7 posts tagged “money”

"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.

“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.

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.

I haven’t slept since my brilliant sister woke me up.

"I like the gay scene up there"?  The hell is she talking about?  She's never even been to Manchester.  What's gotten into her lately? 

I could hear her and Bert singing just about every Rolf Harris song known to curse this continent.  They were bleeding drunk, as Bert thought he'd never see her again after she leaves for Manchester tomorrow, going with some hippy named Twist (apparently Manny knows her, too) and...OH GOD - My sister's turning into a HIPPY.  Sweet Baby Jesus!! 

Well fuck.

And I have a date with a beard with a hippy hanging off it.  Bugger. 

I could have managed to get 20 quid from her for not doing anything, as when she promised me said money, Manny was missing.  But not now.  Oh no.  Gandalf came back from the dead and I have to go on a date with him, as my sister.

And such is my life.

I spent the rest of the day having Elise tell me exactly I should wear.  As she laid clothes out on her bed for me, I said to her, "What does it matter what I wear?"  She seemed to be in a daze because she just said that it was so I looked like her.  Well obviously.  I was watching her try and decide between two different tops.

"What do think - casual, or casual, but sexy?" she asked me, poring over the tops like they were a newspaper.

"I think you actually do care about Manny."

"I don't," she replied, tossing the "sexy" shirt aside.

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be picking clothes out for me to impress him."  She just looked at me and frowned.  But then she went off on something else.

"You should wear this when you go and apologise to -" she started.

"You mean, when "you" apologise to Manny," I cut her off.  "And I can't possibly go over there; Bernard can some how tell the difference between us when the rest of the world can't!"

"So call him."

"I was going to."

"Good."

"Fine."

Elise didn't talk to me for the rest of the day; she just skulked in her room, listening to sad music.  She was acting so depressed that she even made me depressed.  The only one who wasn't was Bert.  And seeing as he has the mentality of a boy half his age, it's understandable. 

Oh, and Manny.  Manny was happy.  I'm pretty sure he crapped himself with excitement when I rang over.  And luckily it was him who picked up the phone.

"'lo?" he answered.  I could feel a lump rising up in my throat, or was that my supper?

"Ah, hullo Manny.  Got back alright?"

"Yeh, who's this?"

"Ell...lise."

"What do you want?"

"Well..."

"Rip my heart out?  Break it into a million pieces and shove it down my throat?"  Sheesh.

"I'msorryandI'llgoonthatdatewithyou."

"What?"  Clean your beard out of your ears, man!

"I said I'd go on that date with you."

"Really?!"  I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him.

"YES."

"Oh, oh really?!  That's excellent!!"  He started making really weird noises on the phone and then the line went dead.  I hung up.  Maybe he'll fall and drown in his beard and I won't have to do this.  But no.  He called back later with dinner plans.

I'm now spending tomorrow night with an ape-man eating dinner and going to see a film. 

I sincerly hope Elise is happy.  And that this doesn't screw up like in the films.

And FYI, "The Parent Trap" is a terrible movie. 

Manny shot past me on his way out from the kitchen.

He nearly knocked me over, as I was trying to hear what he had to say to Elise.  They confirmed what Bert and I had bet on.  And the Tranny now owed me 20 quid.

"Hey Manny, wot's wrong?" I shouted at him as he ran out.  He stopped at the door and pulled his hat as he said to me, "Good bye, Elle."  Then he left.

I lit a fag just as Elise threw the curtain open.  She looked at me and crossed her arms, expecting me to say something helpful.  But I didn’t.  I couldn’t help myself.

“So it would appear that you’ve knocked Elizabeth Bathory down a few pegs in the “Most Evil Women in History” list.”  She screamed at me and flung her arms in the air, heading back into the kitchen and slamming the door of her new room shut.

I couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug.  I was feeling better since I had been painting this past week.  I’d even managed to finally get all of the paint out my hair.

Later on that night at supper, I tried to get Elise to tell Bert and me what Manny had to say to her.

“So, Elise, what did Manny want?” I asked.  She mumbled something in reply, while stabbing her Chicken Soo Gui with a chopstick.  I looked at Bert.

“Speak up, luv!  Can’t hear a word you’re eating!” Bert said, before swallowing a chicken ball.  Whole.  Ew.

“He asked me on a date!” she shouted.  I grinned.

“Oh Elise, that’s gear!  You’re single now, he’s single.  He’s such a nice guy!”  Bert nodded along with everything I was saying, when Elise went and turned the tables on me.  The nerve.

