Authors: Steve Elliott
Chapter 24.
And that’s where all the drama ended. Paul came back to our house with me. I visited Maria every day in the hospital and she was walking around in under a week and fully recovered in two. I modelled three more paintings for Roger, despite Fluff’s interference, and he became locally famous when they went on exhibit in a gallery. By proxy, I became famous as well, or, should I say,
infamous
, because I received all
sorts
of unsavoury offers from a whole range of dubious characters, but such is the price of fame. Maria and I continued where we had left off, and I couldn’t have been happier, especially with the realisation that, as a result of our bond, Moonbeam’s legacy would be kept alive forever.
END
Sample Chapters from ‘Society Tart’
Chapter 1.
We met her at a charity function. It was some sort of an art exhibition – ‘Save the Whales’, or the gorillas or the
anteaters
or something. I couldn't quite remember
what
it was. Kim and I don't often get invited to these fancy affairs. We don't mix with high society and they don't mix with us. I think we’re considered to be much too ‘
common
’, an appellation which suits us fine. Neither of us had the slightest inclination to hobnob with the landed gentry. However, we
were
hobnobbing on this particular occasion and happened to be standing in front of a modern abstract piece of work, arguing over whether it actually
was
art or not.
“Just
look
at it!” Kim disputed with some passion. “It's simply a random mix of colours thrown together! A
child
could have done it! How can you call that
art
?”
“It's that very randomness that
makes
it art,” I disagreed. “See how the colours blend together? It's quite deliberate.”
“All I see are splashes of paint, probably left over from someone painting the walls of a
house
,” Kim grumbled.
“Oh, you are
so
wrong,” intruded a third voice from behind us. We turned and beheld a young woman, ostentatiously dressed in the latest fashion, displaying a supercilious smile on her face. Instantly, Kim's republican peasant background reared its anti-aristocracy head.
“I suppose you think this kindergarten
reject
has artistic value?” she sneered.
“Actually,” the intruder condescendingly replied, “this piece is
brilliant
. It's on sale for fifty thousand dollars, and that's a
bargain
.”
“Fifty
thousand
……..” Kim choked. “For
this
! You
can't
be serious!”
“Great art is
beyond
value,” was the reply, “but I don't expect
you
to understand.”
“What do you mean by
that
?” Kim bridled. “Are you saying that I'm too
stupid
to appreciate art?”
Our companion flapped a dismissive hand. “All I'm saying, my dear, is that
some
of us have more of a feeling for the….. intangible and
finer
aspects of life, and some of us don't. It's probably not your fault. It's all to do with background and
breeding
.”
“You stuck-up, pompous, toffee-nosed
cow
!” Kim flared, incensed. “Just
who
do you think you are?”
“And that just goes to
prove
my point,” was the woman’s disdainful reply, looking down her ‘toffee’ nose at Kim. “That’s just the sort of crude comment I'd expect from someone like you.
Typical
of your type!”
Kim became speechless with rage. “Of
all
the…..” she began, but then her coherent mind synapses shut down and refused to reopen. I thought it was time for a mediator to step in and take control before the scenario dissolved into a total nuclear meltdown.
“Ladies,
ladies
!” I said, stepping between them. “Surely we can solve this
peacefully
? Let’s not get carried away, shall we?”
My efforts at peacemaking were met with a frigid stare of disapproval from the upper classes. “I’d advise you to mind your own business,” I was primly informed, “and leave this to your
betters
. I don’t need
your
help to deal with gutter trash.”
I lifted my hands in surrender. “Fair enough,” I said, glancing back at Kim’s furious features. “But you really don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for here.”
My comments were contemptuously waved aside. “When I want your point of view I'll
ask
for it,” I was told, bluntly. “As if I cared about anything
you
could tell me.”
“You can't talk to my brother like that,” Kim announced.
“I can talk to him anyway I
want
to,” our unwanted guest insisted. “And
you
too, for that matter, although I don't normally converse with
riff raff
.”
By this stage, Kim was practically incandescent and could probably have been officially classified as a
fire
hazard. “Right, that's
it
!” she seethed, taking a step forward. “I'm going to
slap
her into next week.”
I interposed a restraining hand on her arm. “Take it easy, sweetie,” I cautioned. “You can't start a brawl
here
. It just isn't done. This is a high-class establishment. You'll end up in jail for sure.”
“It’d be
worth
it,” she declared, fuming. “Just let me thump her once,” she pleaded. “Just
one
lousy punch, that's all I’m asking.”
“Violence! That's your answer to
everything
, isn't it?” the woman scoffed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m astonished that no one has thought to use it on you before, you worthless piece of window dressing,” Kim informed her, as I dragged her away from further confrontation. “God knows you’re
irritating
enough.” An indifferent snort was all the reply she received.
Chapter 2.
