Patrice story
Just a few more …
The box was so pretty. A large gold lame bow was tied on the diagonal across the top. It looked as though it had weight, substance, to it. She gently lifted the lid off. The inside was lined with gold foil and the contents were coved with bright red tissue paper that crinkled when she removed it.
In rows, six across and four down, marched a small army of delicious looking chocolates. Each with a different top - a gold button here, an icing leaf in purple and green there, a swirl of gold on another. The smell alone was enough to weaken her resolve to eat no chocolate this month. She lifted the box to her face and sniffed deeply using her sense of smell to sort out the different flavors. Anise, cloves, raspberry - she was sure it was raspberry - milk chocolate, dark chocolate. She placed the box back on the table and backed away slowly as if threatened.
A glass of water. A quiet moment leaning against the sink as she watched the chocolates, working to find the strength it would take to put the lid back on and put the box somewhere where she could forget its existence. At least for another two weeks. She was sure she could see the smell rise in wavering lines like cartoon odors over the box and waft across the kitchen unerringly finding her nostrils, teasing her brain into craving, desire, even lust.
Eleanor threw up her hands and marched across the kitchen. With too much force she put the lid on the box, tucked the box into the pantry and slammed the door. She took herself for a brisk walk around the block, half jogging, swinging her arms, singing to herself. She had just a few more to lose before her fitting and she was determined to be successful.
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Geraldines's story
JUST A LITTLE MORE
The pen was dipping regularly into the turquoise inkpot this week as David was trying to get his chapter finished before dawn.
He had started his story, chapter after chapter trying to organize it the way he wanted his public to read it and discover his adventures one by one, country by country.
Five years ago, after a traumatic separation with the woman he had so dearly loved, he went constantly and regularly down a slope that seemed never to stop. Maybe suicide would end it ! but then, he was full of mixed feelings about life and knew deep inside there is a border never to be crossed. It would be irreversible
His friends who were very miserable to see him in such a state – and all because of a woman- decided to offer him a bicycle and a map with the beginning of a World Tour, the first steps taking him down to the Mediterranean Sea and countries surrounding it
This seemed to be working : David started getting up and out of bed before midday, looking at himself in a mirror, brushing his hair and teeth again, watching out for cleaner clothes, cutting his damaged or torn trousers into bermudas and hopping on his bike to go here and there, and mainly to the Library to consult touristic guides and sophisticated maps. He would spend hours trying to make up where he would start from, which was obvioulsy somewhere in Burgundy and how long he would cycle each day, and what would be the neetest and most practical places to spend his nights in.
He needed just a little more confidence, so he thought it might be a good idea to start on a trip where he would meet other people and decided to begin on the long St James of Compostelle routes to learn what traveling is all about. Once his bag was fully packed with the lightest possible clothes and items he couldn’t do without, he gathered once more with his friends, sharing a few pints of beer and departed from Vezelay where a lot of the pilgrims meet.
That got him started : a new life, new horizons, new habits. Cycling day in, day out, trying to find himself, discover who he was, what life meant to him, where the other people he met fitted in his life and why it was worth carrying on with.
Some days, his bum was haching, his legs felt stiff and heavy, his lungs compressed as if he were choking, his face and eyes burnt by the sun. Other days, he would be soaking wet wondering when he would have to stop and how he could find a dry place to spend the night.
The apprenticeship was hard but rich in experiences and by the time he reached Santiago di Compostella, he felt already another man. He crossed over to the Mediterreanian and felt like aA man who wanted to continue the trip, meeting people who looked different, spoke other languages but with whom he could communicate in a universal way. People who would teach him all the indispensable things one doesn’t learn at school or at home. Coming accross various climates, cycling through forests, villages, small towns, streches of sand, climbing to different altitudes, looking at the nature, the birds, the animals, feeling the wind, dipping your head under storms, showers, watching the clouds, hoping for rainbows….
And here he is, 5 years later, putting pen to paper, chapter after chapter, the accumulated countries visited, the chains of mountains climbed, the deserts crossed, the continents crossed over.
He knows, never again, will he get driven down by other people, torn inside, or pulled aback : he is part of the world, he knows the earth so well, he’s so small, thus so aware of who he is, what the others mean to him and what his life, so unique, is worth.
Ans now he’s back, writing at his desk, for he wants to get the book finished and published as a tribute to his palls who stopped him from drowning and showed him the way to himself with his bicycles because he must most certainly have gone through at least 3 dozens!
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Paula's story
Just a few more breaths to take,
She put her foot on the stair of the first of 100 metal steps and it moved a little under her weight - she didn’t pay attention too much as she was climbing behind her friend – her best friend. The total opposite to herself, Enid was loud, extrovert and could convince anyone to do anything with her charm and chatter. She was that kind of happy person interested in people, engaging and a real conversation maker, she could make friends with a brick wall. She oozed confidence and everyone felt safe in her company. She dreamt of becoming an influencer on social media.
It was this personality that attracted Jasmin, they say opposites attract, well this was certainly the case. She, shy, reserved and mostly liked to keep to herself – worked independantly didn’t go out much but from time she succombed to her friends wims and this was the perfect example.
