His eyes were steely sharp. Anton was unable to meet his gaze. "Men your age are already starting their own families! What is wrong with you?"

I don't think you'd wish to know, Anton silently mused. "Don't hurry me, Father. I'm still enjoying my bachelorhood."

"Don't pressure him, Jose," his mother added in agreement. She was a thin, regal lady with an air of aristocratic elegance about her. She finished sipping her soup, her ring-decked fingers holding the spoon delicately. "He still has a few years of wild oats to sow. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Maria, wouldn't you want to have a grandson? A cute little angel we can dote on?" He seemed to be glaring at her.

Maria coughed delicately.

"I just haven't found the right girl, Father," Anton said sullenly. He had lost interest in his ham. He lost his appetite all together.

"Anton," his father began gravely. "It's about time that you start a family of your own. Our legacy--our name in society--must be passed on! The Castillo clan is proud to have earned its niche in our society. And we must keep that niche, for it is in our name that we can truly serve this country. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." He wished he was someplace else. Away from this place.

Away from his father.

Maria cleared her throat. Don Jose looked at her again in annoyance. He hated interruptions, especially in the middle of his grandiose speeches.

"I think it's time we tell him, Jose," she murmured, her voice a husky soprano. Anton could clearly see she was tense; the lines on her neck standing out against her pearls.

"What is it?" Anton shifted uneasily on his seat, preparing for the worst. Don Jose leaned back on his chair and clasped his hands in front of him. His eyes studied Anton's anxious face.

"I had a talk with my compadre, Don Simon de Zobel," he began, his voice low and grave. "He has a unica hija, and Clarissa is her name. Don Simon is worried that she may never marry. She is a wistful girl--all she cared about is her music. She has never really expressed any intention of starting a family."

Jose paused and sighed. Anton remained unmoving, his body listening and absorbing every word he said.

"I've suffered enough losses in our Castillo Group of Companies," he continued. "Don Simon has agreed to provide the necessary support. In return, he wants his daughter to get married soon. I promptly thought about you. You couldn't be more perfect. You have a stable job and you're single. He couldn't agree with me more. So, in the best of our interests, we decided that both you and Clarissa should get married."

Anton stared back at his father incredulously.

"The wedding will take place in mid-May," Don Jose announced further. "You will have plenty of time to get to know Clarissa."

"But Father!" Anton croaked out. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper in his despair. Jose raised an eyebrow.

"I have no wish to get married yet," he said, his face flustered. "Why have you made such an important decision without consulting me? I do not even know Clarissa de Zobel!"

"Do not raise your voice at me, young man," Don Jose said sternly. "I had to decide for us--for our financial security and our name! We'd be connected with the Zobel clan. Think of what your marriage can do to the entire Castillo family."

"You care more with our name than with what I have to say about this marriage?" Anton's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Anton!" Don Jose thundered. "As long as you still live under my roof, you will obey everything I say!"

"And if I refuse to marry Clarissa?" Anton snapped back, his face a mask of anger and defiance.

"You shall be cast out of this family!"

"Jose!"

Maria held her husband's arm. Her face was taut and drawn. Don Jose's face reddened, his eyes were blazing at Anton.

"You shall be stripped out of everything," Don Jose muttered harshly, pointing a trembling finger at him. "Your home, your job and your identity. I will make sure that no one--no corporation, agency or family, will take you in. Unless you obey me, you will never have the life that you are relishing today!"

Anton glared at his father.

"You cannot do that! You cannot threaten me like that! I will not marry Clarissa!"

"You will marry Clarissa!" Don Jose declared.

"I will not!" Anton returned hotly.

"You are such an impudent son!"

"And you are such a selfish, egotistic father!"

Don Jose's eyes widened. His lips were drawn shut. His hand curled into a fist.

"I hate you!" Anton shouted at him.

"Anton!" Maria glared at him, color rising in her pallid cheeks.

Don Jose was gasping, sucking in air. He clutched his chest, coughing vehemently.

"Father?" Anton paled.

Don Jose dropped on his knees. Maria shrieked. She held him and patted his back.

"Don't just stand there, Anton!" she yelled at him. "Call an ambulance!"

Anton forced himself to move. He quickly punched the number of a nearby hospital. He gave them his address and phone number.

"They will be here shortly," Anton said, replacing the receiver. He went to his father's side. He helped him sit up on the living room couch.

Don Jose's chest was rising and falling, rapidly at first as if he had a 60-minute workout, then gradually slowing down. Anton could hear his measured, shallow breaths. It was sickening.

"Anton," he croaked out, grabbing Anton's hand. Anton found that he couldn't free himself. His father's grip was like a steel vise.

"The ambulance will be here any moment now," Anton assured him, his voice shaky with fear. His father's hand was burning on his wrist.