Isn’t it amazing how you meet people again and again? I mean, you can see someone for the very first time in your life and then suddenly you bump into them every time you turn around. Is that weird, or what? I guess you know the person I’m talking about – our upper class antagonist from the art gallery, of course. Although we’d seen her only the once, over the next few weeks we kept running across her for some reason. After our first meeting, Kim and I had a vigorous discussion about her in the car ride home the night of the exhibition. Kim was still boiling mad over the whole episode, but that’s how she is. She has a temper problem.
- I do
not
!
-You certainly do. Everyone knows it. Wake up and smell the tranquillisers, Kim. You’ve
always
had a temper, even since you were a baby. I can still remember those amazing tantrums you used to throw. Incredible! Performance art at its very best! Our parents were
terrified
of you.
- What utter rubbish!
- No, it’s the truth. They called you ‘The Tantrumator’.
- Now I
know
you’re lying.
- Maybe just a little.
“That
snobby
bitch!” Kim had muttered, all the way home. “That over-dressed, under-brained, useless
bimbo
! Why didn’t you let me punch her lights out? She was nasty to
you
as well, you know.”
“I know,” I replied, calmly. “But don’t you think she was rather
cute
?”
“Cute!” Kim coughed. “You thought she was
cute
? You class
traitor
! Why are you taking
her
side?”
“I’m
not
taking sides,” I argued. “I
agree
that she was a first class snob. All I’m saying is that I thought she was pretty. Come on, Kim, be objective.”
“Okay, I suppose,” she reluctantly conceded. “Once she took that pouty expression off her face, I guess she didn't look
too
ugly.”
“Well, there's no need to go overboard,” I teased, smilingly.
As I was saying, we met her again, this time at a picnic setting. Her name, by the way, as I found out later by reading the society pages in the newspaper, was Marianne Davenport III. The reason we met her once more was because Kim had recently joined a random assortment of societies. She’d been feeling a little left out of things and thought it was time to expand our small circle of friends. Unfortunately for her, Marianne Davenport had apparently joined the same societies. They accidentally renewed their acquaintance at the buffet table.
“
You
again!” Kim hissed, as they met.
“What are you doing
here
?” Miss Davenport asked, tartly. “This is a benefit for sick
children
, not a meeting for the clueless and ignorant.”
Kim slammed her plate down on the table, which was quite a trick considering they were made of paper. “Listen, you peroxide
tart
, stay out of my way otherwise there's going to be
trouble
!”
“I don't
use
peroxide,” was the huffy reply. “This is a
natural
colour, which is more than I can say for you. What sort of dye do you use?”
Kim took an angry step closer. “Don’t be insulting, you colour-blind
bint
,” she announced in a dangerous voice.
“Really?” Miss Davenport questioned sceptically, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Are you saying that blonde colour of yours
doesn't
come out of a bottle?”
“No, it
doesn’t
,” Kim emphasised, coming a step closer. “And anyway, what sort of a name is ‘Marianne Davenport the
Third
’?”
“It's a name of tradition and breeding,” came the glacial reply. “I'm almost afraid to ask what
your
name is.”
“Kim. My name is
Kim
.”
“Kim? I should have guessed. It sounds like something you get out of a
tin
.”
“
What
did you just say?”
“You
heard
me!”
“Say it again if you
dare
!”
I thought it best to intervene at this stage before things became any nastier. It wouldn't do to have the two of them rolling around on the ground, fighting. It would sort of take some of the gloss of
sophistication
from the occasion, don't you think? I had to physically pull them apart because, by this time, they were practically nose to nose. I noticed that Miss Davenport III had become uncharacteristically red in the face, which was probably frowned upon as a
faux pas
by her peers. But at least it showed she had
some
human emotions and wasn't merely an impassive mannequin.
A trickle of commonsense must have penetrated Kim's overheated brain, because she backed off from a decisive altercation and, with the final scowl at her nemesis, picked up her plate and stalked away.
With a slight apologetic grimace to Miss Davenport, I followed Kim to the far end of the picnic ground.
“That woman is
insufferable
!” exclaimed Kim as we settled down to eat. “She can’t
possibly
be married. Any sane husband would have
killed
her ages ago if she was.”
I laughed. “You’re probably right.” I agreed. “But if you follow the society papers, you’ll see she does a lot of philanthropic work in the community. She’s always at this kind of function, raising money for good causes. Her
heart’s
in the right place.”
“It’s a pity her
mouth
isn’t,” Kim grumbled. “She’s so
smug
! Every time I see her, I just want to slap her face.”
“Be careful, honey,” I cautioned. “She probably has a bevy of lawyers on beck and call. You’d be up before the courts before you could turn around.”
“You’re right, of course.” Kim concurred. “Okay, I’ll try to be civil. But just looking at her gets my back up. God, she’s
so
annoying!”
“Yes, but
beautiful
with it,” I added, facetiously.
“Don’t start
that
again.” Kim advised.