31 posts tagged “elise”

"Make the noise stop!"

I hadn't even bothered looking up from my book, as I expertly kicked Bert's chair from under the desk.  He glared at me reproachfully.  Ever since the bugger threw out my fags, I haven't bothered to be polite to him. 

"It'll be over soon, Elle."  Elise had been trying to reason with me since the infernal noise began yesterday.

"Why don't we do something?  I'm bored to death," Bert complained.  I looked up from my book.

"Why don't you go an see when the noise will stop?!" I yelled over the drilling.

"But I don't - " Bert was cut off by the sounds of the world collapsing.  Elise yelled a bit over the noise and finally Bert did go out to see when it would finally stop.

"The foreman said - " Bert began when he came back, but was cut off by the drilling noise across the street. After some failed attempts of communication, we relocated to a cafe further up the street, and Bert was finally able to tell us what he'd been told.

"He said they'd break for lunch soon, but after that it's going to get much worse," he said, sipping from a cappicino, creating a foamy moustache on his upper lip. 

"Well, what if we go do something.  It is Sunday, isn't it?" Elise asked.  I knew exactly what she had in mind, and I sure it didn't invlove Bert and I.

"Yes?" Bert replied eagerly.

"So why don't we go to the park?"

"The park?" I asked, gobsmacked.  "Why would you even suggest that?"

"What if we went to see a film?" Bert asked, clearly steering the conversation to safer waters.  He picked up a discarded paper from the table. "How about this one? 'London Fog.'  Michael Caine.  A used car salesman must race against the clock to find the next victim of a Jack the Ripper-esque killer from-"

"No, no," I groaned, ripping the paper out of his hands. "What's this? 'The Dangerous Six.' Nicole Kidman, Natalie Portman, Penelope Cruz...blah blah...Six women who went boldly where no other women had gone in the Age of the Flappers.'  What rubbish is this?" I demanded, as Elise took the paper away from me.

"How about this one? 'Green Sounds.'  Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen with Mos Def," she read.

"Oh, they're cute.  Well, pre-rehab cute, I suppose," Bert replied.  I snorted.

"'A different POV from the new release, 'Blue's Tunes', this movie works from the side of sisters Sadie and Sabrina Green, rival music shop owners to that of Leonard Blue.  With the help of their drag queen assitant, Lady ZaZa..." Elise paused for some sort of dramatic affect (giving Bert enough time to giggle to himself),  "..the twins attempt to undermine Blue's Tunes and deal with their own personal issues.  From yelling matches between Sadie and Leonard, the love/hate relationship of Sabrina and Danny and the off-hand comments from Lady ZaZa, things are sure to be sizzling for this end of the summer's blockbuster!'  Pfft."

"Wankers," I replied.

"As if that could come anywhere close to being like real life!" Bert exclaimed.

"A child could write better!" Elise added, throwing down the paper in disgust. "They can't even come up with a good idea, they just feed off of pre-existing ideas, all laid out for them."

"Fill-in-the-blanks," I replied.

"Exactly!"

"I wonder how good Mos Def looks in drag?" Bert mused.

We trooped back to the shop, unsuccessful.  The noise had stopped briefly, so we were debating going out for dinner.  Finally after arguing over where we should go, we got ready to leave.

"I'll just run out and grab my purse from the car!" Bert said, running out of the shop quickly.

I looked to Elise and was about to ask, when she replied, "Penny's."

Bert came running back in in a headlong sprint.  He was waving an envolpe around and jibbering at the same time, making absolutely no sense.  Not that he usually does anyways.

"Fix him, would you?" I growled.  Elise nodded and slapped him on the face.

"There's a sign, Elle!  A sign!"

"They've finally found and have decided to come take you back to your home planet?" I asked, grabbing my purse out from under the desk.

"No, no!  It's says they're building across the street for the next 2 weeks!  What'll we do?" he exclaimed, doing a panicky dance.  Elise looked at me wide-eyed.

"We'll...we'll drink heavily.....shout at each other to drown out the sound!" I replied, realizing as I said it, how completely foolish that sounded.

"Well we won't be able to hear you, will we?" Elise shouted, as the noise began again.

"Wait! Wait!  Why don't we go away?" Bert exclaimed suddenly.

"No!  Absolutely not! I'm not going anywhere!" I replied, yelling louder, to be heard over the noise.

"It's a perfect excuse!" Elise agreed with him.

"And my mother just left 3 plane tickets to Sant Onaray in Penny's car as an early birthday present for meeee!"