“And when was the last time you went on a date, Elle?  When?!”

And thus World War Three began.

After we were done yelling, we attempted to re-kill our take-out, when Bert said, “You could go all “Parent Trap” on him.”

“Wot?!” Elise and I exclaimed.  Bert shrugged.

“You know, Elle could pretend she’s you, and go on a date with Manny, while you go somewhere with-” He stopped dead mid-sentence.  Elise glared at him and he clapped a hand across his mouth.  I narrowed my eyes and looked at the pair of them.

“With who?” I asked quietly.  They began making up excuses and blabbering on about nothing.  Then Bert blurted out, “TOM!”  I sighed.

“Oh, honestly Elise.  I thought you were over that tosser when he left you high and dry.”  She began snorting as she got up from the table, opened her room door and went in. 

Bert spent the rest of the evening trying to tell her how sorry he was, while she yelled at him through the door.  They’re so cute.

The next day, Bernard came into the shop, dressed like a loony.  He was wearing an electric green shirt and a purple tie with apples on it.  He’s completely flipped his wig now.  He stomped a foot on top of the desk I was sitting at and leant on his knee, chewing on a toothpick.  Great; he thinks he’s James Dean or something.

“I’m fun, right?” he asked, smiling like an idiot, but with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“F-fun?  I-I wouldn’t say that, but, ah…” I started blathering.  Why does he do this to me?

“Fran’s right,” he said, taking his foot off the desk.  He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets as I stared at him with the customers.  He found something in one of his pockets and pulled it out.  It was a yellow yo-yo. He looked at it for a moment before asking me, “Do you know how to use this?”  He handed it over to me.  The string had a slightly frayed end, but I managed to make a finger loop again, and I showed him.

“What’s this all about, Bernard?” I asked, handing him the yo-yo back.

“Manny’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Left, decamped, vanished, withdrawn, missing, lost…” he trailed off.

“He’s missing?” I asked, slightly alarmed.

“Well – well not really missing, as in child abduction missing, but as in left me a note and called me, missing from the shop, missing,” he said, trying to make the yo-yo work.

“Oh.”

That’s when Bernard shuffled out of the shop.

I felt like somone had punched me in the stomach. 

I felt dizzy, confused and angry at the same time.  It was like I was drunk.

But I wasn't.

I was on the air plane when I took out that envelope of money that Elle had given me for Christmas.

“It’s your half of our inheritance," she had said. "You kept telling me how much this place was a waste of it, so I decided to give you back your share.”

Then why the heck did I feel so bad about having that envelope of cash? I could blow it all on something fab- or something completely daft and useless. I could buy myself a small house in the country and settle down with some Jude Law-looking thing and we could have about eleven kids and grow our own vegetables and raise sheep and buy a townhouse in London and hang out with Chris Martin and Gwenyth Paltrow and buy loads of expensive clothes and...

Well, anyway. The possibilities were endless.

I looked over at Bert in the seat beside me, snoring away. We'd both downed quite a few tiny bottles of liquor and he'd fallen asleep first. I was too excited about the Alps to sleep.

Well, there was that... and the fact that my guilt was gnawing at my soul like a dog on a bone.

When we arrived in France, Bert and I checked into our very posh hotel... only to find that our room only had one bed. Bert and I looked at one another and smiled awkwardly.

"So," I said. "Who gets the cot?"

Bert tossed his suitcase onto the bed and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. "Forget the cot. Care for some... gin? Vodka? ...Or any other drink you could ever want?"

Long story short, Bert and I ended up getting quite pissed and watching French porn on the hotel room telly. I have to say, French porn is quite possibly better than English porn. It's all sexy language, kinky lengerie- and there's absolutely no reference to the royal family (ever!) which is a real bonus.

Bert and I ended up stripping down to our skivvies and getting into the private hot tub on the balcony adjoining our room. The air was brisk and cold and the water was warm. We ordered champagne and drank it from tall flutes.

"Dis is d'life," I slurred, sliding father down into the tub. "We should live like this always. Like... like... famous people."

Bert nodded. "I agree, luv." He put his arm around me and tossed his empty glass onto the floor. "I do think we should stay here forever and ever."

"Amen!" I downed the rest of my drink and tossed it off the side of the balcony. I think it might have landed on somebody because I heard a scream from below.

"I wish Elle was 'ere though. She would love this." I considered this for a second. "Well, the liquor cabinet. She's never been crazy-" I burped. "-about the French."

"Elle is great, don't get me wrong," Bert said. "But, I have to say, I love the French."

And that's when Bert The Tranny Frenched me.