fear to one of pleasure and … Though lecturing on non-medical intervention, her tone is sharp as a scalpel. The pain starts to lift. The air in the room becomes translucent. And then I’m free-falling into sleep. Relief rushes up towards me like the earth.
Ladies’ Night
BEING IN ENGLAND was like living amongst some remote and foreign tribe. Maddy felt as bamboozled by the unwritten etiquette and exotic rituals as Captain Cook must have been when witnessing aboriginal tribesman attaching coconuts to their penises. Perhaps if she got buck naked with the natives she might be able to make friends with these people. The old Poms may act superior but after all beneath the pin-striped underpants, they had the same wrinkles, crinkles, dimples and pimples.
Maddy and Gillian, toga-ed in towels like a couple of Roman concubines, reclined on
chaise
-like beach chairs. All around them, naked ladies lay supine, noses buried in Jackie Collins or Jilly Cooper. It could have been a Mediterranean beach scene. Except it wasn’t. The sun beneath which they wallowed was eighty watt. The shore, linoleum. The backdrop, the grey and grimy walls of the Porchester Baths. It was Ladies’ Night . Taking a break between the sauna and the scrub room, Gillian had now settled down to a third volume of her Visa-card statement.
‘What in heaven’s name are Yokel Okel Stores and how did they get into me for two hundred and forty-seven pounds? I’d better sign a joint bank account with someone rich. And
soon
.’
‘What happened to Milo? Did he take you out to dinner?’
‘No.’ She scrunched up the bill and tossed it over her bare shoulder. ‘The Sally Anne Soup Kitchen was closed.’
Maddy laughed. ‘I thought you said he was loaded?’
‘Yes. And mean as cat’s piss. He made the chauffeur drive around and around until he found a meter which still had money in it.’
‘Like Montgomery. At least we know how they end up being squillionaires.’ The tea lady topped up their cups with tepid beige liquid and shuffled off on crumbly Cheddar-cheese legs. ‘If only you put as much energy into finding a career as you do into these male mutants of yours …’
Gillian drew back, horrified. ‘Career women, my dear Madeline, get heart attacks and hair loss.’
‘You’re like some throw-back from a Jane Austen novel, do you know that? For your information, it’s the end of the twentieth century. A girl’s got to stand on her own two Maud Frizon stilettos.’
‘I was brought up to inherit vast amounts of money and get married. I have no other training.’ With no make-up, Gillian appeared much older. Under these merciless lights and only a dimple’s distance away, Maddy could detect the plastic surgery scars. Gillian was a testament to Picasso. She was totally cubist. Her inner thigh was now her upper breast tissue. The backs of her knees were now her neck. Framed, she’d be worth millions. ‘Besides,’ Gillian rallied, ‘if God hadn’t meant us to hunt men, he wouldn’t have given us Wonder Bras.’
‘Come on, Gillian. You’re intelligent and attractive. What are your skills? Let’s build on that … What are you good at?’
Gillian laced her fingers together and used her hands as a head-rest. She pondered long and hard. ‘Well, I excel at getting upgraded into First Class … Drinking champagne is also a forte … As is tanning all over with no strap marks and getting out of giving fellatio.’
Maddy shot her friend a look of tart admonition. ‘You’re so bloody scheming and manipulative. I’ve got the perfect job for you, girl. Politics.’
‘Ah, funny you should mention that … I have actually been spending quite a bit of time around the House of Lords of late. Do you know it? It’s a local London retirement home.’
‘Proof of life after death.’
‘Exactly. And death, my dear, is just what I have in mind . Thanks to, what was it? – Yokel Okel Stores – I’m going to have to marry some old moneyed
Ladies’ Night
BEING IN ENGLAND was like living amongst some remote and foreign tribe. Maddy felt as bamboozled by the unwritten etiquette and exotic rituals as Captain Cook must have been when witnessing aboriginal tribesman attaching coconuts to their penises. Perhaps if she got buck naked with the natives she might be able to make friends with these people. The old Poms may act superior but after all beneath the pin-striped underpants, they had the same wrinkles, crinkles, dimples and pimples.
Maddy and Gillian, toga-ed in towels like a couple of Roman concubines, reclined on
chaise
-like beach chairs. All around them, naked ladies lay supine, noses buried in Jackie Collins or Jilly Cooper. It could have been a Mediterranean beach scene. Except it wasn’t. The sun beneath which they wallowed was eighty watt. The shore, linoleum. The backdrop, the grey and grimy walls of the Porchester Baths. It was Ladies’ Night . Taking a break between the sauna and the scrub room, Gillian had now settled down to a third volume of her Visa-card statement.
‘What in heaven’s name are Yokel Okel Stores and how did they get into me for two hundred and forty-seven pounds? I’d better sign a joint bank account with someone rich. And
soon
.’
‘What happened to Milo? Did he take you out to dinner?’
‘No.’ She scrunched up the bill and tossed it over her bare shoulder. ‘The Sally Anne Soup Kitchen was closed.’
Maddy laughed. ‘I thought you said he was loaded?’
‘Yes. And mean as cat’s piss. He made the chauffeur drive around and around until he found a meter which still had money in it.’
‘Like Montgomery. At least we know how they end up being squillionaires.’ The tea lady topped up their cups with tepid beige liquid and shuffled off on crumbly Cheddar-cheese legs. ‘If only you put as much energy into finding a career as you do into these male mutants of yours …’
Gillian drew back, horrified. ‘Career women, my dear Madeline, get heart attacks and hair loss.’
‘You’re like some throw-back from a Jane Austen novel, do you know that? For your information, it’s the end of the twentieth century. A girl’s got to stand on her own two Maud Frizon stilettos.’
‘I was brought up to inherit vast amounts of money and get married. I have no other training.’ With no make-up, Gillian appeared much older. Under these merciless lights and only a dimple’s distance away, Maddy could detect the plastic surgery scars. Gillian was a testament to Picasso. She was totally cubist. Her inner thigh was now her upper breast tissue. The backs of her knees were now her neck. Framed, she’d be worth millions. ‘Besides,’ Gillian rallied, ‘if God hadn’t meant us to hunt men, he wouldn’t have given us Wonder Bras.’
‘Come on, Gillian. You’re intelligent and attractive. What are your skills? Let’s build on that … What are you good at?’
Gillian laced her fingers together and used her hands as a head-rest. She pondered long and hard. ‘Well, I excel at getting upgraded into First Class … Drinking champagne is also a forte … As is tanning all over with no strap marks and getting out of giving fellatio.’
Maddy shot her friend a look of tart admonition. ‘You’re so bloody scheming and manipulative. I’ve got the perfect job for you, girl. Politics.’
‘Ah, funny you should mention that … I have actually been spending quite a bit of time around the House of Lords of late. Do you know it? It’s a local London retirement home.’
‘Proof of life after death.’
‘Exactly. And death, my dear, is just what I have in mind . Thanks to, what was it? – Yokel Okel Stores – I’m going to have to marry some old moneyed
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