"Shut up, where's the sign?" I asked, pushing Bert out of my way.

"Are you sure they're for you?" Elise asked skeptically as I stepped out the door, into the pouring rain.  I watched Bernard beat the sign with an umbrella before venturing over.  I ran across the street to where a little old woman was starring at the broken umbrella and tenner in her hands.

"'S'cuse me." I pushed her out my way to the sign.  I read it quickly.  Twice. 

"Hey Elle," Elise yelled half-way across the self.

"Wot?" I replied, hardly bothering to look up at her from the book I was trying to read.  She bounded over to my desk and plopped herself into the chair next to me.

"I've been thinking..." she started, propping her elbows up on the desk, while resting her chin on her knuckles.

"That's dangerous to your health."

"... and I believe I've decided what to do with the rest of the money you gave me for Chrimbo," she finished, barely even taking notice that I had insulted her.

She still hasn't spent all the damn money?

I sighed heavily, slammed my book shut and plucked a cigarette out of the open package on the desk. 

"An' wot's that?" I asked, leaning forward as she lit the ciggy for me.

"We'll go on holiday!  The three of us!  No customers, no creatures, no... no competition; no nothing," she replied, looking hard at me for a facial response.  She didn't get one.  "Anyways, I've been looking at websites and visiting travelling agencies..."

"What about the shop?" I asked suddenly, surprising myself a little.

"Oh, we could get Penny to look after it or something.  Anyways..."

"Ah, yes, Penny," I replied, uncertainly.

Who in the name of Beezlebub's shorts is Penny?

Ten minutes later, Elise was showing me pamphlets of holiday destinations, while I was still trying to think of who the hell Penny was.

"This place here would be perfect!  See here, it says there's a beach, a jungle and the only English bookshop...," she began to say, when Bert burst in the front door, startling customers with his flashy tracksuit.

"You'll never believe who's in my yoga class!" he blurted, sitting himself down daintily in the chair in front of the desk.

He didn't even give me time to reply. Lousy bugger.  "Fran!" he exclaimed, slapping his hands down on the desktop, making Elise, myself and the computer moniter jump at the same time.  He glanced between the two of us, waiting for a reply.

"Ahh, that's g-," was all Elise got out before the walking disco ball leant over the desk and plucked the cigarette right out of my mouth and dropped it into my glass of wine.

"What the HELL is wrong with you?!" I yelled, grabbing the glass. 

"Smoking and drinking is really bad for you.  Your chakras are all over the place, Elle!  You need to relax and..."

"Your chakras are to be hanging out your nose if you try that again!" I growled at him.  He looked slightly startled, but that didn't stop him from continuing his preaching.

"Penny and Eva said that...," he began, but I had had it.

"Just who the bleedin' hell is Penny?!" I shouted, thumping the glass back down on the desk, sloshing ashy wine all over my book and some of Elise's pamphlets.

"Penny's his girlfriend," Elise informed me, gathering up the pamphlets that weren't soggy and attempting to salvage the ones that were.

"Girlfriend?" I echoed.

"Yeh," Bert replied, smoothing out the front of his tracksuit.  "She's a bartender at the club I work at."

"Oooooo, Penny.  Penny. Penny Penny Henny."

"Come on Elle, you're being childish."

"Am not."

"I think if you tried yoga, you may be able to see the lighter side of life," Bert stated, smugly.

"I'm not trying your yogi," I retorted, picking up my book and shaking it.

"Yo-ga."

"That neither."

Completely satisfied that that little shock of juice should have at least jolted the health inspector, I was getting out of the car when I heard Elise scream.

I ran inside in time to see the Health Inspector holding one of my kitchen knives to Bert's throat.  So maybe it wasn't Elise who screamed...?

"Wot the SODDING HELL- ?!" I shouted, but was interrupted by the HI.  Honestly I expected him to start grunting like Frankenstein's monster, but I guess that was the second surprise I had that night.

"I want  you to empty your till and give me all the money you've got and anything else that might fetch a hefty price, or I'll slit your girlfriend's pretty little neck," he said, his voice low and dangerous as a sligtly demented smile played on his face.  Actually, it was completely demented.

And to improve to situation even better, Elise started laughing hysterically.

"Fat chance you've got!  There isn't a cent in that till!" she snorted.  I tried to give her a you're-definitely-not helping look, but that made her laugh even more.

The HI started to look nervous. 

"Right, wot's it gona be, give me the money, or your friend here get's it."  Bert stopped whimpering for a brief second to add his two cents worth.

"Just for the record, in case you do decide to kill me, I am a bloke."

