36 posts tagged “elle”

Elle was in a particularly bad mood when I came home from yoga with Bert.
"Oh, Christ, now you're on drugs too?!" she exclaimed, tossing a book at me.
"Yoga has nothing to do with drugs." I smiled and exhaled slowly. "It's like having sunshine in your veins."
"I read an article about the stuff- it's very dangerous," Elle said. "Listen to you, you're becoming one of them. You're going over to the other side. The land of sandals, spoon-benders and yogurt fanciers."
"Don't be ridiculous, Elle. I think Elise looks fab," Bert said. "She's the most flexible person in the whole class."
I grinned. There was a reason for that. And his name is Ben.
Since Leo and I had quietly decided to break up (we both found out we were shagging other people), I had been seeing various men. My relationship with Leo was the longest one I'd had since middle school and I felt tied down (even when I was being tied down by someone who was not Leo). So, I had been taking advantage of my new-found freedom and seeing as many men as possible.
And Ben, our yoga instructor, had become my new playmate.
We'd gone out for drinks at a trendy juice bar after my first class and that night I found out exactly how flexible I could be. It was crazy. And because Ben is fantastic and wonderful and everything a man should be, we decided to keep things casual. He can see other women and I can see other men. And things are going brilliantly.
I leaned against Elle's desk. "So, have you thought about where you'd like to go for our little vacation?"
"Yes, actually," Elle said, sitting up straight in her chair. "I have spent hours and hours thinking about where we should go and I've made a decision."
"Wow," I said, "you must really have had a change of heart. So, where would you like to go?"
"To the pub across the street. And no further."

After yoga class the next day, Bert and I were just strolling in the park, both of us feeling very relaxed. Him, because he honestly enjoyed yoga and I, because I'd just had a quickie with Ben in his office while Bert was changing out of his unitard.
"If I were any more relaxed, you could just pour me into a bowl," Bert said. He looked at me. "You've given up smoking, haven't you?"
"Of course, I have," I said. That statement was almost true. I'd stopped smoking completely... besides post-coital cigarettes, but that's different.

We headed back to the shop and noticed a sign being put up across the street from Whyte Books, right beside Black Books.

And that's when the noise started.

Bobbyhat

"Let me get this straight," Inspector O'Hoolihan said in a thick Irish accent, peering at us all from under his hat. "This guy ran in, put a knife to 'dis here guy's troate, 'dis here lady hit 'im over d'head wid dis here fryin' pan and dats how 'e died."

Elle, Bert, Fran and I all exchanged looks. "Yes, sir."

Maybe the irony was lost on everyone else, but I found it quite amusing that this member of England's Scotland Yard was Irish.

"And wot about 'deese here marks on 'is nipples? Wot is that all aboot?" He raised an eyebrow, specifically at Bert.

"...Why do you look at me when you say that?" Bert retorted.

I cleared my throat. "I used to have this friend who would pinch his nipples. He did it all the time. I guess it's a kind of confidence builder." I nodded wisely and pretended I knew exactly what I was talking about- I didn't.

Fran, who was quite drunk, asked if she could leave and take her car back across the street. Inspector O'Hoolihan nodded and she stumbled off.

After the Inspector and the rest of the policemen (and the coroner) left, I slumped down at the kitchen table and put my head down. "Guys. Let's not do that again."

Bert rested his face in his palm. "Agreed." His eyes lowered to his own chest. "Excuse me, I have to go do something."

"Where's he going?" Elle asked me, leaning against the counter.

"I'm almost positive he's going to his room to pinch his nipples."

"Wouldn't doubt it."

I rolled my head to the side. "So, Elle, you still want to have a bistro, even though it might cause us to kill somebody again?"

Elle dug around in the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. "I was saving this for after we had our grand opening... but this is as good a time as any." She guzzled from the bottle and slid it across the kitchen table to me.

I looked at the label. "Wow. Fifteen quid." I nodded in approval. "So fancy." I took a few big gulps.

And then a few more. And then Elle had several more.

I woke up the next morning in a puddle of my own vomit... but at least it was in my home and not prison.

"You are completely mad, aren't you?" I said, staring into the kitchen, duffel bag in hand. "Who do you think you are, Dr. Frankenstein?!"

Elle didn't even look up from her weird little science project, holding the ends of a jumper cable in each hand. "YES!!" Her eyes were wild with excitement and she held the jumper cables in the air. "They said it couldn't be done but-"

"Exactly where are you going to put those?" Bert asked, looking truly afraid for his life.

