My Magazine

Jenni spent ten minutes standing on the footpath looking into the display of meat in the butcher's shop. One of the two remaining butchers came to behind the display and pointed to his watch, indicating that the shop was about to close.

It puzzled Jenni why she spent most of the day making snap decision yet that technique failed her when it came to choosing meat, or toilet paper at the supermarket or a book from the 'New Arrivals' display in a bookshop.

She decided on 500 grams of 18% fat beef mince.

But as the butcher began wrapping it she thought that sausages would be a change. The man smiled, put the mince back on to the tray and picked up a string of sausages.

"How many love?"

Jenni pondered over that.

"I'll tell you what love. My girlfriend is in the rear carpark waiting for me, impatiently I believe. Why don't I just charge you for half of these but you take the whole string. A deal?"

Red-faced Jenni nodded and reached for her purse. She found only £50 notes and her credit cards.

She held out one of the notes, expecting the butcher to go berserk.

Instead he smiled and said, "Thanks for the biggie love. Now I can get rid of some of my small notes."

Jenni gratefully accepted the wad of five pound notes and left. As the butcher began closing the door behind her, he called out - "Watch the traffic dear - it's very busy at this time of night."

She smiled. Presumably he thought she was on release from a facility for the mentally challenged.

At home Jenni lightened up with a gin and tonic listening to some stirring Beethoven on the sofa with her feet up. After twenty minutes of near bliss she had a good cry over the onions while all ten sausages were browning in the pan. She stirred in the curry and other bits into pan of sausages and sautéed onions and then turned down the heat. It was time for another gin.

Rhonda arrived home to find Jenni soundly asleep and got to the stove in time to save the sausages. She cooked the rice, put the plates on two trays and opened two bottles of beer and yelled, "Come and get it!"

Jenni awoke to find her dinner ready to be placed on her lap.

"Oh Rhonda, how sweet of you, curried sausages but I don't know if I want beer with them."

"It's the best thing; curry kills the taste of wine."

"If you say so."

It was then that Rhonda noticed the gin bottle had taken a big hit.

"You look tired Jenni. I think you should go straight to bed after this. It's been a big week for you."

"Yes indeed, but I finished up on a light note reading your column then having some banter with Nico about adages but I decided against trying to explain the difference between adages and metaphorical proverbs."

"Meta what?"

"It's okay Rhonda. It's just at school I got my knuckles almost pulverized with a ruler because I was a stupid girl who couldn't understand the difference. It was a lesson I've never forgotten but I assure you it is not necessary to know the difference. The example old Mrs Riley drummed into me of a metaphorical proverb was hilarious - again not forgotten: The way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time."

"Eat up your sausages," said Rhonda, who looked apprehensively at the sausages as if they might contain to harbour the thought that there might elephant meat.

She shuddered.

"Oh Rhonda, I am aware that I am still capable of doing some amazing things, at least I'm amazed that I can do them. And yet the butcher tonight identified me as being mentally deficient."

"What? How could he, or was it she?"

"No it was he. She was waiting in the car."

"Pardon?"

"It's of little consequence. However, there I was in the butcher's shop unable to decide whether I wanted five or six sausages. He saved me from my anguish by giving me ten and charging me for only half of them."

"Good for him. Butchers are such nice guys - they eat their meat raw and just love women."

"Do they? Thinking back it would have been more lust than love in his mind about his girlfriend waiting for him in the car after he'd been dealing with meat all day."

"Is there a difference?"

"Between love and lust? Of course there is."

"Really? I was unaware of that. Anyway what did you think of my column?"

"Truly?"

"Yes."

Jenni took a swig of beer.

"The story telling is great, tightly presented and leading the reader quickly along and perhaps raising eyebrows a few times, which is great. But it is not as good as your first column - it doesn't generate the fresh and spirited you that was in the first column."

"This latest submission was interesting although journalistically rather banal. As a columnist you are entitled to inject a little make-believe to increase atmosphere and tension, though not significantly distorting fact or introducing primary invention."

You let your women mention what they were drinking, which was good, but you add little further characterisation. I think my gins are doing some of the talking, but do you get what I'm saying?"

"Yes, at least I think I do. In this column I've produced almost ghostlike story tellers."

"Very good Rhonda."

