Rich Pickings
‘Ooh, you’ve got a tattoo!’ slurred Sheridan, blasting whisky fumes down Tara’s graceful young neck as he teetered objectionably close behind her in the buffet queue.
Tara peered sardonically at the ginger cat on her right shoulder. ‘So I have!’ she sneered with mock amazement.
What a flop this party was turning out to be! That nice archaeology student Richard with the tousled hair, who she’d had her eye on for months, had not shown up - and now this appalling old lech had affixed himself to her.
‘It’s jolly pretty. Miaow! Ha ha. Did it hurt?’
‘Not really.’
‘What a big brave girl you must be! I faint at the sight of needles. I do! I faint dead away...!
‘Oh dear.’
‘Can I fetch you a drink?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure, thank you!’
‘Well you look jolly thirsty to me. Oh well. Sshplendid party, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah (!)’
‘Sshplendid! I’m Ssheridan, incidentally. And you are?’
‘Starving.’ Tara, finally at the table, reached for a plate and roamed appreciative eyes over chicken drumsticks and glorious sandwiches.
‘Oh very droll! Very droll! Come on, darling - what’s your handle!’
‘Tara.’
‘Tara! As in Gone with the Wind? That’s a beautiful name. Beautiful!’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Gone with the wind! That’s a sshtunning outfit you’re wearing, Tara! Gucci, is it?’
‘No, Top Shop.’
Tara levered a huge wedge of pork pie on to her plate.
‘You’re a delightful sight, Tara - a wench who’s fond of her food. I sshupplied this little lot, you know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My firm, Better Banquets, supplied this ‘ere buffet!’
‘You own Better Banquets?’
‘For my sshins.’
‘But they’re one of the biggest catering firms around.’
‘Made my first million by my thirtieth birthday.’
‘Your first million, did you say?’ Tara, for the first time during this discourse, was agog.
‘Made my second by the time I was forty. Hey, isn’t that that Richard chap over there? Looks like he’s waving at you. Trying to attract your attention. Not that I can blame him!’
Tara followed Sheridan’s eyes to the handsome, tousle-haired young man entering the room - then recalled how meagre student grants were these days, and looked more favourably back at her shambling millionaire.
‘Never mind him,’ she purred, ‘come on, Sheridan, tell me more about the food business. I might just have that drink now too!’
© Leigh Rowley, 2002