"Bert.  Not helping," I replied.  Bert shot me pained look, as the HI shook him and held the blade closer to his neck.

And then the crashing in the shop started.  I suddenly remembered that Bernard had implied that he would actually come to see what we would put up for "competetancy" and thought that is was him and Manny making their path of destruction to the kitchen.

"Bernard, don't come in here!" I yelled.  I made a move for the doorway, but the HI actually pressed the blade against Bert's neck, who was making a brave effort not to cry.

The answer that came back surprised me.  I was really starting to hate, I mean really hate, surprises.

"Bernard's not fucking well here!" yelled Fran, appearing at the doorway.  "And I need my car!"  We all turned to stare at her.  "Oo's 'e?" she demanded, before what was going on registered.

Everything after that happened really quickly.  Honestly, I didn't know Fran could move as fast as she did.

She suddenly bent down, grabbed my discarded pan and hit the Health Inspector over the head before he could react (probably a side effect from being brought back from the dead).  After he and Bert went down, Fran was about to scream for her car, so I just kind of pointed dumbly out the back door.  She ran out and we were left with a dead guy. 

Again.

While Bert was crying on the floor, I called Scotland Yard to tell them that we had just been attacked in our book shop cum bistro.

Ha!

Bernard thinks he can just open a restaurant/coffee shop!  It's not that easy, trust me!  I had to actually get my own chef's hat.  Okay, maybe steal is a better word.  Besides, I'm sure the restaurant next door won't miss it all that much.

Anyways, after he knifed one of the things and stormed out screaming for his bearded bitch, Bert decided to sail in with ingredients.  He dropped the paper bags on the counter and Elise, being a nosy parker, dove right in a started pulling everything out, with the usual, "What's this?" and "What's that?"

I have to admit, I was amazed.

"Where did you - how did you know what to get?" I asked Bert, slightly awed, as he stowed some things in the fridge.

"My cousin's a chef at a restaurant in Westminster and he helped me a bit," Bert shrugged.  "It's nothin' special."  He shrugged like it was nothing. 

Later, after we had argued over the menu and had a little to drink, Bert and Elise were getting ready for opening around half-four, I was in the kitchen (with my pilfered hat), trying to start making everything and fighting with my apron.  Bert suddenly appeared at kitchen door, looking a little bewildered.

"What?  What is it?" I asked, slightly annoyed.  I was still a little mad that Elise was making me wear an uniform even though no one would ever see me.  Hopefully.

"There's a - a bloke here to see you," he replied, gesturing to someone I couldn't see over his shoulder.

"Who's it then?" I asked impatiently.   Then some bloke wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a mac, carrying a briefcase swung around into the kitchen and said, "I'm the Health Inspector."

"I'm quaking in my boots," I replied.  "What do you want?"  Bert disappeared as the Health Inspector skulked over to the counter and slammed his briefcase down before poping it open.

"Did you, or did you not, Miss Whyte, apply for a transition of business from novel merchant to food serving establishment?"

"Yeh, but -"

"And you did recieve a licence to serve food in your establishment?"

"Yeh, but -"

"Do not interrupt me, Miss Whyte," he replied, pointing a finger in my face.  He had a clip board and pen ready.  He looked around, scowling at the mess I had already made in my attempts to make a cake and marinate meat at the same time.

He was about to ask me something, when one of those creatures ran out from under the kitchen table, slammed into the back door, skittered around and headed into the shop, which was followed by a squeal from Elise.

"What was that, Miss Whyte?"

"Our dog?"

"I'm quite certain dogs don't have beaks, Miss Whyte."  He scribbled something down on his paper.  "Where is your culinary approval certificate, or if you have it, a degree in culinary arts?" he asked, looking around.

This can't be good.

"It's right up there," I replied, pointing at a spot on the wall.

"I don't see it," he answered, craning his neck and squinting his eyes, scanning the walls, which were splattered with blood, cake batter and melted chocolate.  And maybe there were a couple strawberries that I had thrown at one of those things.  Maybe.

"It's waaaaayyyyy up there, you see?" I asked, reaching behind him to grab a pan as quietly as I could from the sink.  "I graduated from the Culinary School of Excellence with a degree in Excellent -"

"I've never heard of that college; where is it-" THONK.  I had smacked him on the back of the head with the pan, just as he was about to turn around.

Bert and Elise came running.

"Oh my GOD, Elle!  You killed the Health Inspector!" Elise accused me. 

I so did not.

“One table?!” I exclaimed.  “One table?!”

