Back at the penthouse I was suffering. The Dawn came up and sunlight forced its way through the blinds, piercing my eyes like some demented psychopath jabbing them with red hot pokers. For some reason he was whacking my head with a mallet and had stuck his sandal into my mouth too, you could have scraped enough fur off my tongue to carpet Ten Downing Street. I tried to sit up and every muscle I own demanded to know why? Sleeping in the chair had not turned out to be as smart an idea as it had seemed. Where was Lulu? Where was the Nun? Slowly the fog cleared and the answers played themselves back into my head, as the sounds and smells of bacon frying hit my senses.
It had come as quite a shock to discover that the Nun’s name was Derek. Lulu’s brother had come straight from a dress rehearsal at the Old Vic, where he was preparing to stage a one man ‘monologue’ style version of Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. They both looked at me expectantly so I said that it was not quite what I was into, but as long as he kept the Wimple and heels on, and didn’t get his parts too close to my face, I’d give it a try.
“No I don’t quite think you understand!” Lulu seemed suddenly to be losing her patience, “We need to talk”.
And so she talked. Lulu, I discovered, could talk for England in the Olympic breathless oration event. In fact she could enter that event for one of the countries that might actually win gold at the Olympics, such as China or America, never mind England.
The hours ticked by, I watched as her lips moved and wondered when I would be able to get a word in so that I could tell her the joke I’d remembered about Nuns in a bath looking for soap. I watched her impressive chest as it defied physics by remaining in the dress. On and on the words continued, she had turned to look out of the window so I studied her arse and wondered if I was ever going to get my hands on it. Suddenly I was aware of silence, I looked up.
“Well?”
“Er – well?”
“Well, what do you think?”
I looked at Derek with raised eyebrows, which is internationally recognised as a way for men to ask other men if they knew what the woman had been talking about and help them out. Derek shrugged his shoulders and I knew that he hadn’t been listening either.
“Surely you must have some idea how to help me with my problem?” Lulu sounded quite upset so I thought quickly.
“Apparently natural yoghurt can help, and don’t worry I’m sure we can think of something to do until it clears.”
Silence filled the room so loudly that I thought my ear drums would burst. I’d missed something important. I thought back quickly, I’d not heard any mention of food, breasts or lesbians so I’d not tuned in properly at any point but wait, what was that one line that had sunk in? She had used the ‘C’ word hadn’t she? I’d got excited about that but then I’d quickly discounted it, because the cake in question had only been a metaphorical one that you couldn’t own and eat at the same time. With impeccable Hollywood ‘last minute’ timing, I remembered that I’d heard her mention she had seen my IMDB page and she knew I was going to be doubling for Warwick Davis in a new adaptation of Butch and Sundance. She wanted something from Warwick…
“Oh yeah, Warwick – no problems, I can sort that out no problems, leave it with me.” Getting his autograph would be child’s play, but somehow the look on Lulu’s face made feel uneasy. Lulu looked just too damned happy, she ran over, kissed me and then poured some more wine.
“Are you sure you can get him to do it? What will you tell him?”
“Er, well, I’ll just say it’s for a fan, these actors get asked for this all the time, he’ll be more than happy to do it for you”
“Do they? Wow that’s brilliant! Here, take this sample bottle – get him to put it in there”
This was the point that I should have just put my hands up and asked her to clarify things a little, but the combination of Lambrusco, Clinique Happy perfume and a cleavage to curl up and die in, made my brains switch off and enjoy the moment instead. Derek had walked off and was on his phone jubilantly informing someone that they were going to be rich, presumably he’d miscalculated how much an Ewok’s autograph will get him on Ebay. I decided to leave him do it and concentrate my mind on more important matters – namely the ever present dress on my hostess.
It all got a bit blurred from that point on until I awoke in the chair, fully dressed and seemingly still untouched by Miss. Grigio. I put this thought to one side because she walked in the room wearing only a very tiny silk slip and carrying a plate of bacon sandwiches. There are very few men can resist sights like that and I’m certainly not one of them. The silver plate reflected the sun brilliantly, with its ruffled edge almost covered by the thick beige crusts of the flowery bloomer bread; each perfectly triangular slice clinging so eagerly to the succulent thick cut meat within. Steam floated softly above the plate, as the aroma drifted casually from the eight delicate halves of heaven and brushed seductively against my nose. I think Lulu’s slip was green. With a distraction like that I put all my questions to the back of my mind, except for the one about ketchup.
Somehow this was going to end badly, I knew it, but for now I sat back and indulged in one of my favourite pastimes; looking at beautiful long legs while eating bacon.
Ah, here we are in Paris, see you next time… Ciao
3 comments:
Bloody good story. I am so envious of Breeze - I bet he doesn't have to clean out the kitty litter.
Breasts and bacon...Breeze has it made. Otherwise, my head is quaking too much in laughter to form an intelligible comment.
Somehow this was going to end badly....
This is also my fear. :-)
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