looked ready to weep.
‘That’s a decade older than you are.’ Stoney explained the obvious to Jenny. Clearly she believed the poor woman to be feeble-minded or unable to count.
‘You’re a bitch,’ the man grumbled.
‘But now, Jenny, don’t panic, because we’re going to Turn Back the Clock !’ Stoney yelped. So did he, but in a louder voice, and with a mocking tone. ‘And I reckon you’re going to be thrilled as you shed some of those years you feel have been added to you unfairly. Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Jenny replied.
‘Follow me, boys,’ Stoney said to the camera.
‘We’re off to a clinic. It’s where something magical will occur and soon you’re going to see Jenny looking a lot younger than she looks today. Don’t go away . . . we’ll be right back!’
He drained his third Scotch, rechecked the time and began thinking about what he would do with his playmates. It was the middle of the afternoon but he was horny at any time of the day, not that he could ever admit that given his position and standing and — now he sighed — his marriage plans. His girlfriend’s family was very wealthy, and traditional, meaning there could never be much bedroom action before marriage. But he had not planned to marry her for hot sex — he could get that any time he pleased from Claudia and her friends. No, he’d planned to marry because it would look good in the society pages. To maintain his reputation he needed a perfect wife, perfect family. He hadn’t been born here but he felt British, even though everyone still considered him foreign. His looks, his accent — they were not British, no matter how hard he tried to fit in.
He placed the empty Scotch glass on the table in front of him and gave himself five more minutes. After a commercial for teeth-whitening toothpaste, Stoney returned. This time she was in black jeans tucked into flat boots that came halfway up her calf. Her very slim legs looked great in the ‘spray-painted’ trousers and a tan leather jacket was pulled over a fur-trimmed cardigan that she’d undone just far enough for viewers to be able to peep at the perfect cleft between her breasts.
‘Welcome back, everyone. Remember Jenny? She’s a single mum with four kids, she works shifts, she needs a holiday and more time to take care ofherself.’ A particularly unflattering photo of Jenny appeared onscreen as Samantha Stone spoke. ‘We met Jenny fourteen weeks ago when she looked like this.’ The screen flashed back to the day Jenny had been recruited in the supercentre at Bluewater, although cynical viewers would conclude she’d met up with Stoney and her team a lot earlier.
‘Well, folks, meet Jenny now!’ Stoney made a big ‘ta-da’ gesture with her hands. The view shifted from Stoney’s taut body to a svelte Jenny, resplendent in a floaty long black skirt with heeled boots, and a pale lilac knit top.
The man began clapping, counting off all the procedures he imagined Jenny had undergone to achieve this look. Stoney obliged by echoing them, excitedly explaining everything from laser-brasion to the porcelain veneers used to achieve Jenny’s new, overly bright, all too even smile. Her formerly dull hair had been coloured, cut and blow-dried professionally into a shorter, straighter style that on its own took years off her.
He watched Stoney drag a much leaner Jenny about the shopping centre, subjecting her to the same humiliating question and answer session — but this time with positive results.
‘Thirty-nine, Jenny. Thirty-nine!’ Stoney shrieked into the camera. ‘That’s what the average of one hundred answers put your age at. How do you feel?’
After Jenny had stopped screaming and caught her breath, she replied. ‘Ecstatic. This is unbelievable. It’s a whole new lease on life for me.’
The story became even more sugary when the audience was told that Jenny’s estranged husband had returned to the family home and Jenny’s bed, after more
‘That’s a decade older than you are.’ Stoney explained the obvious to Jenny. Clearly she believed the poor woman to be feeble-minded or unable to count.
‘You’re a bitch,’ the man grumbled.
‘But now, Jenny, don’t panic, because we’re going to Turn Back the Clock !’ Stoney yelped. So did he, but in a louder voice, and with a mocking tone. ‘And I reckon you’re going to be thrilled as you shed some of those years you feel have been added to you unfairly. Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Jenny replied.
‘Follow me, boys,’ Stoney said to the camera.
‘We’re off to a clinic. It’s where something magical will occur and soon you’re going to see Jenny looking a lot younger than she looks today. Don’t go away . . . we’ll be right back!’
He drained his third Scotch, rechecked the time and began thinking about what he would do with his playmates. It was the middle of the afternoon but he was horny at any time of the day, not that he could ever admit that given his position and standing and — now he sighed — his marriage plans. His girlfriend’s family was very wealthy, and traditional, meaning there could never be much bedroom action before marriage. But he had not planned to marry her for hot sex — he could get that any time he pleased from Claudia and her friends. No, he’d planned to marry because it would look good in the society pages. To maintain his reputation he needed a perfect wife, perfect family. He hadn’t been born here but he felt British, even though everyone still considered him foreign. His looks, his accent — they were not British, no matter how hard he tried to fit in.
He placed the empty Scotch glass on the table in front of him and gave himself five more minutes. After a commercial for teeth-whitening toothpaste, Stoney returned. This time she was in black jeans tucked into flat boots that came halfway up her calf. Her very slim legs looked great in the ‘spray-painted’ trousers and a tan leather jacket was pulled over a fur-trimmed cardigan that she’d undone just far enough for viewers to be able to peep at the perfect cleft between her breasts.
‘Welcome back, everyone. Remember Jenny? She’s a single mum with four kids, she works shifts, she needs a holiday and more time to take care ofherself.’ A particularly unflattering photo of Jenny appeared onscreen as Samantha Stone spoke. ‘We met Jenny fourteen weeks ago when she looked like this.’ The screen flashed back to the day Jenny had been recruited in the supercentre at Bluewater, although cynical viewers would conclude she’d met up with Stoney and her team a lot earlier.
‘Well, folks, meet Jenny now!’ Stoney made a big ‘ta-da’ gesture with her hands. The view shifted from Stoney’s taut body to a svelte Jenny, resplendent in a floaty long black skirt with heeled boots, and a pale lilac knit top.
The man began clapping, counting off all the procedures he imagined Jenny had undergone to achieve this look. Stoney obliged by echoing them, excitedly explaining everything from laser-brasion to the porcelain veneers used to achieve Jenny’s new, overly bright, all too even smile. Her formerly dull hair had been coloured, cut and blow-dried professionally into a shorter, straighter style that on its own took years off her.
He watched Stoney drag a much leaner Jenny about the shopping centre, subjecting her to the same humiliating question and answer session — but this time with positive results.
‘Thirty-nine, Jenny. Thirty-nine!’ Stoney shrieked into the camera. ‘That’s what the average of one hundred answers put your age at. How do you feel?’
After Jenny had stopped screaming and caught her breath, she replied. ‘Ecstatic. This is unbelievable. It’s a whole new lease on life for me.’
The story became even more sugary when the audience was told that Jenny’s estranged husband had returned to the family home and Jenny’s bed, after more
Similar Books