Elise narrowed her eyes.  “Yes, one table,” she replied, gritting her teeth.

She had arrived back, just about the same time the table was being delivered, finding me in my painting shorts, just finishing putting a coat of primer on the walls of the shop.

The delivery men probably sensed the massacre that was most likely to commence and had hurriedly set the table down in the middle of the shop. 

Elise and I stood about 2 yards away from the table, tense, starring each other down.

“And what, tell me, are we going to do with one table?!”

“We’ll let exclusive groups of people - ,” began Elise.

“Where are they going to sit?  You didn’t get any CHAIRS!” I shouted, throwing a painting roll in Elise’s direction.  She ducked.

“At least I got it for a good price!  Chairs or not!”

I saw her skinned knees.  If she got it at a decent price the normal way, then I was the Queen’s auntie. 

“Besides, people can sit on the floor –”

“Oh yes! If they want to stare at each other under the bleeding table!”

I threw down the paint roller that I was holding in disgust and stomped to the kitchen to get my things.

I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the shop.  I took the Underground to get to Portobello Road, to get to the antique market.  Weaving through the crowds of Hawaiian shorts-wearing tourists, making poor attempts to haggle with vendors, I made my way to the quietest end of the street.

I pushed open the door of one the shops advertising that they had the best antique furniture in London.

“’lo,” said a bloke, looking up from the sales counter.  He was bent over a large book and seemed startled that I had walked in. 

Or he had noticed my shorts.  Which I soon realized I still had on. 

That explains the looks the elderly were giving me.

“Do you have any sort of tables?  Perhaps ones that match?” I asked, lifting up the cover of a decrepit-looking book with the tip of my index finger.

“Ah, yeah…this way,” he replied.   I followed him into a larger room, where several pieces of furniture where piled on top of each other.  He pulled one out of a pile to show me.

“Nineteenth century; good condition; originally used in a gentlemen’s club for cards and so on and so forth,” he explained, watching me as I inspected it.  I ran my left hand over the surface.

A couple strokes with Bert’s electric sander and I could have it painted and ready to open the shop in about four days.

“How many others are there?” I asked.  The bloke had been fidgeting with his Peter Parker glasses nervously while I was looking at the table.  The he looked a little puzzled.

“How many do you need?” he asked, surprised.

“How many you got?” I repeated.                      

“A-about 10…”

“Right, I’ll have six of ‘em.”  He still looked surprised.  “How much will it be?” I asked, pulling out my wallet.

“Well, it’s about 100 quid for one,” he began slowly.  I looked up in surprise.  “But, since you’re buying over half of them, I could make you a deal.”  He was smiling.  I stared back at him blankly.

“I’m Dante,” he said suddenly, thrusting his hand out towards me.  I took it cautiously.

“Elle,” I replied.  I narrowed my eyes.  “What kind of deal, exactly, are we talking about?”

“Easy, I’ll give you all six tables for half the price,” he explained.  I looked at him.

“What’s the catch?”

“A simple exchange of phone numbers and a small promise of coffee,” he replied, smiling.

This time I really looked at him.  He was fairly fit, dark hair, well-kept beard/moustache combo (unlike that catastrophe that’s attached to Manny’s face) and he seemed alright.

“Alrig – wait, you’re not gay by any chance are you?”

“It’s lunch.”  Elise had responded to my question like I had gone completely mad.  In fraction of a second an idea hit me.

So I smiled that smile that creeps Elise out; reserved for rare occasions such as this.

“So that’s what we’ll do then,” I said.  Elise looked at me.

“Get more booze?” she asked.  I shook my head, still smiling.  I was about to explain, when something caught my eye.  I slowly reached into my desk and pulled out a toy gun that I had filled with small marbles.  Elise flinched as I took aim and pulled the trigger, hitting one of the creatures.

“So that’s five points for me?” I asked, stowing the gun.  Elise glanced in the thing’s direction when I leapt out of my chair, to stand beside her.  Bending over slightly, I launched my idea at her. 

“So here’s the plan, yeh?  We start a café.  Or bistro.  Doesn’t matter.  Something that sells coffee, lunches, desserts, a full line of designer caffeinated drinks and – maybe – even supper.”  I looked at Elise, seeing that the gears in her head were turning.  Smoke was practically pouring out of her ears.  “So there’s only three basic jobs a café has, yeh?  A maitre d’, a waitress, or waiter, and a cook, yeh?” 

Elise nodded intently.

“So, you be the waitress, I’ll be the cook-”

“Wait, why do you get to be the cook?”

