Sticky Buns

Jeff headed into the cake shop, he was feeling hungry, he hadn’t eaten since lunch time yesterday. He should have been hung over, but he wasn’t, amazingly enough, just hungry.

He asked the plain girl behind the counter what was good? He wasn’t so interested in her opinion, it was more the fact that he just couldn’t think what he wanted.

“Oh, savoury, or sweet?” asked the girl behind the counter. She had hair pulled back so tight Jeff could see the strain on the sides of her face behind her coke bottle glasses.

“Oh… um… sweet.” Jeff saw that the girl had a name tag pinned to her flat chest that said Cheryl.

She pointed to the iced buns in the glass-topped counter in front of them. “Would you like sticky buns?” asked Cheryl.

Jeff’s arse cheeks flinched at the suggestion; the soft cotton of his undies was still sticking to his skin. “Oh yes, sticky buns, I like sticky buns very much.” Jeff laughed. He pulled the soft cotton out of his arse crack.

Cheryl took the tongs in her hand, her finger nails were painted silver with pink and blue stars and rainbows, she grabbed the bun covered in icing and walnuts. Jeff wondered who had the patience to paint ten finger nails with such miniature pictures, but then he thought Cheryl probably wouldn't have much else going on in her life, so he guessed she did. 

"Nice nails," said Jeff. He just couldn't resist.

"Thanks," said Cheryl. "Me mate George does them for me."

"Funny a boy doing nails."

"Nah, George isn't a boy," said Cheryl. "George's pronouns are they and them."

"That must take some time?"

"Yeah, I'm gettin' really antsy by the time George has finished."

Cheryl slid the bun into a bag. “Anything else?” Cheryl was chewing gum while she waited for his response.

“No,” said Jeff. “Just sticky buns. Thank you.”

Cheryl handed the bag over to Jeff. "That'll be 4 bucks."

She held her hands out like two great slabs of sausages in mid air in front of Jeff. "You like em' do ya?" asks Cheryl.

Her hands looked wider than they were long. Fat and stubby, thought Jeff. "Yes, very nice."

Jeff handed over a fiver.

"You doin' anything Saturday night?" asked Cheryl. She headed to the till to get Jeff his change. 

Jeff pulled at his undies stuck up his arse crack again and thought that he was hoping to go a few more rounds with Scott. "Nah, got nothing definite planned." Was Cheryl asking him out?

"There's a nail convention on at the Exhibition Buildings, if you are interested," said Cheryl. "Admission is free, so it wouldn't cost ya nothing."

The only real interest in nails that he had was that Scott's should be kept nice and short. Jeff laughed to himself, being careful not to let Cheryl see him laugh, he didn't want for her to think he was laughing at her.

"Oh, okay then," says Jeff. "Good to know."

"I'll be there with George on the Nails for Equality stand."

"Nails aren't just for girls then, ay?

"Exactly," says Cheryl. "You'd be amazed how many people don't actually get that."

"I'm sure I would find it amazing," says Jeff.

"It's good to have allies," says Cheryl.

"Yeah, isn't it," says Jeff. He picks up his paper bag.

"Hang on," says Cheryl. She grabs her tongs and slips a cheese pull apart into another bag. She hands it to Jeff with a flourish. "'Ere, something to have before your sticky buns."

Going down on Scott was what he had before he got sticky buns. "Thanks," said Jeff. He smiled at the thought, and this time he didn't have to worry about Cheryl thinking he was laughing at her, because a smile was the most appropriate response to her generosity of the cheese pull apart. 

He shook his head and questioned himself about being a Hallmark Greeting card. 

He really thought that he, probably, needed to head home and have a shower, get some coffee and eat.

"See ya Saturday night," says Cheryl. Then did she wink? Jeff was pretty sure that she winked. He amused himself with the thought that she just had something in her eye, but he was pretty sure she winked.

"Yeah, sure," says Jeff. "Saturday night."

He Didn't Smile At First

He didn't smile at first

He just stood there with an open shirt.

His chest smooth... his hair luxurious...

eyes set... 

You did a double take, he didn't move.

You could feel the warmth redden your cheeks,

as your thoughts danced in your brain.

Herb Said,

"Don't forget your ginger, Ginger."

"Sniff your Marjoram, Marjoram."

"Grab your lilies, Lily."

"Pull up your jeans, Jean."

"Wear your hat, Hat."

"Ring your bell, Belle."

"Smell your shell, Mel."