They had had extreme adventures together before, always the thrill of doing something Jasmin would never ever had dreamt of doing by herself and was always drawn in by Enid’s enthusiasm and sense of confidence. There was that time they had convinced the bus driver to have a stopover for a coffee –as he left the bus for a few minutes they ambushed it and drove it round in circles to the horrified passengers on board. Another time they had worn bear costumes and scared passers by in Main street causing a pile up of confused drivers
A few days ago Enid had proposed that she go along with an adventure which had seemed intriguing at first and when she had thought about it more dangerous but had agreed to go along with it anyway. You couldn’t refuse Enid and her enthusiasm.
Near to where they lived up on a hill, there were Antenna – providing electricity and telecommunications for the whole of the county. A steel staircase wound up to the very top of the 500 meters inside a metal shaft.
Its going to be fabulous cried Enid – we’ll climb up and take selfies at the top, post them and we’ll be famous and everyone will be in awe of what we did.
So they started up – there was a sign saying beware ‘mort subite’ but as Enid reassured her we are wearing our sneakers and so no danger with rubber on our feet.
Halfway up Jasmin looked down and felt queasy – dizziness overtook her and she clung to the stairs wrapping her arms around the railings gathering courage to move upwards;
Enid was higher slithering up like a squirrel being chased by a dog. Come on up its wonderful the view is amazing – we’re going to be super influencers on the internet and earn lots and lots of money - we’re going to be rich. Think of all those boring people in their houses not daring to do anything fun they’ll pay to watch us. Yipee “Just a few more….” she screamed as the metal stair which had rusted with age gave way and she fell the full length of the antenna sparks flying catching her clothes and sent her convulsing body screaming to her death with her just a “few more …st..airs “ echoing in the distance
Annemarie's storyJust a Little More. (Exerts from Chardonnay's diary)
January 1, 2021
Today Peter pinched my waist as I was dressing …
“A little too much champagne and cakes.”
Not the first time he’s alluded to my comfy waist.
But after frank gaze in mirror (in slightly saggy bra and 'mum' pants) the reflection that stares (and I mean stares) is not very flattering.
New year's resolution- Dry January, lose some weight! Stephanie resolved her love handles with liposuction. Phoned her and asked her to make arrangements as soon as possible with her surgeon. Told Peter she needed my help for a few days so I would be away.
January 3rd
11.30 appointment at “Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow”. No more 'maiden aunt' hairs around my mouth and chin. Clinic's blurb says I’m saving money on razors plus “women throw away 2400 razors, and every year, approximately 2 billion razors end up in landfill as they cannot be recycled” so I’m saving the planet as well. Peter thinks I went to the dentist so didn’t question the redness and ice against my jaw! P home late after extra session at gym so did not have to eat. (£30)
January 8th.
Appointment for removal of two ugly moles on my arm. Cut out and placed in jars for analysis. I had never been bothered. Peter calls them 'black beetles' and says they could be cancerous. (£530)
January 13th.
Plasters off moles; just 2 little scars …and no cancer. Peter thought arms much better.
January 18th.
Off to Steph's. Took me to surgeon for liposuction. Should be a slender new me this afternoon. Fat cells broken up with a high pressure water jet - just like cleaning the patio! After several cuts he put in suction tubes, vacuumed fat out, slurped up excess fluid, stitched and bandaged - just like hoovering and tidying the house.
Steph picked me up. Slept distractedly as definitely not expecting to wake up with as much fluid seeping out of me. (£4,700)
January 19th..
Feeling bit better today. Will have to wear support corset for a few weeks; shall tell Peter I hurt my back at Steph's.
February 4th,
2nd laser hair removal. Not noticed a lot of difference but that’s normal apparently.(£30). Peter late so didn’t see blotchiness.
February 25th. Finished with the corset - Peter very happy for normal marital resumption but has not noticed my 'loss of weight'!
March 3rd
Consultation re facelift. Too much recovery time - difficult to explain. Wait until gravity makes me jowlier and Peter films abroad. Consultant suggested instead lipofilling “to complete the perfect redistribution of cheek and oval cheek volumes”.
Lunch with Sarah and Jennie at Maru's (v. expensive) - neither noticed weight loss! Consultation free but lunch £210, don’t even like Japanese food.
Peter had late meeting + me not hungry after blowout lunch.
March 10th
3rd laser removal. Very red today. (£30). Told Peter an allergic reaction to face cream.
Consultation for nose job. Will have to put on hold re cost (£11,350!) and it involves some recovery time - if P goes away can nose job be done at same time as facelift?(consultation free)
Bought slinky Alexander McQueen evening dress, black with shoestring straps. Shows off new figure . Will wear to Peter’s opening night. (£2,725, much less than nose job!)
April 12th
4th laser removal. (£30) Bit red, itchy. Bought bottle of wine and good book, (£35.89) to recover as P late at gym again.
April 14th
‘What are the dark spots around your mouth and chin?’asked Peter. So he did notice. Said it must be the allergy again. Clinic said it happens but would disappear. Hmm? P had quick meal but out again for meeting.