“Because I dated a chef.”

“Who was gay.” 

She had to point that out, didn’t she?

“That’s kind of irrelevant, right now.  Anyways, I did happen to pick up a few things.  Besides, who did you think cooked for you after mum died?  Dad?”

Elise stiffened a bit.  Then she frowned.

“Fine.  But I want to be maitre’d.”

“Right, so that just leaves – damn.”  I had forgotten about Bert.

So, we spent and hour on the phone, begging him to come back.  It was really pathetic.  It bought every lie we told him.  Like we’d ever buy him a car.  Or a stereo system.  Or actually pay him for the lost time.

“Right, so I’m thinking the shop needs a new colour scheme,” Elise said, hands on her hips, staring at the walls.  “How about dark bl-,” she started to say, when I had another brilliant plan.

“We should use red, black and white.”

“But – but, that’s -!”

“What most posh café’s in Europe have for a genius colour scheme? I think so.” Elise stopped to think for a moment.

“I suppose you’re –”

“Great!  I’ll go buy the paint and you can get things that match it.  Or something,” I exclaimed, grabbing my bag from the kitchen, flinging another one of those creatures off it before throwing this morning’s frying pan and fried egg residue at it, as it scurried off towards the back door.  The pan hit the wall with a metallic CLANG, allowing the thing to scurry out the half-open garden door.

Elise’s head popped around the corner.

“Did you get it?” she asked, hopefully.

“No, the bugger,” I replied.  I checked my wallet for money, as I walked back into the shop.  Finding not a penny, I pulled out three crisp tenners from the cash drawer and stuffed them into my wallet.

Elise asked me something from the front door.

“Mmmhhmm,” I replied, not quite paying attention to her.

Bert’s gone crying off to his mum, or something, while Elise went trouncing off, most likely to entice and tease Manny, while I’m stuck in the bleeding shop, nursing, yet again, another hangover.

Elise was curious as to what was going on over at Black Books; people seem to be swarming over there like…like things that swarm.  I told Elise I had no interest in whatever mad scheme Bernard and the Bearded Blunder were up to.

I was sitting at my desk, trying to make a Fizzy-Good, when I heard someone whisper in front of me.

“Excuse me?”

“What?! What do you want?” I asked, looking up to see some girl standing in front of me, clutching a book about that really crap 60’s band, the Beatles.  She looked like the type who would enjoy that rubbish.  Her purse had badges and pins on it, saying “Vote environment!” and “Bring back the Beatles!”  Americans, honestly.

 “How much is this?” the girl asked.  I threw my arms up in defence; every time she opened her mouth a flash of blinding light shot out, endangering my already slightly precarious vision.

“Stop! Stop talking!” I yelled, waving my arms.  I reached down blindly, felt for the desk drawer and pulled out my sunglasses.  As I put them on, I replied, “Why do want to buy that?  It’s crap.”

“I-I like the Beatles?” she replied, this time the flashes of light reflected off the sunglasses and no into my eyes.  Braces.  What kind of orthodontic sadist thinks these things up?

“Of course you do,” I replied dryly, “all Americans like really crap bands.”  I grabbed the book from her and thumbed through it.

“Actually, I’m Canadian,” she replied, trying to open her mouth as little as possible, finally cluing in that her mouth was causing my mincers great pain. 

I stopped. 

Canadian?  Don’t they all live in igloos or something?

I blinked.  “Ahh…5 quid.”  As she dug her money out, I tried to make small talk.  “So how long does it actually take to make an igloo?”  She narrowed her eyes at me as she handed over the money.  “Must really be a pain, having to use dog sleds and all to get from place to place, yeh?”

“I’m not from Alaska,” she snorted, taking the book from my outstretched hand, and turning away.  So is Alaska now part of Canada?  I thought it belonged to the Soviets.  

As soon as the Canadian left, I was back to being bored out of my skull.  No one was in the shop.  And I mean no one. 

So, naturally, curiosity got the better of me.

I grabbed Bert’s opera glasses off the desk and went over to squat by the front windows, next to the door.  I putting them up to my face, I realized I could see a whole lot better, especially after I took the sunglasses off.  My head stopped hurting too.

Anyroad, that doesn’t matter.  What I saw mattered and it bothered me greatly.  There were people, lots of people, in Bernard’s shop, sitting around, reading books, drinking from mugs and milling about.  Manny was also standing in a box, talking to Elise, but that just furthers my point about Manny being completely mad.  And about Elise leading him on.

