28-03-2019, 03:18 PM
"Why don't you make your wife's morning before you go make your girlfriend's afternoon?"
Troy smiled back. He led her to their bedroom.
* * *
Helena looked around Mander's effort to recreate an authentic pub look for his in-home bar. It was certainly a work-in-progress.
She admired the stained-glass light fixture over the snooker table, advertising her brand of cigarette. Other lighting still needed to be wired over the area of the room that held the tables. The jukebox was in place and looked authentic, but only half of the wooden floor had been laid over the bare concrete.
"I hope Guinness is up to Her Majesty's standards." Mander said from behind the bar as he pulled her a pint before his own, his gun now hanging on the coat rack. "Because that's the only tap I've got sorted yet."
"That works." She took a drink. "You've really taken to the whole home handyman thing."
"Never 'ad a home before." He said, walking around the bar. He was about to take a seat next to her, when Helena jerked her head to suggest getting a table. Mander led, as Helen remembered how much that gesture would have hurt a week ago. "Now that I've got one, see the appeal. Er, there's no light in back there yet, Your Countessness."
"I know. It just, you know, feels right for the kind of talk we're about to have."
Mander looked at the darkened corner, the table in shadow. He thought about the possible reasons that, after giving him this island for his role in Lady Maria's rescue in Uongo, Contessa Helena de San Finzione might come pay him a visit. There weren't many, so it didn't take him long.
"Ok," he said. "I can get that."
Helena took little sips from her pint as they walked around sawhorses and power tools about the floor and spoke.
"I expected to see a bunch of topless bikini babes down at the beach or the pool."
"They scarper on weekends for me. Supposed to be a man's time to take care of things 'round the 'ouse, you know. Plus the younger ones always wanna go dancin'. Have you heard the shit they play in discos these days? 'Ow do ya dance to that 'BWOM, bumpy-thumpy, wumpy-thumpy, BWOM' garbage? If we'd 'eard a noise like that up ahead in Africa, we'd turn the jeep 'round an' go the other way. That's why only the Masters of Old are going in that jukebox."
"Beatles, Who, and Stones?"
"TOO fuckin' right!"
They clinked glasses without looking and took a drink together.
"Throw some Warren Zevon in there for me, please. I was just a kid when he died, but... I hear him, and it's like, 'You GOT me, Warren!' He was just... he really understood, you know?"
He set his pint down, selected the darkest corner, and held out a chair for Helena. With a grateful look, she accepted the seat. Mander grabbed an ash tray for her from off of the pool table and set it on the table between them as he took his pint and sat at the opposite corner, so Helen's back was to the wall.
"Yeah, you see?" Helen asked, her face lit by the lighter's flame as she lit her smoke in the darkness. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs in a manner that would have appeased The Hayes Code as she puffed on it a couple of times to make the ember glow brighter, imagining her face only made a bit less shadowy by the bright red ember turning to ash. "Totally the effect I want, right?"
"Yeah, I see what you're sayin'." He took a drink and looked around, noticing this aspect of his semi-construction project. "Darkened corner table, just right for talking dodgy deals, I like it. Only thing missing's the saxophone. Jukebox ain't 'ooked up to anythin' yet."
"Don't EVER put a light in this corner, Mander. Fuck, when it's finished, I might be asking you if I could bring some of my business dealings to your island, just for this spot." She spread her fingers out to try to convey the ambiance.
"Ok," Helen took another sip of her pint. "To business."
Mander hoisted his glass and shouted "TO BUSINESS!" Helena returned the toast with equal enthusiasm, and they both laughed.
Troy smiled back. He led her to their bedroom.
* * *
Helena looked around Mander's effort to recreate an authentic pub look for his in-home bar. It was certainly a work-in-progress.
She admired the stained-glass light fixture over the snooker table, advertising her brand of cigarette. Other lighting still needed to be wired over the area of the room that held the tables. The jukebox was in place and looked authentic, but only half of the wooden floor had been laid over the bare concrete.
"I hope Guinness is up to Her Majesty's standards." Mander said from behind the bar as he pulled her a pint before his own, his gun now hanging on the coat rack. "Because that's the only tap I've got sorted yet."
"That works." She took a drink. "You've really taken to the whole home handyman thing."
"Never 'ad a home before." He said, walking around the bar. He was about to take a seat next to her, when Helena jerked her head to suggest getting a table. Mander led, as Helen remembered how much that gesture would have hurt a week ago. "Now that I've got one, see the appeal. Er, there's no light in back there yet, Your Countessness."
"I know. It just, you know, feels right for the kind of talk we're about to have."
Mander looked at the darkened corner, the table in shadow. He thought about the possible reasons that, after giving him this island for his role in Lady Maria's rescue in Uongo, Contessa Helena de San Finzione might come pay him a visit. There weren't many, so it didn't take him long.
"Ok," he said. "I can get that."
Helena took little sips from her pint as they walked around sawhorses and power tools about the floor and spoke.
"I expected to see a bunch of topless bikini babes down at the beach or the pool."
"They scarper on weekends for me. Supposed to be a man's time to take care of things 'round the 'ouse, you know. Plus the younger ones always wanna go dancin'. Have you heard the shit they play in discos these days? 'Ow do ya dance to that 'BWOM, bumpy-thumpy, wumpy-thumpy, BWOM' garbage? If we'd 'eard a noise like that up ahead in Africa, we'd turn the jeep 'round an' go the other way. That's why only the Masters of Old are going in that jukebox."
"Beatles, Who, and Stones?"
"TOO fuckin' right!"
They clinked glasses without looking and took a drink together.
"Throw some Warren Zevon in there for me, please. I was just a kid when he died, but... I hear him, and it's like, 'You GOT me, Warren!' He was just... he really understood, you know?"
He set his pint down, selected the darkest corner, and held out a chair for Helena. With a grateful look, she accepted the seat. Mander grabbed an ash tray for her from off of the pool table and set it on the table between them as he took his pint and sat at the opposite corner, so Helen's back was to the wall.
"Yeah, you see?" Helen asked, her face lit by the lighter's flame as she lit her smoke in the darkness. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs in a manner that would have appeased The Hayes Code as she puffed on it a couple of times to make the ember glow brighter, imagining her face only made a bit less shadowy by the bright red ember turning to ash. "Totally the effect I want, right?"
"Yeah, I see what you're sayin'." He took a drink and looked around, noticing this aspect of his semi-construction project. "Darkened corner table, just right for talking dodgy deals, I like it. Only thing missing's the saxophone. Jukebox ain't 'ooked up to anythin' yet."
"Don't EVER put a light in this corner, Mander. Fuck, when it's finished, I might be asking you if I could bring some of my business dealings to your island, just for this spot." She spread her fingers out to try to convey the ambiance.
"Ok," Helen took another sip of her pint. "To business."
Mander hoisted his glass and shouted "TO BUSINESS!" Helena returned the toast with equal enthusiasm, and they both laughed.
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