"You are breaking my heart, Anton," Don Jose murmured.

"I'm sorry, father." Anton prayed that the ambulance would get to their home soon.

"You will marry Clarissa, Anton."

Don Jose tightened his hold on Anton's wrist.

"Swear that you'll marry Clarissa, Anton. Swear before I ever die...."

"Don't talk like that, father!" Anton looked flustered.

Don Jose's eyes suddenly clenched shut, as if wincing from pain.

"Anton!" Maria shrieked. "Do what your father wishes! Don't you dare disobey him now!"

"Mother!"

"Do it or I will never forgive you if he dies from your stubborn defiance!"

Anton was stunned. He felt his world slowly crashing down at his heels.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. He took his father's hand and clasped it.

"I promise, father," he slowly murmured.

Don Jose slightly cocked his head towards Anton, as if straining to hear him.

"I promise to marry Clarissa de Zobel," Anton said, a little louder.

His father's grip slowly loosened. His hand felt clammy in Anton's palm.

Don Jose gave a small sigh and nodded, his face easing with peace.

The wail of the ambulance rang in a distance.

Anton broke free from his father and went to the window. He didn't want his parents to see his anguish, his desperation.

He didn't want to get married. He bit his lip grimly as the ambulance pulled up in front of their house, its wail filling the air.

--three--

Clarissa de Zobel was a handsome woman; she was tall and regal like a queen, slim and wispy like a waif supermodel. She was pale, but her eyes were big, black, burning orbs, looking at the world with a fiery wisdom. It was her eyes that intimidate men; whenever she looks at her suitors right in the eye, they couldn't help but turn the other way. They felt like she was looking right into the deep, dark recesses of their souls.

She treated her suitors like flies; shooing them away for they always hovered around her. It made her feel like trash or excrement. It was in her stubborn mind that they were all--without exceptions--after her name and her money.

She was already an accomplished pianist at her young age of 23. She was performing concerts all over the world, and has received acclaim for her body of classical works.

It was in her music where she unleashed her unbridled passion and fury; it became the focal point of her life, constantly living and breathing the music she created and performed. Her discipline for her craft was as unwavering as a mighty narra tree in a hurricane; she would rather play the piano than wear a glitzy designer gown and saunter in spiky pumps at her father's social gatherings.

When she heard that she was betrothed to Anton Castillo, she raged and wailed at her father, doing what Anton had done in reaction to his father's wishes: defy him.

Don Simon de Zobel, not wanting to let his investment in the Castillo Group of Companies go to waste, threatened to take away her music and her career. Clarissa was dumbfounded. She realized her father had the power to put an end to her musical career; he had all the connections all over the country and the rest of the world. He knew it was her passion and her life; take it away from her she would be reduced to almost nothing. She pleaded, begged, knelt down and cried at her father's feet, but Don Simon could only assure her that all would turn out for the better.

--four--

The Castillos and the de Zobels met three months before the May wedding. It was the first time Anton and Clarissa set their eyes on each other.

The Castillos arrived at the de Zobels' palatial house at San Lorenzo Village. It was morning, and the air smelled fresh and untainted. It held a promise of a gloriously happy day, but Anton couldn't care less. His face was glum; he wished he had never promised his father anything just because he was dying. It was too late for that. The moment Don Jose Castillo recovered, he called Don Simon and related the good news. The two agreed to meet at this appointed time to discuss the wedding details.

There was a lot of handshakes and cheek-bussing when the de Zobel family greeted them. Don Jose and Don Simon were laughing heartily like old friends. Maria and Teresa--Don Simon's plump wife--were exchanging polite compliments and short talks.

Don Jose introduced Anton to Simon, who shook his hand.

"You are such a fine man!" Simon declared.

"Thank you, sir," Anton said politely.

"I would like you to meet my only daughter, Clarissa," he said, motioning to a tall, slim girl standing warily nearby.

"Clarissa, this is Anton," he said, almost pushing her to Anton. Clarissa stared at Anton, hoping that her fiery gaze would turn him away.

"Anton, this is Clarissa," he said.

Anton met her gaze, unwavering. Clarissa was a little surprised. He was the first man she knew who could stare back at her without turning away.

"Nice to meet you," Anton murmured politely, holding out his hand. Clarissa stared at it, unmoving. Anton felt like a retard; his hand remained unshook.

She turned to her father instead.

"Papa, let's eat. Breakfast is getting cold."

She turned and headed towards the dining room. Maria and Teresa pretended not notice Clarissa's blatant humiliation of Anton; they followed her, chatting in strained voices. Anton dropped his hand, his face red. Simon gave him an apologetic smile. He gave Anton's arm a gentle squeeze.

"Come on, let's eat."

Don Jose and Don Simon discussed the wedding details over breakfast. Maria and Teresa talked excitedly about the principal sponsors, the wedding motiff and the reception.