I was just about to get up and go over myself, when the door opened, hit my arse and sent me sprawling onto the floor.

“What ar’you doin’?” grumbled a voice I instantly knew.  Pushing myself off the floor, I straightened up, so see Bernard, wearing a label that said “Bern” on his lapel, surrounded by a couple gold star stickers, like the ones children get for doing something good, like fetching the paper, or not peeing on the carpet.

“I was looking for something,” I replied, dusting myself off.  He watched me before reaching out and grabbing the opera glasses from my hand.

“What’s dis then?” he asked, looking the glasses over.

“Opera glasses,” I replied, trying to take them from him.  He put them up to his eyes and said, “What were you using d’em for?”

“Going to the opera?” I replied, hoping he’d just drop the subject. 

“I didn’t t’ink you were so high class,” he replied, spinning around to look out the window.  “What opera?  Black Books, featuring a genius and a beard?” He threw the glasses to me.

“Actually that’s a soap,” I replied coolly.  He frowned and was about to say some nasty retort, when Elise popped through the door, exclaiming, “Elle!  I’ve got an idea – oh!  What are you doing here?”

Bernard scowled at Elise.  Then in a high pitched voice, he replied, “I t’ought I’d come over for a book and a cup of coffee.”  And he added a ridiculous giggle before pushing Elise aside and shuffling out the door.

I looked at Elise, raising an eyebrow, I asked, “What was that all about?”

So after having an encounter with the anti-homo priest, my attention returned to the stage, as a roar of howling laughter thundered in the club. 

I looked at centre stage to see Bert, looking more confident, cocking his hips and strutting around on the stage like a model (or whatever way Elise had taught him how to).  He was going on about his sexuality.  I groaned, thinking he was about to go into some Eddie Izzard “Executive Transvestite” spiel.

“Unlike what a lot of people think,” Bert was saying, “there’s plenty of us who really rate the opposite sex, that’s why we dress like ‘em!”  He twirled, making the skirt of his dress billow out.  “But I’ll tell you this: birds don’t find it very appealing to being hit on by blokes in skirts!”  The audience roared.  Elise was hiding behind her glass again.

“Whadd’ya doin’?” I asked, slightly annoyed.  She looked like a complete twat when she did that.

“Hidin’,” she replied, hiccupping, “so’s they don’t know we’re with him.”  I rolled my eyes, and turning back towards the stage to watch more.

“This may come as a shocker, but I live with 2 birds,” Bert began again, receiving quite a few whistles from the crowd.  I frowned.  “I know, right?  Twins, even!”  The male audience began hooting, as I sunk into my chair, hoping it would swallow me whole.

“Oh god,” Elise whispered next to me.

“So these twins also share some-sort of partnership of a shop, yeah?  They don’t agree on anythin’.  I’ll you about them: one of them’s quite a riot. Quite a laugh most of the time, but she is a bit of tart, she is. Easier than a 10 cent whore!”  Whistling and shouting erupted from the audience while Bert started grinning.  I looked at Elise, who had gone white in the face.

“An’ the other one!  Drinks and smokes like it’s going out of style!  I’ve even seen her smoke at least 4 fags at a time!  And speaking of fags, in the American sense, she’s even dated one! A bloke, that is,” he grinned. The crowd ooo-ed, and I sunk even lower in my chair.  He didn’t really need to bring that up.  “She gets quite violent when she’s pissed, too.  Throws things and the lot…” It just kept getting worse.

Not for Bert, of course.  He just rambled on about us.  It provided some sick form of humour for the audience.  He rambled on about New Year’s, which I have no recollection of, so I’m pretty sure he made the whole fecking thing up. 

I was getting fed up with listening to him, especially when he started on Bernard.  I got up, grabbed Elise by the arm (as she was still a bit shocked) and marched her out of the club. 

Elise managed to break the heel of her shoe off on the way home, so she forced self upon me and insisted that I help her hobble home.  So I did.

After we got home, we passed out.  I fell asleep with my head on a pile of books at my desk and Elise barely made it to the shop couch.

I woke up when the shop bell jingled its little jingle of hatred.  Bert had strolled into the shop, smoking a cigar, acting like he owned the place.  That’s when I grabbed the broom (seeing as it was the only thing around my desk that I could use to inflict serious pain with) and jumped up to hit him right in the smug face with it.

“Oy! Ow!” Bert cried out, throwing his arms up in defence. “Back off!”

“Bit violent, am I?” I snarled at him, hitting him over the head with the broom.  “How’s this for violence, you nine-sided tranny!”

“Stop, stop!”