"Jenni I accept that writing professionally requires talent and hard grafting and I thought I had both. This is so frustrating."

"You do have both, darling, but some of the other things will come through experience. You need to read more - but read critically. Ask yourself why the author phrased the words like that - probably to inject freshness. And when you begin thinking 'what a lovely description' and 'that's very powerful narrative' and on other occasions 'that's exceedingly sensitive writing'."

"At that point you'll be on the way towards 'feeling' the passages that you are reading. Don't worry, it will come. I recognise a lot of natural talent in you. Worry too much about getting the words out and your native style that's uniquely you will be garrotted."

"Pardon me - isn't 'garrotted' rather excessive in that context?"

"Indeed it is. The gin is talking and I don't like being told to be careful of the traffic."

"Who said that?"

"The butcher!"

"To hell with the butcher. You're just experiencing a low, possible the start of nervous exhaustion."

"Changing the subject, I've been thinking of returning to my shared flat. I mean living here was only a temporary arrangement. The women I share with often ask when will return. They do miss me, they say, but I think they really miss my cooking."

"How lovely it is to feel so wanted. I will be so sad when you go, yet I recognise that it must be a little dull for you living away from your friends."

"Jenni," said Rhonda, choosing her words carefully. "I'd like to think that a man will live here - you have so much to give, and you'd be the first to agree that your best years of sex will be peaking. You ought to be enjoying the vitality and resultant well-being of happy sex and of course male company can be okay."

"That's fair comment Rhonda. I have chosen my lifestyle and believe I will adhere to it. But I'm not experiencing total celibacy."

"So you say, but I never see you with a man."

"They exist Rhonda, believe me. Perhaps I am a master - or rather a mistress - of deception."

Rhonda looked at her suspiciously.

"But you're not, are you, being accompanied by a man on Sunday to what could be one of your better social events of the year?"

"Yes I will be accompanied."

"Oh who is he? What does he look like? Is he well suited to you?"

The questions were voiced excitedly and Rhonda nose was twitching as she waited impatiently for the response.

"His name is Nick, that's all you need to know. He's rather well off, and is a big tease which I guess I kinda like and, if you must know, sex with him is wonderful."

"Oooh I wish I could meet him ... you keep him out of sight usually, then that suggests he's a married man?"

"Indeed."

"But why a married man - there are plenty of single and divorced men of your age around with their tongues hanging out for a woman who looks and acts like you?"

"I must not tell you why Rhonda; I have no wish to turn you on to married men."

"I've had several one-nighters who are married. I don't think any are any better than single men. In fact, there's nothing better than a single man who hasn't had a date for a while."

"Oh Rhonda you epitomise the glory of being young and blinkered. Enjoy it while it stays with you dear because older age is galloping towards you."

"Incidentally I have something to tell you. I was itching to tell you earlier but decided it was better to say nothing until closer to the event. I'm to be made a godmother."

"Oh Jenni, how wonderful for you. You will fit that role very well."

Jenni looked at Rhonda curiously. She must have seen some of those baby clothes I've got under my bed.

"You know?"

Rhonda looked genuinely sorry that Jenni had not been the one to tell her.

"Yes - I was told yesterday."

"Who by?"

"Nico."

"Gawd - there goes my secret."

"Who told him?"

"His oldest daughter,"

"Oh yes that will be Vasanti. It sort of slipped out when I was chatting with her and her husband Leonardo at lunchtime the other day. I'm sorry you had to learn from someone else, I really am."

"It's okay. It's not as if you are having a baby."

Jenni frowned, and opened out her hands expressively.

"In just a little way, it almost seems as if I am - though I don't feel pregnant. I think about Gracie every day and then the baby. I've even started thinking about it as 'our' baby.

"Snowy got browned off with me phoning him every morning to check on Gracie that he now emails me a report every morning as soon as he arrives at work. The messages are short sometimes just one word and signed Snowy."

"Oh that explains those funny messages in your emails. I thought they were weather reports."

"Yes," laughed Jenni. "Fine."

"Under the weather," Rhonda giggled.

"Cloudy."

"Expected to turn sunny later this morning."

Rhonda clapped her hands and jigged up and down on the sofa.

"Let's go shopping in the morning and try to find the latest in baby things."