I rolled my eyes. Elle is such a freak. Bert will never shag her now that he's afraid of her... Of course, he's so kinky, maybe he likes being scared... Oh, God. Very bad image in my brain. Ew. Get out, evil image, get out!

Elle thought for a moment. She suddenly ripped open the health inspector's shirt and attached the jumper cables to the man's nipples. She stood back, admiring her work.

"You're gross," I said.

Bert frowned. "Do you know how much that's going to hurt?"

Elle glared at him. "Wot?! You've had jumper cables attached to your nipples, have you?!"

Bert looked sideways. "No..."

Her eyes narrowed. "Besides, if he's truly dead, this won't hurt a bit!" She looked at me. "Ellie, go start the car outside."

I blinked at her. "Wot?"

"Go start the car! Juice 'er on up!" She waited, shaking with anticipation. "WELL, COME ON THEN!!"

"No," I said firmly. "That man is dead. I'm not going to help you make him even deader than he already is, okay? Bert and I agreed that we would call the cops and save ourselves."

Elise's eyes grew wide. "Wot?" She looked at Bert. "Is that true?"

Bert bit his lip. "Well, you see, it's complicated but then, of course, everything in life is complicated..." He stared at the floor. "Yes. Yes, that's what we plan to do."

Elise didn't say another word. She just stormed outside, got into the car and started it. The body of the health inspector shook as power from the car motor entered his body.

And, as if we were in a bloody horror novel, his eyes flashed open.

That's it. We're all going to prison for murder. I'm going to be put in a cell with some large, butch lesbionic-type woman named "Chuck" and she's going to make me her plaything. Poor Bert. He looks like a woman half the time as it is! He won't last a second in prison!

And it's all Elle's fault.

"Great," I said, putting a hand on my jutted out hip. "Just great. You've just gone and ruined my day."

Bert frowned. "Uhhh... I think that guy's day is going a little worse... as he's dead now."

Elle just rolled her eyes. "He's not dead. See?" She propped him up against the stove and waved his hand around like some kind of ventriloquist. She even dared make a Monty Python reference, using a different voice and speaking from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not yet dead! I think I'll go for a walk!"

I glared at her. "Bugger off, Elle. That's not even funny."

Bert snickered. "...Well, it was a bit funny-"

I gave him a stern look. He stopped snickering.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, glancing from Elle to Bert. "What are we going to do?!"

Elle grinned. "Stuff him into Bernard's trash bin and call the police?"

Possibly...

"No!" I exclaimed. "That would make things worse, not better."

Elle knelt down to get a closer look at our newly-bludgeoned corpse friend. Then, without notice, she reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, a silver flask and a pack of fags. She tossed the fags at me, gave the wallet to Bert and  kept the flask for herself.

She pointed at me. "You. Go smoke. You always think better when you're calmed down." She nodded at Bert. "You go give Fran some cash, as we'll likely need to use her new car for a few minutes."

"...Well," he said, "what are you going to do with the flask?"

"Get stinking pissed." She unscrewed the cap and took a swig. She winced as the taste hit the bank of her throat. "Water!" she exclaimed. "Are you fucking kidding me?!?!" She grabbed the wallet back from Bert, grabbed a tenner, threw the wallet on the floor and stormed out. I can only assume she was heading to the pub down the street.

I was on the verge of tears. I'd never been involved in a murder before... Well, once before but I didn't feel so guilty the last time. This man was innocent, just doing his job. And Elle killed him.

...Maybe Bert and I wouldn't have to go to prison for something Elle did...?

No. She's your sister. You can't just turn her in!

Bert grabbed a fag from me, rummaged around in the cupboard for some matches and lit up. I think he thought having a fag might calm his nerves. He ended up puking into the sink.

"Bert, honey, this would not be a good time to take up smoking for the first time."

He wiped his mouth. "I believe you're right."

I lit up and blew smoke up into the air above my head. "Bert," I said. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to turn ourselves in. Or, rather, Elle," he said. "It's the only way."

Perhaps he had a point.