Anton and Clarissa ate in silence, staring at each other. Anton tried giving her a friendly smile, but he only got an icy glare in return.

The family discussion moved to the veranda. Anton sat on a rattan chair, fidgeting and picking at the strands of rattan sticking out of the chair's arms.

He wished he could disappear from their sight.

He sat before them, listening warily to their chatter. Eventually, he got up and wandered at the de Zobels' vast, manicured back garden. He spotted Clarissa sitting pensively in one of the steel lawn chairs. He tentatively approached her.

"Hi," he said, giving her a restrained, small smile. She did not smile back.

"You've got a nice garden here," he commented, attempting again for a small talk.

"I don't like you," she said frostily.

Anton's face reddened again. He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

She faced him with blazing eyes.

"I want you to know that I have no wish to get married, and this is all my father's idea. He's taking away my music if I don't marry you."

"I"m sorry to hear that...."

"No, you're not!" she snapped back. "You're gloating! You're just like any male chauvinist pig I know. You only want to get my name and my money."

"Clarissa, I don't...."

"Go to hell!"

"Listen to me!" he pleaded. Clarissa was still surpised to see him meet her fiery gaze. She waited.

"Do you think I like what's happening right now? We're getting married against our own free wills... I have no choice, Clarissa... My father forced me...."

"A likely story!"

"You can believe what you want to believe in, Clarissa, but I'm only telling you what I feel. And as much as I respect you for what you are no matter how many times you humiliate me, I could sure use a little kindness...."

Clarissa turned away and looked pensively at empty space.

"Leave me alone...."

Anton sighed heavily and sauntered off to join his parents in the veranda.

--five--

Anton and Clarissa were married at the historic San Agustin church. It was the social event of the year. Famous political and entertainment personalities were invited as principal sponsors. Society columns raved about the merging to two powerful families in Makati City. The wedding made headlines in major dailies; a news broadcast devoted 30 minutes of their airtime to exclusive wedding footages. It was a whirlwind of media circus that both Anton and Clarissa hated.

The reception at the Shangri-La Plaza Hotel in Makati was even more exhausting. Society writers crashed the party, along with their photographers. Hotel security had a difficult time barring paparazzi from entering the sanctity of the couple's private celebration. Food and drinks flowed, the music pounded loudly and camera light bulbs kept flashing around. There was laughter, and there were tears. Toasts were raised to the newlyweds well into the night.

The jaggernaut ended at three in the morning. Anton and Clarrisa were driven to their new Forbes Park home. They were drained and exhausted; all they wanted to do is to get away from it all.

As soon as they arrived at their spacious new home, Clarissa immediately went to liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of brandy. She tore off the cap and took a long swig. Anton watched her in disbelief.

"Clarissa, stop that." He made a move to grab the bottle from her.

She deftly stepped out of his way.

"Leave me alone, you pig!" she flashed at him. She trudged wearily to the den and turned on the TV. She took another swig at the bottle.

"Clarissa, don't do this to me...." he pleaded.

"I will do anything I would damn want!" she yelled at him. "I refuse to be told what I should do or what I won't do! Especially by my own husband!"

She spat at him.

Anton wearily wiped her spit off his cheek. He sighed, feeling his anguish and despair rising.

He left her in the den and went to their room, where he undressed slowly. He hung his white suit and grabbed a towel. He walked silently to the adjoining bathroom, pausing to glance at the darkened den. Clarissa was still slouched in front of the TV, still in her bridal dress. She had tossed her veil carelessly aside, her long white gloves lay scattered with her white stilleto heels. She was still clutching the bottle of brandy, now half-empty.

"Aren't you going to bed yet?" he called out.

"Fuck you," she sneered at him, never turning her eyes from the animated VCR movie Aladdin. Garish cartoon colors splashed across her pale, impassive face.

Anton bit his lip and shook his head. He went in the bathroom and took off his underwear. He stepped inside the shower stall and turned the tap.

For several minutes, he was content of just standing in front of the shower, letting the lukewarm rush of water wash his face.

She still hates me, he thought silently.

Water coursed lazily in every ridge and valley of his broad musculature.

We should have never gotten married....

He didn't hear her enter the bathroom. The roar of the shower drowned all other sounds.

The door of the shower stall suddenly slid open with a bang. Anton leapt back in surprise, nearly slipping on the white tiles.

Clarissa stood before him, looking like a queen of tragedy. Her long, jet-black hair hung in ropy strands; her eyes were red-rimmed and blood-shot. Her mouth reeked of brandy. She was looking intently at him.

"Clarissa, what do you think you're doing?" Anton asked exasperately, turning his back to her.

"I can't believe I have a husband," she slurred.