"That's a kind thought but I have already bought a few things. I don't want to buy what Snowy and Gracie will want to buy for their dear wee baby."

"I know but let's go looking anyway. We'll have fun and will surely pick up some things they will never have thought about."

"I was planning to work all morning at the office."

"Then we shall go shopping all afternoon and then I'll take you to a flash singles bar."

"Like hell you will. We'll go shopping in the morning as more specialty shops won't be crowded then and I'll go to work at the office in the afternoon."

"I knew that I could get you to change your mind," said Rhonda, with a mischievous smile.

"Singles bar indeed," sniffed Jenni. "Those places are just dens for losers and married cheaters."

"And how is it that madam knows that?" Rhonda said airily.

"I've never been to a brothel yet I know what's inside them," Jenni said slyly. "I'm off to bed. Thanks for your company. I'll enjoy wandering around with you tomorrow - it's a while since we've done that."

* * *

On Sunday morning Jenni arrived at the heliport late, with a speeding ticket lying screwed up on the floor of her car, the issuing of which had made her even later.

She was hurriedly escorted out of the terminal to the helicopter. She had been told that the other members of her party, Sharon Sparrow, Ralph Flynn and Nickolas Duckworth were already aboard.

The pilot, a woman who recognized Jenni from her TV appearances and photo in

My Magazine

gave her a cherry wave and the thumbs up, it being too noisy to hear as the engine was turning over and a larger helicopter was landing nearby.

As entered the cabin head down slightly, Nick - who was strapped in - reached up, pulled her head right down and kissed her, taking his time. Jenni straightened to sit down and caught the exaggerated look of raised eyebrows of Sharon.

Grinning expansively, Sharon called loudly, "This is my Ralphie."

Jenni and Ralph waved to each other, and she sat down, with Nick casually draping an arm along her leg and beginning to stroke her very exposed lower thigh. She hoped that Nick had filed his fingernails, and wished she'd worn a longer length skirt but this one was her favourite and her only white one. The others were all red, brown or black - not really suited for wearing poolside.

The flight of not much more than an hour was pleasant. It was an almost cloudless day with just a breeze.

The party arrived at the Spanish style mansion of David Brooks' absentee father.

David and his wife Lydia, who was wearing a full-length black and gold sheath dress and a wide black sunhat with gold ribbons, came out to greet the first of two batches of arrivals.

"Oh dear, look at her," Sharon groaned. "Done up to the nines."

Sharon was wearing a one-piece so-called playsuit in blue and white cotton with a plunging front allowing Jenni and especially Nick to note she had smooth skin topside.

"It's traditional for hostesses over here on the island to over-dress, but by the look of her by the end of the day she'll be out of that outfit," Jenni observed.

Sharon was pleased to hear that. Her own swimsuit was the size of four men's handkerchiefs according to Ralph, who was being groomed to become her fiancée.

"I've only had a couple of short chats with Lydia in the past," Jenni confided. "That's really no long enough to get a good fix on her, but she seems nice enough, nicer than David which I know is not saying a lot."

"You're a wicked woman Jenni Giles," giggled Sharon who was nervous about being socially exposed in the company of more senior executives. "I doubt whether my former family home would fill the lounge of this place - it's palatial. It must have been built to impressive overseas dignitaries."

Jenni was habitually unimpressed with people who were overly-impressed with material possessions. A put down was in order.

"I believe this hideaway was constructed as a place where father and son could guzzle top wines, sate themselves on fine foods and then get laid to the limit of their endurance."

"Jenni you are teasing me."

"Okay, Sharon - take a look at the labels on the wine bottles today. I doubt if you will recognise many because most will be in the thirty quid and higher bracket. Then note the huge stacks of whole sides of smoked salmon, fresh venison patties, Tiger prawns from abroad and the white meat you'll see is more likely to be white veal than chicken."

"And then, if you get a moment, take a peek at the master bedroom and the room of the master's immediate underling - decorated in the tradition of Arabian harem resting places that most westerners have only seen in paintings and Hollywood films. This whole set-up is designed for debauchery at its best, but you won't catch me complaining."

Before Sharon could express her disbelief, David had reached out and drawn Sharon to his chest and kissed her cheek then releasing her saying, "Sharon - this is my wife Lydia - Lydia darling, this is Sharon, my human resources manager and valued colleague."