"Swallow your pill, Will."

"Love your jewels, Jules."

"Feel the rain on your skin, Min."

"Sip your gin, Wyn."

April Fool

“That’s not trans fat,” screeched Olive Joan, the mad witch from Warracknabeal. Her voice hitting a high note on fat. “That’s papaya.” Her wide maniacal eyes gave the impression that her eyeballs were going to pop right out of their sockets, one wanted to lean in and push one’s fingers against them to stop that happening. Perhaps we could get tooth picks and place them between her bushy eyebrows and the top of her cheek bones to keep her eyeballs in place, you know, like the bars on the windows of the mental institution in which most people believed Olive Joan should be.

“It looks like trans fat on the white plate,” repeated DodgeTruck Hullabaloo.

“It’s not! It’s not! It’s not,” squawked Olive Joan, the most hated woman in Warracknabeal, with her airs and graces and her better-than-the-rest-of-you attitude. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“You can tell me as many times as you like,” repeated DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. “But it still looks like papaya to me.”

“It’s not! It’s not! It’s not.” Olive Joan started spinning in circles.

DodgeTruck Hullabaloo leant forward and wiped the tips of his two fat fingers through the disputed orange substance on the plate before them, then lifted the two chubby digits to his mouth and sucked the orange substance right off them. “There,” he proclaimed. “Sweet and lovely, what did I say. Papaya. Papaya. Papaya. Confirmed.”

Olive Joan stopped spinning like an unhinged whirling dervish, grabbing her hair that didn’t, exactly stop spinning with the rest of her.

DodgeTruck Hullabaloo held his fingers out to her. “Go on, suck my fingers.”

“I don’t want to suck your disgusting fingers,” screeched Olive Joan. “Who do you think you are talking to?

“Someone who has just been proven wrong,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. “That’s who.”

“No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!” Olive Joan started to spin again.

“Come on boys,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. He clicked his fingers in the air. “Take her away.”

And the men in hats with white coats entered stage left. They wrapped Olive Joan up tightly in white material, then loaded her on each of their shoulders and carried her to the big white ambulance and popped her inside.

“So much emotional damage,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. And the Ambulance started up and drove away. “Now, there’s a good job done.”

DodgeTruck Hullaballo clicked his fingers again. Ninza, the fruit seller, pushed his fruit cart into vice. “More fruit, my good sir?” asked Ninza.

“Oh yes, please,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. “Do you have any more of that very fine papaya?”

“Yes, sir, good, sir, coming right up, sir,” said Ninza the fruit seller.

Gay 101

“What did you mean before?”

“What do you think I meant?”

He shrugged “I think I know…”

“What?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Say it?”

“Yeah.”


"Say it?'

"Yeah."

"Say wha..?"

"It."

"G..."

"Say it, I won't bite," he said. "That is unless you want me to."


"Gay? What do you think?”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

That was unexpected.

"Do you mean.” He grimaced. “Sucking cock gay?"

"Well, it is a good place to start, although I always think that kissing is probably a better place to start."

"Oh, yeah, right."

I shrugged and rolled my hands in the air.

"Shouldn't you shave first?"

"Oh, I didn't actually mean me."

"Oh." I'm sure he looked disappointed. Or was that relief? It is hard to know when you are gazing into such beautiful eyes. I guess I should have been flattered.

I shrugged. "Okay then." I held my arms out. He looked scared. He closed his eyes. "I think we need to look into each other's eyes, as we do it."

"Really?" He sounded alarmed.

Gay 101. "Sure. It's easy."

"It's easy for you to say."

"Trust me."


He laughed, kind of self consciously. "Trust you?" He laughed again. “And I wake up in 12 hours in a strange house with no pants on.”

“Now you are getting the idea.”

His eyes widened noticeably. “What?”

“It’s a joke,” I said. “A little gay humour.”

“I’m not going to wake up in some strange house with no pants on, am I?” Still with big eyes.

“What?” I said. It was adorable, I had to admit it. Secretly, a small part of me wanted to keep him in that state. “What do you think, I have Poison Ivy’s poisonous lips on, or something.”

“Poison Ivy lips?”

“Yes. I mean no…”

“From the plant?”

“Batman and Robin…”

“Huh?” He looked like he was beginning to hyperventilate.

I held my hands in mid air to say stop. “I think we are getting a little off track here.”

“Yes,” he said in barely contained hysteria.

“You need to breath,” I said. “Come on. Breath in… good… breath out… that’s it.”