Anton strained to look at her, and was shocked when she started ripping her white bridal gown.

"What are you doing? Clarissa, you're drunk!"

"A husband...." she repeated, tearing the lacy white bodice in two. She tossed to fabric aside.

"A big, strong husband," she muttered, as her fingers worked at unsnapping her white bra. "Is that what you are, Anton? Big and strong?"

"I'm getting out of here," Anton said, making a move to push her aside. Clarissa stood unmoving, blocking his only way of escape.

She pulled her bra straps from her shoulders, freeing her white, virginal breasts. She cupped them, fingering her mouse-pink nipples.

"Do you like what you see, my big, strong husband? No man has ever seen them except you, my darling...."

"Clarissa," he said gently. "I think we should go to sleep."

"I can't sleep now," she declared, stepping inside the shower stall, sliding the door shut. "This is our honeymoon, remember? We're supposed to fuck, right?"

"Clarissa!"

The shower was still running, drenching both of them. Anton still faced the wall. Clarissa was slowly gyrating behind him, playing with her nipples.

"Come on, baby," she breathed in his ear. She took his shoulder and slowly turned him around. "Fuck me! We're husband and wife, remember? Let's fuck! Fuck your pretty wife... let's show my fucking father that we could fuck all night! Fuck them!"

"Clarissa...." His eyes were marked with pain.

She tore her panties and tossed them aside. She sifted her pubic hair, then her fingers crept to her labia.

She pinned him at the corner of the stall, the water roaring and rushing at their backs. She took his hand and placed it on her breast.

"Feel my titties, Anton... feel how hard they are...."

Anton wanted to cringe, but he let her hold his hand over her breast. His fingers played tentatively with her soft, white skin.

"Nice body," she murmured huskily. She let go of his hand. She grasped his chest, feeling his hard pectorals, his flat stomach, his trim hips.

"Clarissa... no...."

Her hand was on his cock. He felt himself getting aroused.

She started kissing him; his neck, his chest, his belly, down to his lengthening cock.

Anton closed his eyes and groaned. He grasped her hair as she swallowed the whole length of his organ. She sucked him for several minutes. Anton clutched at her hair.

"Clarissa... Clarissa...."

He was losing control. He pulled her up and kissed her madly, swallowing her mouth. He buried his lips on her neck, her shoulders, on the sweet valley of her virginal breasts, on her navel, down to her moist cavern. He ate her muff, burrowing his tongue in her velvety flesh. Clarissa screamed and shuddered, squeezing his head between her thighs.

Clarissa quivered violently when she orgasmed. She threw her head back and screamed, her eyes in delirious ecstacy. Anton withdrew his head and cupped her buttocks. Deftly, he lifted her and pinned her against the bathroom tiles. There, he impaled her with his still roaring organ. Clarissa screamed again and again, wrapping her legs around his waist and squeezing him.

Anton pumped her with rapid strokes, until he fired his seed inside her. He cried out, trembling in her arms. She buried her face on his shoulder, covering him with kisses.

He carried her out of the bathroom, still dripping wet. Barely had they reached their bedroom when they started making love again.

When Clarissa woke up she was surprised to see herself in bed naked with Anton.

She shook him awake. Anton groaned and opened his eyes blearily.

"Anton, you pig!" she said, gathering up the sheets and covering her breasts. "What did you do to me? What happened?"

"What?" His voice was thick with sleep. "You mean you didn't know? We made love...."

"What do you mean we made love?" She glared at him.

"Clarissa, I'm sorry.... You were drunk. You ordered me to fuck you."

Clarissa's jaw dropped. "I do not remember such a thing!"

"You mean you really don't know what happened?" Anton sat up on the bed, wiping his eyes.

"Anton, how could you?"

He looked at her in the eye, meeting her fiery gaze.

"It happened, Clarissa," he said slowly, measuring his words. "I'm sorry, if that's what you want...."

She gaped at him, open-mouthed. Then her fiery stance slowly dissolved into despair. Her shoulders started trembling.

"Clarissa...."

Anton moved closer to her.

She covered her eyes as she wept silently. Anton reached out and placed a hand on her arm.

She reacted viciously. She slapped him. In the bright morning air, it sounded like a whiplash.

It was Anton's turn to gape at her. His left cheek was flaming rosy red.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she hissed at him, backing away. She got off the bed, dragging the sheets with her.

"Clarissa...."

"Don't you ever touch me again, you pig!" she screamed at him. "How dare you fuck with me!"

Anton could not move. He still sat on the bed, gaping at her.

She gave him another icy glare before storming out of the room, the sheets trailing behind her.

Anton laid back heavily on his pillows and closed his eyes, tenderly touching his red cheek.

I should have never married her....

End of Part 1

Copyright (C) 1996, 2003 by Nelz Agustin. www.nelz.org