Zadie Perkins slammed the gossip mag down on the kitchen table in front of her husband’s bowl of high fibre cereal. The sound echoed round the cavernous room in their faux-Georgian mansion.
Her husband, Karl Van Berger, looked blearily down at the magazine. Its front cover was gaudily plastered with large headlines and paparazzi photos. But he nearly choked on his mouthful of cereal when he saw the main headline: “NINA SAYS KARL’S THE DAD”.
“Is it true?”, demanded Zadie, her face contorted with rage.
“I meant to tell you before the news got out,” Karl began. Zadie let loose a piercing shriek of anger, grabbed the magazine and started to beat her husband around the head with it. For a size zero woman, she could actually hit quite hard. Karl was mainly just glad she wasn’t going for his face with those fake talons on her fingers – probably didn’t want to risk breaking one.
But the beating was getting annoying, so Karl grabbed Zadie by both wrists and shouted at her to stop until she ceased screaming and trying to hit him.
“I’m the hottest actress on the planet. Billions of men think of me when they’re wanking off. My breasts make a film a blockbuster in just one weekend, but you need to have an affair?” She slumped down on a chair and started to cry.
Karl was full of regret now. Her face got so puffy when she cried.
“Believe me, Zadie, I know you’re beautiful. Don’t I always tell you how good we look together? I just wanted Nina to bear my son. On the pitch, I’m a hero to so many people and she’s won more Olympic gold medals than any other female athlete, so I wanted her to be the mother of my heir. That way, my football skills won’t be diluted by someone that doesn’t play sports. I mean, you don’t even do your own stunts!”
Zadie raised her head and Karl tried not to flinch. She was already red-eyed and swelling up.
“But I look like a fool now in front of the whole world!”
“Look, she’s already pregnant so I will never have to touch her again. Do you think I would go near some swollen-up hormonal chick, especially one with a backhand like her? I’ll deny everything, We’ll go to Cannes this weekend and get photographed feeling each other up on the beach. That will keep the vultures happy.”
Zadie’s tears were falling slower now.
“And I’ll leave out my gold card for you. Why don’t you go buy something nice for yourself. A new bikini that will show the world how incredible your body is.”
Zadie was only sniffling now. “But what if it’s a girl?”
“Are you crazy? Karl laughed. “No girls would come from my sperm. I’m the best footballer in the world! Don’t worry. Go freshen up and I’ll get the maid to make us coffee.”
As Zadie left the kitchen (how Karl loved watching her walk away) to get ready for the day, Karl picked up his phone and dialled his agent.
“George, she knows. Can you find me a little island somewhere warm I can buy for her. That will keep her sweet.”
Inspired by: Daily Prompt and the arrogance of Cú Chulainn