He breathed in and out rhythmically.


"Just kiss like you are kissing a girl."

"Don't say that."

That seemed like a strange thing to say "Why?"

"Because..."

"Because why?"

"I don't want to think about girls when... um... when... er... it is a boy I want to kiss."

I took that as a compliment.


I closed my arms around him and pulled him to me until we were only centimetres apart. "I’ve got you this far, haven’t I?" I moved my face towards him, he closed his eyes. My lips touched his, they were soft and warm and moist. Yeah... baby, I thought. He kissed back gently, tentatively, he was a natural. I pulled his body against mine and he relaxed in my arms. He tasted sweet, he felt big and solid in my arms. He smelt sweet, clean. His hair shined, his fringe was full and healthy. I rubbed the side of my face against his, he felt smooth.

“Your face is rough with stubble.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“No.” He smiled. “I… kind of like it.”

I slid my tongue into his mouth, which opened gently. His warm, smooth tongue found mine. We kissed passionately as our hands felt each other’s bodies. He wasn’t squeamish when I found the front of his briefs. I’d mesmerised him with my lips and my warm dewy saliva. My warm breath was pacifying him, as his was me. I felt his cock and balls, he didn’t flinch, he didn’t pull away instinctively. It was nice to feel too, he was getting hard, his grey briefs were filling out.

Then he pulled away and stepped back. “Um… er…” was what he said.

“What’s up?”

“I think that is enough…”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“It seemed like you were liking it.”

He instinctively moved his hands in front of his crotch. “I thought it was just kissing.”

“That is the starting point.”

“I didn’t think you were going to?”

“Going to?”

He motioned down his body.

“Really? What did you think was going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

"Where do you think kissing leads?"

"I don't know," he said. "I was concentrating on kissing you."

"That's good," I said. "You keep thinking about that... and... I'll do the rest."

He looked nervous.

"Kissing is the first step," I said. "Do you think gay guys only kiss?"

"I don't know what gay guys do?"

"That's what we are exploring..."

"I thought we were kissing."

"We are, but if you have got that far, then we are getting close to what you thought in the beginning."

“Sucking cock gay?”

“Okay, I think you’ve got the idea, let’s start at the beginning.”

Favourite Things To Do

I wrote a story called, Nate, about four straight male mates. Nate is the closeted gay one. He gets drunk and has sex with one of the other guys, through who's eyes the story is told. They fess up to their other two buddies, one of which talks about his gay experiences. In the process, Nate comes out as gay. The fourth friend hasn't had any gay experiences, and the whole saga prompts him to marry his longtime girlfriend. 

That's it so far.

I fell asleep on the couch listening to music. You know, when I’d exhausted my creative juices and lay my head down for a serotonin recharge. Okay, no, while that sounds good, and I want it to be true as an excuse for me lying my head down, bursts of creativity don’t, actually, drain serotonin, in fact, the opposite my well be true. 

So, maybe I was just tired.

I do find writing drains you.

I went and looked at my story Nate and it’s 20 pages, so I did get stuck into it. I probably did need the rest. Ha ha.

I must get back to it, and get it finished. I'll post it on my fiction blog Use The Remote when I get it finished.

Amy And Lillian Open A Coffee Shop

“Dennis’ life insurance will pay for the shop,” says Amy.

“Carl’s life insurance will pay for the fit out,” says Lillian.

“You’ve got get some breaks with early onset Alzheimer’s?” says Lillian.

“You’d think,” says Amy.

“It is still amazing that Carl and Denis got it at the same time…” says Lillian.

“And both our husbands so early,” says Amy. She sighs wistfully.

“I still hope it wasn’t those Gold Seal aluminium saucepans from China we both got for engagement present,” says Lillian. “I still wonder if they had anything to do with it?”

“I still use mine,” says Amy.”

“Still going strong at my place,” says Lillian. “Except for the one piece that Lachlan put in the dishwasher that time, but other than that replacement, nothing.”

“Nothing wrong with us,” the two women carol together. They both laugh.



Lachlan is standing with the plans.

“I tell you mum,” says Lachlan. “Go to Bali for two weeks and I’ll get this done for you, I have four weeks leave.”

“You’ll do it?” asks Lillian questioningly.

“All the costs are covered, budgets are done, the builder has been contracted, it’ll be fun,” says Lachlan. “Mum, that is the least I can do.”

“You’re a doll,” says Lillian. She grabs her strapping son and gives him a kiss on the forehead. Lachlan squirms from her grip.



