She was dressed completely in black leather. Black blouse open at the neck and a short, tight jacket straining at the bust. An equally tight mini skirt struggled to control her stomach, and the spike-heeled boots were thigh high.
From behind, she appeared a young woman with red tresses falling below her shoulders. Then she turned. Grey sprouted along the hairline. The heavy makeup, filling the give-away lines of a heavy smoker, looked garish as we approached. But the coup-de-grace was the messily outlined eyes looking as if kohl had been applied the night before, slept in and ‘refreshed’ with a heavy hand.
As we got closer, Rose – this had been her idea – hissed, ‘Oh! My! God!’.
The vision stepped forward to greet Rose. ‘You came! Great.’
Then she tottered away on spike-heels, leaning forward to keep balanced. She probably believed she looked sultry and enticing. She didn’t.
I was aghast, amused, and lost in thought. She reminded me of someone. Who? Oh yes! That ageing transvestite seen long ago on Singapore’s Bugis Street.
We found a table and choked with barely controlled mirth every time we caught each other’s eye. Rose pleaded, ‘She didn’t look like that when she invited me to her book launch. I wonder what she’ll read?’
Within minutes we were enlightened. What she announced as a sexy story, was revealed as hard-core pornography in the bedroom, the bathroom, on the grand piano and in a mirror-lined lift. That was chapter one. No foreword and little foreplay!
We left as the sex-quiz papers were being distributed and Rose had run out of variations on saying sorry.
By then we needed a cleansing cuppa. But we kept looking at each other, wondering who’d cleaned the piano and spluttering into our tea.
What an educational afternoon!
Burnside Writers Group 