Sharon began to flush with pleasure at that introduction before apparently realising it was just the type of introduction someone inhabiting a boudoir looking for a recruit to his harem would use.

"I am pleased to meet you, Sharon - well, you do look as if you have come to play. What a sweet outfit."

"I came dressed for the weather and location," she said. "This is my man of the moment - I hope for a very long moment - Ralph Hogan."

"Hullo Ralph, welcome to the island," greeted David, as if Jersey was his private domain.

"It's nice to meet you, Ralph," said Lydia, moving forward to shake his hand, immediately drawing attention to her figure as she leaned forward.

Jenni thought Lydia had lost weight and appeared to have toned up; she looked gorgeous.

"Lydia you will remember Jenni?"

"Ah our journalist extraordinaire," smiled Lydia, who hugged Jenni although did not kiss her. "I'm glad you're coming back - Zephyr needs somebody with class helping to drive it along."

"Greetings Lydia. I love the new version of you. Your appearance is immaculate."

Lydia smiled, "I try, oh God how I try."

"And who is this gentleman?" David asked, not smiling.

"Perhaps I would query the word gentleman but Nick is a friend from way back, Jenni said, not to identify him by surname.

The men shook hands and Nick made the predictable comment "Nice place you have here" and received the predictable response, "Yes we like it."

"Hello Nicky," said Lydia, her voice appeared to have dropped lower and become more expressive.

Gawd, thought Jenni, but without panic. She knew him.

"My dear Lydia," responded Nicky softly, bending forward to kiss her - on the lips.

Stating the obvious, David asked if they had met before, his voice rising slightly - or so Jenni thought. She was miffed, Nick had not indicated that he knew the hostess and knew her well enough to be called Nicky.

"Yes, darling," replied Lydia smoothly. "He runs the family trust that did our townhouse development and before that when we played the leads in the 'Good Afternoon Doctor' some ten years ago."

David was intrigued; he tried to make it his business to know men who knew his wife.

"I never knew either of those things."

"You left the acquisition and the changes to the townhouse and marina berth to me, darling. You took absolutely no interest and even declined to attend the gala opening. Nor did you attend the opening and opening party of "that bloody farce" as you called it, and gave your mother your ticket. Remember darling - she raved about my performance and you called it "mother's hype" until you read the very complimentary comments about me and also about Nicky in the review in the next morning's newspaper."

"Humph. And you still see each other?"

"Up to three times a week, darling," she replied, wickedly, pausing for effect while David recovered from almost dropping his champagne flute. "We go to the same gym."

At that David began to relax, knowing that Lydia always went to the gym with his half-sister.

"Drinks anyone?" asked Maria Hopper, cosseted very tightly into a black and white French maid's uniform.

"Why hello ... um Mr Duckworth," smiled Maria, with emphasis on mister, and Nick responded, calling her by her name.

Jenni, Sharon and the hostess were most interested in that.

"You two know each other?" David enquired.

"Yep," said Nick. "She's the best woman rock 'n' roller at the yacht squadron and we have the occasional fling."

"Fling?"

"We occasionally take to the floor together," Nick smirked.

David decided that Nick was his kind of man. He put an arm around Nick's shoulder saying, "Don't drink this bubbles crap. Come with me to the bar where I've got a single malt scotch that you'll swear you can hear the wind blowing through heather beside a brook as you take the first sip."

"Do those two know each other?" enquired the maid.

"I don't think so, but who cares," said Lydia. "Come on girls, I'll personally mix us a cocktail that a bar tender in Chicago taught me to mix. It truly is called The Lonely Woman's Orgasm. I drink it a lot."

Jenni sighed. "Perhaps you might like to make mine a double?"

Lydia giggled.

"You know Jenni, I took little interest in you previously and I now realize my mistake. Come on and you too Sharon - let's get ourselves a little lubricated before we join the menfolk - for lunch I mean," she said, eyes flashing and a wide smile revealing heavy orthodontic rebuilding.

The rum-based cocktail was inspirational, and halfway through her second Jenni saw Charles approaching, arm in arm with a nondescript woman who would presumably be his wife - Jane she thought she was called.