Bert is being such a git.

So I fired him.

And then re-hired him after Elise failed to show up to work after spending time with her real boyfriend, Leo. 

I swear, every time we go to our tennis lessons, Bert attempts to maim Leo in some sort of fashion.  And he’s stopped wearing his frock to tennis.  He practically tries to knock Leo out with the ball when we play doubles. 

Men.  Honestly.

The heat wave seemed like it would never end.  I was going boy-crazy the entire time.  Customers kept coming in looking for something to take on holiday with them and I had to get rid of 200 copies of “Tempocalypse” that Bert ordered.  I kept trying to flirt with all the men who came in, but then they’d look over at the shop couch and see Bert there, snoring away.

“Get UP!” I yelled at him one day, trying to pull him off the couch.

“Whhhhhyyyyyy?” he whined.

“Men think you’re my boyfriend!” I exclaimed.  Then the stupid idiot started grinning.  So I slapped him.  “Go get me a lolly from down the street!”  That got him out.  He complained, but he went.

Then the hottest day of the heat wave came on.

I was trying to sleep.  Even though it was night, it was still around 87 degrees.  Manny was off eating a car or something, Fran had told me, due to his “Dave’s Syndrome.”   Like I said, it was still bloody well hot.  I was tossing and turning all night, trying to stay cool.  I even tried lying under my bed, but the dust bunnies tried to attack me, so I had to get out pronto.

Around half two in the morning, something starting bouncing off my window.  I opened it, only to get hit on the forehead with a chocolate floret.

“OY! Wot’s the big idea?!” I yelled down at the street.  And then I saw him standing down in the middle of the street, with an accordion attached to him.  Smiling like the drunken fool he was.  I sighed.  “Bernard, wot you doin’?” I called down to him.

“I’ve come to serenade you!” he yelled, stretching the accordion, making it wheeze.  “You’re my summer girl!  Just – just listen!”

And then he sang some really crap song that I couldn’t quite understand.  When he was done, he yelled, “Just throw your head back and laugh!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my summer girl!  You’re supposed to laugh and dance around springs and bathe in waterfalls…!  And eat the custard pie with a fork, because that’s what auntie Nibbs did when she wasn’t eating cream!”

“I don’t get it!”

“You’re not supposed to!  My autumn girl needs to be the smart one, not you!  You just need to frolic around Carnaby Street barefoot, swinging sunflowers and singing!”

“You’re daft!” I yelled, getting ready to shut the window.

“No, no! Wait!  I’ve got another song for you!” he shouted frantically.

I spent the rest of the morning listening to songs that he made up about summer and cows, until he passed out on the sidewalk around 6 o’clock.

A few weeks after the heat wave, Fran was telling her about the job that Manny got her with his connections. (Surprising, I know, that Manny has connections.)  She told us about this bloke who plays with his trouser snake appendums at work.  In public.  Bert made a comment about it, and I got him.  I caught the twat playing with his last week.  Blokes must have some kind of obsession with them; I mean you don’t catch birds standing around on the Underground platforms, playing with their boobs.

I guess Manny and Bernard have taken up a new hobby: teaching ex-con’s how to read.  Bernard’s been wailing about his thumbs for the last 12 hours.  They gave us a copy of this book the thug they’re teaching.

“‘I kept Harry’s left thumb as a keepsake, attaching it to my keychain.  I suck on it at night sometimes, thinking of what a great pal Harry was, or used to be,’” I read out loud, as Bernard sat curled up on Auntie Madge’s couch.  Bert was gagging in the background.  “This is really sick.  He’s mental,” I commented, turning the book over to read the back cover.

“I know!  Teaching him letters!  Letters!” Bernard exclaimed.  He held his hands out in front of his face, flexing his thumbs.  “I like my thumbs!  They turn door knobs and…do other t’ings!”

Since I fired Bert again, he went and got himself another job, which was actually his “Big Secret” from the beginning of the New Year.  He auditioned at some crap comedy club and got a job there, working on the weekends.  He made Elise and I go check it out last week with him.

We spent most of the time hiding in a corner booth, trying not to attract too much attention to ourselves while Bert sat on the edge of his seat, completely engulfed in what was going on onstage.  Elise and I were afraid of attracting the attentions of some of the dirty old men there.

I think Bert’s so keen to go there because of one of the bar girls.  It’s great he’s got a job, but he doesn’t need to drag us along.  Which he is.  Tomorrow night. 

