Showing posts with label Bellini. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bellini. Show all posts

Wednesday, 13 July 2022

The Woman in the Red Straw Hat by Lynn Clement, Bellini with a Twist

 The woman in the red straw hat floated by the pool. Her bright blue kimono trailed behind her as the sea breeze blew it away from her long-tanned legs.

 Several male eyes were peering over their sunglasses. One man put down his Sudoku on his sun bed and openly stared. His wife slapped his arm.

The woman in the red straw hat was wearing a crimson swimsuit with tiny blue cornflowers embroidered on it. The front panel was ruched. She’d recently had a baby and wasn’t happy with her mummy tummy, so chose to disguise it.

She arrived at the pool bar and elegantly slid herself onto a high-backed stool, placing her phone and a pack of cigarettes on the bar.

The barman practically shoved the female bartender out of the way.

‘How may I help you today?’ he said in perfect English but with a natural Greek accent.

The woman looked from under the brim of her hat. Huge brown eyes addressed the barman, whose heart thumped.

‘Bellini please,’ she said in a voice as manicured as her red scarlet nails, then picked up her phone. She smiled as she read the message and held the phone up taking a selfie which she sent to the messenger.

‘Bellini!’ he ordered to the female bartender.

Four men sitting on sunbeds round the pool, had asked their wives and girlfriends if they need a drink and barely listened to the answer before making their way to the pool bar, even though the drinks kiosk was nearer for some.

‘May I say, you look absolutely lovely,’ said the barman, who had ignored most other customers waiting to be served. He had taken the Bellini from his colleague and placed it in front of the woman.

‘You may say so,’ she said, ‘but I warn you it’s rather sexist to comment on my looks.’

The barman was flustered. He didn’t want to blow it with this woman. He’d had several conquests already this summer, but this woman was different. So attractive. Aloof and she had something mysterious about her.

‘I apologize,’ he flustered. ‘I didn’t mean to offend.’

‘No offence taken,’ she said, removing a cigarette from the packet on the bar.

A lighter flicked by her face.

‘Let me,’ the owner said.

‘Derek!’ said his wife who had joined him at the bar, unbeknown to him. ‘I’ve got a headache, let’s go up to our room,’ she finalized.

Derek slunk off.

The barman smiled showing his canine teeth.

He moved to the back of the bar but did not take his eyes off the woman. Imagining the nights of passion, once he’d charmed his way into her affections. He knew the women on holiday couldn’t resist him, especially the English. He was notorious amongst the Hotel Team. His bosses didn’t like it but knew he kept the customers happy and as long as he didn’t overstep the mark… He was determined to have her.

She looked at her phone again, smiling.

‘Another Bellini,’ she said into the air. This time the barman made it himself.

A woman wearing pigtails, dressed in light pink shorts and white T shirt pushed a baby buggy up to the bar.

The female bartender waved at her and she waved back.

The barman placed the Bellini in front of the woman in the red straw hat.

‘It’s for her,’ she said.

‘You buy your nanny Bellinis!’ said the barman with disdain.

The woman laughed and the female bartender smirked.

The woman with the pigtails parked the baby in the buggy next to his mother, who kissed her fingertips and placed them on the baby’s nose.

The barman watched. She has a baby, he thought, so what. There’s been no man around. If the nanny looks after the kid while he and his mother have loving time, all will be okay. In fact, looking at her with the baby, made him want her more.

‘How are you feeling?’ the woman asked the nanny.

‘Much better now, thank you.’

The barman watched the exchange. He wished the nanny would go away and leave him alone with the woman in the red straw hat, so he could work on her some more. He needed to make amends for his sexist comment. What should he say next? Maybe he will touch her hand when she orders her next cocktail.

The two women chinked glasses.

Good, they’re drinking quickly, he thought. Time to make another move.

‘Two more Bellinis please,’ said the woman with pigtails.

What a cheek, thought the barman. Who does she think she is, ordering more Bellinis.

‘My lady?’ he queried.

‘Yes please,’ she said.

Once again, the barman made the cocktails and took them to the two women. This time he did touch the woman in the red straw hat’s hand and looked deep into her eyes.

She smiled. ‘I think it’s nap time,’ she said. ‘Let’s take these upstairs with us.’

The barman felt his loins stirring. His heart beat a little faster and he broke out a sweat on his brow. He gulped, ready to answer. His mouth was dry. Boom, he thought.

‘Yes let’s,’ said the woman with the pigtails. ‘I’m ready for an afternoon nap.’

The woman in the red straw hat picked up the two Bellinis and bent forward kissing the other woman full on the lips.

The barman gripped the edge of the bar. He felt his knees buckle a little.

His co-bar worker laughed out loud, as the two women strolled away towards their room.

The barman looked at her with his mouth open.

‘They’re on their honeymoon,’ she said with a knowing smile, and turned to serve one of the other deflated men left standing at the bar.

 

Author Bio

Lynn Clement is a regular author for Cafelit. Her first collection The City of Stories was published last year by Chapeltown Books. Lynn has a story in Aftermath and also a story in The Best of Cafelit 11, soon to be published.