"This looks stupid," I said.
"Wot?" Elle looked at me, eyebrow raised. "What looks stupid?"
"This," I said, this time very slowly, "looks... stupid."
Elle and I looked at the crammed jumble of chairs and tables in our shop. My lovely sage green table in the middle and the ten tables and chairs that didn't match surrounding it.
"Well, it doesn't matter. It will have to do." Elle put her hands on her hips and nodded in approval. "Good. Now, what shall we cook?"
I rolled my eyes at her. "You're the damn cook. You decide." I shrugged. "Anyway, our waitress is nowhere to be seen."
"Bert is out running errands," Elle snapped. "You just never mind him."
Suddenly, the door of the shop/restaurant flew open and Bernard strolled in, a fag hanging limply from his limps. He stared around, his eyebrows pointed at an angry angle.
"Wot's all dis den?!" His head swiveled from side to side, taking in every mismatched table set. "Wot's goin' on?!"
Elle stood up straighter, pushing her chest out a little. "We're starting a restaurant."
"Wot for?!" Bernard tossed his cigarette outside, hitting some bloke on a bicycle passing by.
My eyes narrowed. "To compete with you prats and your damned coffee shop and delicious chocolate biscuits!"
Elle glared at me. "Wait. How the hell do you know about their delicious chocolate biscuits?"
I looked at the ceiling. "Uhhh..."
Bernard spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed a dagger from inside of his coat sleeve and threw it at a creature hiding in a book shelf. It screamed. Bernard just rolled his eyes.
"Damn things."
"Oh, yeah. Thanks for that, by the way!" Elle exclaimed. "They've moved over here now because of your damn delicious chocolate biscuits and several flavors of French vanilla coffee!"
I looked at her. "Wait. How-"
Elle put her hand in my face. "Shh." She glared at Bernard. "And just to prove how great our restaurant will be, we are inviting you and Manny to be our first customers..." Her face twitched with excitement. "Tonight!"
"Well, if you two tossers are making a restaurant, it must be real simple!" Bernard yelled. "So prepare yourself for even more compet... competish... " Bernard stammered. "Competetancy! 'Cause we're going to open a restaurant too! Yeah, wot do you think of that, Miss Fancy Pants?!"
He stormed out, screaming for Manny, before we could even say a word.
I just looked at Elle. "Got a receipt for those tables?"
"Why?!" she shouted back at me, stomping into the kitchen.
"They're going to have a coffee shop and a restaurant! Our business will go under!"
"Pah!"
It always worries me when Elle starts using exclamations that aren't real words.

I dated a chef, she says. So I should be the chef, she says.

Pfft. I've probably shagged a hundred police officers- doesn't mean I should be able to go around hitting skinheads with my baton. And at least those hundred police officers weren't gayer than the day is long either.

Speaking of shagging, I thought as I walked to a nearby furniture store. It's been ages since I've heard from Leo, my gorgeous tennis champion. He should be back in London sometime soon... I would think...

At least Elle is letting me be the maitre d’. I always knew Bert would end up being a waitress someday.

I walked into the posh furniture store, looking about for some Paris-type fancy-pancy tables that you see outside on patios. I figured if we spaced them correctly, we could fit five inside and two outside... although that would mean that we would have to make sure nobody over 200 lbs could come in because than the spacing would be all wrong and that would not be good.

"Hellooooooo, madame," this snooty-nosed salesman said, practically running over to me as I came in. "And what can I do for yooooooooou today?"

I stared at him. "Well, first of all, you can stop talking like that."

He seemed oddly put-off. "Excuse me?"

"And second, you can show me your fancy patio tables and chairs. And cast iron with a little design on the table top. And French-looking."

He raised his eyebrows at me and walks a few steps ahead. "Well, we have this table and chair set. It's made from the finest quality cast iron. Is it to your liking?"

It was.

"'Tis," I said. "How much is it?"

"The whole set retails for seven hundred, sixty pounds." He smiled.

I stared at him. "Wot?"

"Seven hundred, sixty-"

"I heard you!" I snapped. "That's a lot of money for one table and chair set..."

The salesman lowered his voice and stood closer to me. "Tell you what. I can let you have it for..." He tapped his mouth in thought. "...say, six hundred pounds. That's my final offer."

But still, that was not a good enough offer for me.

Elle and I once took a trip to Madrid and she said I was terrible at haggling. Well, let's just say I got Mr. Fancy Salesman down to one hundred and fifty pounds for that table... I also happen to have skinned knees and a small stain on the front of my shirt- but all in a day's work.

And so what if our bistro only has one table. It will be a really, like, exclusive place!! People will be fighting to get in and sit at our really fancy table! Brilliant!!

Elle, however, was not so impressed with my business plan.

"Bern", as Bernard is now apparently called, stormed out of Whyte Books and I threw myself upon Elle's cluttered desk, nearly sending a pencil up my backside. But anyway. My move was meant to be dramatic but ended up looking more klutzy.

"We should offer coffee and snacks and tables and sofas that you, too!" I exclaimed. "Otherwise, we'll never be able to compete with Black Books!" I stared at her, impatiently waiting her answer.

"You're daft," Elle said, her usual blank expression more blank than usual. "Coffee and books is a fad!"