May 15th
Last visit to Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow. (£30) Booked spa day for June 14th. Will have hair done on 15th for his opening night. Peter late so just light snack.
May 27th
Face hairless and glowing - hair today, gone yesterday you could say. Now lips look a little thin. Just time to fit appointment for lip flip or dermal filler. Had the latter as suggested by clinic. Told Peter tin of baked beans fell off the shelf and hit my lips. (£240 for 1 syringe, £155 professional fee)
May30th.
Lips not very plump. I think I need just a little more. Clinic advises waiting a month. Blow! Peter’s opening night in 2 weeks. Want to look stunning for him. P at gym - 4 times this week! For his opening night?
June 13th.
Bought 'fuck me' shoes as Germaine Greer calls them and sexy scarlet underwear. Hope I can go whole evening on stilettos. (£532.99, £125.98) Home late . Peter waiting for his meal. Very angry. Says I’m never there!)
June 15th.
Overslept. Peter already left, grabbed note from table and sped to Mangomint. Luxuriated in sweet almond oil massage then remembered P's note. Opened it while having my ginger orange pu-erh tea. “ Sorry, Chardonnay, but I’m leaving… for good. You have changed… and I have met someone else. It was good while it lasted. Have a good life, Peter.”
Chardonnay stopped keeping her diary at this point apart from a row of figures.
180
530
4750
210
2725
35
155
532.99
125.98
240
———-
9693.81
———-
3321 1
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Sarah's story
A political fantasy
Before the election the country was divided in two. After the election, it was no different, except that the candidate that most thinking people supported had lost, and the populist had won by a landslide. The legislature too went all red, and many of the states now had red governors.
How was it then that Joy, a staunch blue supporter, was now in charge of the super banquet that Trompette, the billionaire president-elect, was giving for all his high-level supporters? One didn’t question the way things happened in this topsy-turvy world. She was making out the guest list. Ferdie Lance, the vice-president-elect was of course at the top, and Muskrat, another billionaire, who had bought the election for his crony, was on the list, as well as all the members of congress on the red side and all the newly appointed heads of government departments, some of then created for the occasion, such as the one to make sure there was no publishing of protestation from the populace. If they don’t hear it they won’t think it exists, was the policy.
“Are you finished?”
“Not yet. Just a few more,” she said, and added the governors of the red states.
When everyone was seated in the elegant dining hall with the crystal and the porcelain and the bouquets of flowers on the long tables and the venerable portraits of former presidents hanging on the walls, the food was brought in. Catered by a well-known chain, there were cheeseburgers for all, and fries—no-one said “French” any more, it had become a dirty word—and coca cola, and apple pie for dessert. Some of those from the Southern states had thought it ought to be pecan pie, but the apple supporters had won out. Apples were red.
The next day the newspaper headlines screamed the terrible news: 42 dead after the president-elect’s banquet. Inexplicably, they had all succumbed, every one, to some devastating new bacteria that had contaminated all the food, possibly because the ingredients had stood around for hours in the over-heated kitchen where the luncheon was to be prepared. In the following weeks the bacteria was to vie for space in the headlines as the new Covid, not that it was a virus, but because of its extreme rapidity of contamination; people dropped like flies.
But most of the space was, at least for the following week, devoted to the national shock. The country was in turmoil. New elections had to be organized, and it was again Joy who was given the charge. The reds wanted four months to prepare their campaign but Joy decided the country couldn’t wait that long; already institutions were breaking down for lack of control and coordination, and there were riots in the streets. So the date was set for a month from then. The reds of course had almost no viable candidates, but the blues had their army ready and raring to go. Their presidential candidate, a little-known black woman from Missouri named Obelia Jones, an ecologist with an ambitious program aimed at the general good, won by an even greater margin than the one that had swept in Trompette. One explanation was that there was no billionaire left to ease the reds into position. But it wasn’t the only one.
The widow of the former president elect inherited his fortune and she immediately set up abortion clinics in all 50 states. She said that now that the country seemed more favourable to women in politics she might consider running for president the next time herself. Or maybe governor. Her ideas, she said, weren’t always the same as her late husband’s. Muskrat had no heirs, so his fortune went to the state and was immediately put to use setting up reception centres for immigrants, to teach them English and American ways, so that they would fit into society and become good citizens; it was recognized that the country needed the manpower. The white suprematists and the would-be billionaires cackled noisily in their corners, but the rest of the nation paid no attention.
And so there was rejoicing in the streets and in private homes and in restaurants and cafés. Horns honked, sirens blared, bands played, bells rang—and what was that other, ringing noise amongst it all?
Ah—the alarm clock. Time to get up, but Joy climbed out of bed in a mood to match her name. Elated and joyful. Things had turned out all right in the end. She forgot about the epidemic, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
As the grey light of a foggy morning penetrated her consciousness, however, she began to realize that it had been only a dream. Her shoulders slumped for a moment, but then she straightened up again. All was not lost! One must keep up the fight. And she marched out into the day where the fog was already lifting.
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