 #thecityofstoriesamazon

You can follow Lynn on (1) Lynn Clement | Facebook

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Tuesday, 2 January 2018

The Wig

Mari Philips
Bellini
Miranda spotted the black wig on the pavement as she stepped out of her car outside the house.  She bent down to pick it up and felt the slight coarseness that her mother had always complained about. Glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed, she picked it up and placed it in her own bag and retrieved the key. After leaving the family home to work in the city, she hadn’t used it when visiting. She preferred to ring the doorbell and then wait for her mother to open the door and throw her arms around in a big hug that was filled with warmth and love. With a heavy heart she climbed the three steps. Now it was all different.
She unlocked the door and tentatively pushed it open. She noticed the discarded Jimmy Choo’s on the wooden floor in the hallway and the tailored emerald jacket strewn over the bannister. “Hello” she called out; “Bea... are you there?” there was no response, so she checked out the sitting room–no one there and it was just as she remembered it; everything in its place and the silver-framed family photos catching the afternoon sunlight. There was no one in the pristine kitchen either but the kettle was hot and there was a discarded tea bag and spoon in the sink, her mother had always hated that.
She retraced her steps to the hall and as she climbed the stairs shouted again. “Bea, Bea… where are you, it’s me Miranda”. As she neared the top, she could hear sobbing, and she followed the crying to the main bedroom, their mother’s. Bea was lying on the bed, her knees pulled up into a fetal position with her face buried in the pillow, and a cup of untouched tea on the bedside table. 

As Miranda perched next to her sister Bea turned her head towards her and said “I can’t do it Miranda… I thought I could but I can’t”.
Miranda had never seen her sister so upset, Bea was always the stronger one; smart, organised and practical. Miranda felt a large lump in her own throat and the hot tears welling up in her eyes. She always cried a lot, and her family had teased her about it.  Bea almost never cried. When Bea’s sobs subsided Miranda fished the wig from her bag and laid it gently between them. “I found this outside” she said. 
“I know” Bea replied “I panicked… I couldn’t do it”.
“Would you like me to come too?” Miranda suggested. Bea had wanted to go alone, in fact she had insisted. Miranda was not sure why, but she had agreed because it was Bea who knew the people, their names and families, and the minute details of their lives. It was easier to do what Bea wanted, always. Bea thought about the question and then nodded her head.
 “OK” said Miranda, summoning all her energy. “We need a rethink; what time were you expected?” Bea glanced at her watch, blinking through the residual tears and puffy eyes, “I should have left an hour ago”.  “I’ll text to say you’ve been delayed and that we will both go. If we set off now, we can still get there and I’m sure they’ll understand”. Miranda, didn’t want to  drive, but, showing a briskness she did not feel, gathered up the wig, chivvied her sister downstairs and handed her the emerald jacket. “You can fix your face on the way” she said without waiting for comment.
“You know mum wanted to go to this party don’t you?” said Bea once she had recovered her composure. “It was very important to her". 
Miranda nodded, whilst keeping her eyes fixed to the road and fighting back her own tears, “I know," she said “it’s just so hard,".
“They are nice women," Bea continued “good hearted, they always looked out for her and she valued their support ". “I don’t suppose I got to know them. It was Mum’s thing," said Miranda “she didn’t talk about them much".
The journey took them about 45 minutes in the traffic and the car was hot. Once they arrived outside the place up they sat for a few moments to compose themselves. There was a note on the front gate instructing them to go straight to the back garden, but they didn’t need it as the smell of wood burning and the hubbub of chatter and laughter soon directed them. 
There was a group of five or six women sitting and standing around a small crackling bonfire at the far end. “Come in,” said a very glamorous looking woman wearing a silk turban. “I’m Jean, what will you have: wine or a Bellini? That was your mother’s favourite”. They both accepted a Bellini. Miranda sipped hers and the sweet peachy bubbles caught the back of her throat. She realised that she didn’t know that about her mum, she had never seen her with anything but the occasional sherry. Bea mumbled her apologies for being late and thanked Jean for the drink. “Don’t worry” said Jean, “you’re here now, that’s all that matters”.
 They moved towards the bonfire and greeted the other guests. Miranda realised that these women all knew more about them, where they lived and what they did, than either of them knew about Jean and her friends even though Bea attempted to recall the details. 
“We all loved your mother she was a real star” said Jean. “She loved a party and was always so cheerful. Now did you bring it?” she asked. 
Miranda nodded. 
“We were planning this party for her anyway” said Jean “just a shame she couldn’t make it and we couldn’t do this at the funeral” she added. 
“No” said Bea, “probably not appropriate”. 
Miranda retrieved the black coarse wig from her handbag and placed it on the wooden tray that Jean provided.  As Jean carried it aloft to the bonfire, Miranda took Bea’s hand in hers and gave it a tight squeeze. They watched as Jean, with cheers ringing out from the other women, thrust the wig onto the bonfire. “Let’s drink to your mother!” “We’ve had a party for each of us and our wigs” she said, “the end of the treatment and a return to some semblance of normality, whatever that means. Your mother was the last one - such a shame she’s not here - but then she never liked the bloody thing!”