I was so put off, I actually stomped my foot down... and it landed on a small creature. I winced. The invasion of creatures that lived over at Black Books had started migrating across the street to our shop.

I grimaced. "That's the second one I've stomped dramatically on today."

"I killed four in the kitchen about half an hour ago," Elle added. "They're getting bigger and more lively. Probably feeding on snacks and coffee at Black Books or something."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Yes. You're right. Delicious coffee and delicious snacks." I pointed out the window. "And look! Their shop is full of customers!!"

Elle stared at me. "And why would be want our shop full of customers?? I don't even like it when you're around, let alone people I don't know."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. "This is a great opportunity, Elle. More customers means more-"

"Noise."
"No."
"Talking in the shop."
"Well, yes. But that's not what I was going to say-"
"...Unusual smells?"
"No! More customers means more profit!" I was evolving into an Italian, talking excitedly using my hands a lot. "More profits equals more stuff we can buy!"

Elle sat back in her chair, drinking her Fizzy Good. "We have everything we need. Food. Clothing. Free booze from the cellar of the pub next door. What more do we need?"

I thought for a second. "...More booze?"

Elle's mouth twisted in thought. "That's a good point." She looked out the window again. "Look! All the customers are leaving! Bernard must've said something appalling or they were frightened off by that overgrown hobbit friend of yours!! Ha! Not so posh now, are we Black Books!!"

I glanced at her. She really had gone quite mad. "It's lunch."

Suddenly, Elle's face lit up like I'd never seen it light up before. It was weird.

Ten cent whore. Ten cent whore!
What a prick. I've only ever shagged someone for money one time in college... Well, when I stayed with my friend who went to college. I never actually went... I needed money for a cab and this guy I met on campus offered me a hundred quid for a go in his car.
It seemed so weird though... He seemed a bit old to be a college student. Apparently the college professor look is in with students too.
Wait...

Anyway, I'm so glad that Bert is not the father of my child... because now I hate the sodding trannie. Can't believe his entire act was spent making fun of Elle and I. (And he did my model walk all wrong.) Elle gave him a good beating with the broom the next morning but I'm still angry with him anyway.

Something's going on over at Black Books. While Elle was sleeping at her desk his afternoon, I popped over there for a few minutes- the place, I tell you, was packed! There were customers sitting at tables, drinking coffee and eating snacks while reading their books. Classical music was playing from somewhere. Bernard had a name tag ("Bern", it said) on his lapel- and did not looked pleased, per usual. Somebody was literally being eaten by a bright green sofa nearby. Manny, looking proud as a peach, was standing at a podium, his chest hair in full view. It was a bit gross, to be honest.

A short girl in a denim jacket was standing by the door, reading a thick book about Henry VIII. She smiled as me when I came in and went back to her book. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"You're in my way," I said. Why is a 12-year-old in a book shop and not in school anyway?
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said in an American accent.
"Pfft," I said. "Americans."
"Actually I'm Canadian," she said in a mousy little voice. "I'm from Nova Scotia."
I just blinked at her. "I don't care." Actually, I don't even know where that is...

I walked over to Manny's podium. His proud smile faltered a little bit when I approached. I guess he was still a bit upset over the him-being-in-love-with-me-but-me-not-feeling-that-way-in-the-least thing that happened ages ago.
Honestly. People need to grow up.

"What is going on here?" I asked.
"We're improving the shop," Manny exclaimed. "Competing with the big chain stores."
Bernard strolled over, his hands in his pockets. "This whole ting is crap, Manny. It's a waste of time."
Manny crossed his arms over his (ape-like) chest. "We've tripled our weekly profits in just one day. This is good for business!"
"Profits shmofits," Bernard said. He looked at me. "And what are you doing in here?!"
"I thought I'd come over," I glanced at Manny, "for a book... and a cup of coffee."
Manny beamed at this.
"You work at a book shop. Why would you come here for a book? That's-that's dumb!" Bernard seemed really irritated by this.
"Your shop has an ambience that Whyte Books doesn't have." I smiled cutely up at him.
Bernard snarled at me and stormed out of the store. I looked back at Manny.
"The shop looks nice, Manny." I batted my eyelashes at him. "Good work."
His entire face went red.

Thank God Bert seems to be over his weird crush/awkwardness. I know the sight of me can drive a man wild but... Bert's not exactly a man, is he?

I found myself sitting in the audience as Mr. Trannie himself took the stage at a rather sketchy club. I could not believe it when Father Chris walked in, tugging his belt over his stomach. (For the record, I hate when lardy men do that. It's even more disgusting than farting in a small room. It seems to be okay for Elle to do though. 'Cept she usually blames it on Bert... or Bernard, even if he's not around. It's very strange.)