Elise is panicking because Leo has to go away for the weekend to Edinburgh to play.  And Tom is having a “slumber party” that she’s not invited to, ever since she snubbed him by mentioning Leo.  And Bernard and Manny are due to be thumbless that day, so I’m out of an escape route.

Bert’s so very excited about it.  He’s having a nervy b trying to figure out what he’ll where tomorrow night.  He has too much to choose from, but whores will have their trinkets, I suppose.

She never came back from the loo.

No big surprise there.  She took off with the Tennis God.

And Bert made me wait with him for two hours, waiting for Elise to come back.

I was staring at the ground, mourning the loss of the chance I had with the Tennis God, the second Elise flicked her hair, when Bert said, “Perhaps she fell in?”

“And popped out of the Tennis Go- Leo’s toilet,” I replied, getting up.

“We could go get her!” he exclaimed, jumping up off the bench.

“That’s the daftest thing I’ve heard all – where you goin’?” I said, as Bert began to stride away from me. 

Which probably isn’t an easy thing to do when you’re a 6’2” man in 2 inch heels.  I think Bert was born in heels.

I followed Bert to the club’s reception desk, where he was asking about Leo’s residence.  I went to grab my flask out of my cleverly sewn pocket, but I remembered it was empty.  It truly was a brilliant idea.  What else is easily portably and not awkward to have sitting in a pocket of a dress?  My flask!  I filled it with water and it was like a cool pack on my leg the entire time we were riding the tubes!

Anyroad, the receptionist gave Bert a strange look and asked, “This is personal information.”

Bert was stuttering and panicking when I said, “He’s a friend.  He took my sister to his place and told us to meet him there later.” She glanced between the two of us and hesitated.  “Listen sister, do you know who this is?” I asked her.  She shook her head slowly, eyebrows knit.  “This is Bertram O’Malley, the biggest sports agent in the UK.  We need to head over to Leo’s for some big-shot talk.”  I put my hand to the side of my mouth like I was going to tell her a secret, as I leant over the counter.  “Leo got a little excited and forgot to tell us where he lived.  And don’t worry about O’Malley here, he gets a little paranoid in public, you know, all these…sporty-types, jumping out of dustbins, claiming they can play cricket and footy and all that crap.”

She either bought it, or thought we were clinically insane and thought is was better if we killed Leo and not her.  She looked it up for us.  Apparently Leo lives around Notting Hill somewhere.

“Oh, mate, I don’t think they let your type around there,” I said to Bert, trying to dissuade him from going.  He’s been ridiculously protective of Elise since spring.

“Transvestites?” he asked, confused.  I looked at him.

“Yes, Bert, transvestites,” I said.  “Let’s just go home and wait for her, alright?”

“Yeh, alright.”

Later that afternoon, Fran was round pestering us about the walls in her flat.

“If you don’t believe me, you can come over and watch them with me!” she exclaimed, sitting on the desk as Bert tried to make a missing persons poster.

“No, Elle and I are going to stay in and wait for Elise to come home, aren’t we?” he said, looking over at me.  I was lying on the shop couch, with 3 fans pointed down at me on full blast.

“Cor, I dunno; walls, waiting for my sister, maybe I’ll even go watch women or the thermometer with Bernard or Manny.  It’s such a big decision,” I retorted.  Bert made a face and went back to the computer.

“You should stay in a wait for your sister,” he commented.

“I’m not her keeper.”

“Can I stay with you lot?  I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in ages…I just lay there all sticky and sweaty and hot…,” Fran began to say, but Bert was out of the chair and pulling Fran towards the door.

“No, go!  And take your sexy words with you!” he exclaimed, pushing her out the door.  I opened an eye.

“What’s wrong, Berty?  Fran leading you on now?” I asked, amused.

“Shadd’up.”

Some time after that I must of fell asleep because the next thing I knew, Bert was shaking me hissing, “Get up!  She’s coming home!”

“Whaaaa…who?”  I sat up in the humid dark.

“Elise!” he hissed.

“Aww who cares?  She’s 25 years old!  I wanna sleep!” I growled.  I threw myself back down on the couch, as Bert sat back down at the desk, turning the lamp off.

Seconds later the front door creaked open.  I turned over to watch what Bert was going to do, curiosity getting the better of me.  I could hear Elise shuffling across the floor, when Bert turned the lamp on suddenly. 

Elise had that deer-in-the-headlights look on her face when the light hit her face.

“Where have you been?” Bert demanded.

Elise didn’t say anything.  I looked at him.

“Jesus, Bert,” I started, rubbing my face in tiredly, “what are you?  The Curfew Nazi?”