I watched Father Chris from my place at the bar, hiding myself behind a wine glass. Elle just glared at me.

"Would you put that glass down? You look like a fool." She frowned and rolled her eyes at me.

"Me the fool?!" I hissed. "Bert's up there in a leotard telling bad jokes about Americans."

Elle consider this. "Good point."

And oh, boy. Bert was really dreadful. Five minutes into his act, he was sweating like a profusely-sweating-thing and looking more nervous than I've ever seen him... Perhaps even more nervous than when he thought I might be pregged up with his child.

"Your friend is coming over here," Elle said, almost too coolly.

I looked over my shoulder. Oh shit! He is! I lamely looked away as he came closer but he recognized me anyway... and took the empty stool beside me.

"Elise!" he said. "Hello! I didn't expect to see you here." He ordered a cranberry juice and smiled at me. "We've missed you at SAA meetings."

The attractive barkeep raised his eyebrows at me.

"Sugar Addicts Anonymous," I said quickly. "I love to bake."

The barkeep didn't seem to believe me.

I smiled weakly. "I've got a steady boyfriend now. I'm cured. I figured SAA wasn't necessary anymore..." I tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. "This isn't the place I thought I'd see you here either."

"Well," he said, his seventeen chins jiggling as he spoke, "this facility primarily serves as a gay club, you know."

My whole face split into a grin. "Father Chris! I had no idea you were a poof!"

Father Chris turned white. "I'm not gay." He looked a bit put off. "I'm a strong believer in the tradition of man-and-woman relationships." He handed me a brochure titled God's Plan. He smiled proudly. "If you have any gay friends, be sure to tell them about our program It's the first step to converting back to a heterosexual lifestyle." Father Chris looked at Bert on stage. "Sadly, the program comes too late for some."

Father Chris said goodbye and tacked some of the pamphlets on the bulletin board by the door. I sent psychic daggers at him as he left.

Elle snickered. "I hope he gets duffed up by a lesbian on his way back to the mother-ship."

I swear, Bert is acting so weird ever since I started dating (i.e. ravaging the magnificent body that belongs to) Leo. In his poor, strange (and very mistaken) mind, he likely thinks we're dating or something because we shagged once while drunk. (Well. If I dated everybody I ever shagged, I'd have a much busier life than I do, that is for certain.)

And what is it with Tom, too?! He keeps ringing me up, asking me when I'm available to come over and do something naughty in his kitchen. (I swear, the man is obsessed with kitchen sex. There are other rooms in his flat that are just as good!) He was none too pleased when I told him I had a boyfriend now.

"And he's fabulous." I grinned. "And... large."
"Large?" Tom asked over the phone. "...How large?"
"Quite large."
"...Bigger than me?"
"Oh, Tom," I said with a teasing laugh. "Most men are."
And then he hung up on me. My God. He can be such a baby sometimes.

Apparently, Fran's got herself a new job. Well... a job. She seems to be having a hard time of it lately though. First, her apartment is shrinking because that pervy landlord of his put in a new room beside hers and now she's got a job where she has no idea what's going on. When she was over last night for a chat, she told us about it.

"And there's this guy there... who does nothing but play with his balls all day!"
I stared at her. "Wot? Out in the open? Where everybody can see?"
"No, no," she said, taking a drag of her cigarette. "He puts his hands in his pockets and plays with them."
Bert winced. "That is disgusting."
Elle looked at him, her eyebrow furrowed. "I caught you doing that just last week, ya silly bugger."
Bert shrugged. "Well, I was in my home, wasn't I? I wasn't at work."
Elle rolled her eyes. "My home. And you don't have a job."
Bert crossed his arms over his chest- not an easy feat in one of my camisole tank tops. "I do too have a job. I have a gig at a comedy club tomorrow there. So there."
I glanced at Elle. "It's karaoke night at that creepy comedy club he made us go to last week."

Leo took me to lunch today. It was brilliant. The restaurant was nice, not too expensive but not cheap, by any means. We went for a walk around Piccadilly and took some photos like some daft tourists. Then we drove in his fancy car to his fancy flat in fancy Notting Hill and made love.

That's right, I said. "Made love."

There was wine, rose pedals in the bath tub, brand new satin sheets, candles, the whole lot. And he even bought me some sexy lingerie to wear while we made love.

Needless to say, it was completely fab. Also, Elle is completely jealous... and, if I'm not mistaken... Bert may be jealous too. But I'm not sure who he's actually jealous of- Leo or me.