2 weeks later…

Lillian is standing in the middle of the newly fitted out shop. There is a knock at the door. Amy comes in gushing.

“Oh, I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it.”

“You better believe it,” says Lillian.

“Good old Lachlan.”

“Did it in his spare time.”

There is another knock at the door. Lillian’s lawyer son, Damien, is at the door.

“I’m double parked, here I’ve got things for you to sign.”

“What things to sign,” says Lillian.

“The purchase of the shop…”

“We bought the shop?” questions Lillian.

“Lachlan did the numbers, he ran them by me, and we both saw that you are much better to purchase this place out right,” says Damien. “Didn’t Lachlan explain it to you?”

“No, dear?”

“Damn,” says Damien.

“Explain what?”

The mortgages on this and Gold Street, the shares we sold, didn’t he explain any of it?”

“No, dear, not a word.”

“Damn him to hell…”

“What shady business are you two up to, to damn your brother to hell…”

“Er… what?” says Damien. “I didn’t literally damn him to hell.”

“That is what I heard,” says Lillian.

“Me too,” Amy chimes in.

“Jesus they come in twos,” says Damien. He looked from his mother to Amy and back to his mother.

“I am not at all sure what you mean,” says Lillian. “If you and your brother have been up to something dodgy again…”

“Dodgy, my arse,” says Damien.

“Well, it’s not me who nearly got done for insider trading…”

“Yes, yes, I know, Dad knew the judge,” says Damien. “Or you slept with him…”

“That is still no joking matter, Damien,” says Lillian. “Your brother nearly went to jail.”

“Well, there’s nothing dodgy here.” Damien lays the papers down in front of the two women. “We are just setting up the most cost effective way to proceed with this… um… er… madness. Now sign here, here, and here.”

“Should I have my lawyer look over it first,” says Lillian. She laughs as if it were very funny.

“Your lawyer prepared the documents, so quit with the jokes and sign.”

“My darling,” says Lillian. “I had no idea I was still able to get you to talk through gritted teeth.

Lillian signs.

Damien pushes the documents towards Amy. He offers her the pen. He looks at the papers and then back at Amy, when she doesn’t react, he says, “You too.”

“Who dear, me dear, no dear.”

“Yes you too.” Damien exhales loudly. He proceeds through gritted teeth. “I’m double parked and I have to be somewhere else ten minutes ago, just sign the fucking paper.”

“Damien,” Lillian chastises.

“I’m going to kill Lachlan. He was supposed to explain it to you two, I was supposed to process the paper work. Easy. Again, I am left doing all of the fucking work.”

“Why do I have to sign?” says Amy.

“You own half of it all, the café, the building, the mortgage, the coming nightmare. 50 50. So sign the damn paper, will you?”

“You want something done,” says Lillian. “Ask a busy man.”

Whorl wind Damien packs everything up immediately it is all signed. He stuffs all of the paperwork in his brief case. “Nice doing work with you… ladies.” He storms out of the shop.



Amy and Lillian are left alone in the newly renovated shop.

“Now what do we do?” says Amy.

“You just need a good cheese cake recipe,” says Lillian. They’ll come for blocks for a slice of good cheese cake.”

“Oh Lillian, if only it was that simple.”

“Oh, darling, it is,” says Lillian. “May I introduce my sour cream cheese cake?” Lillian produces a large, plain white cheese cake from under the counter.

A handsome young man comes through from the back and man’s the coffee machine.

“Darling,” says Lillian. “This is Hulio, he’s our new barista.”

“How do you do,” says the handsome boy with a perfect Spanish accent.

“Hoik a couple of slices of that onto a couple of plates, will you darling,” says Lillian. “And a couple of coffees and you’ll be just about perfect.”

“Yes mam.”

Lillian twitches her nose at Hulio.



Amy’s phone rings. “It’s Leah,” says Amy.

“There must be a fire somewhere,” says Lillian. “Or a camera crew.”

Amy waves her hand in the air as if to tell Lillian to stop it. “Yes, good darling,” says Amy. “How’s Sydney? Yes, I’m listening… I don’t understand… to who’s needs? … Oh. Really. How will they get here from Sydney…. Oh.” Amy makes big lips. “Well, if you are sure… Oh, you are sure. Well, I don’t know what to say. Okay… um.” Amy turns to Lillian. “Leah is sending us 3 waiters excess to her corporation’s needs.”

“I don’t understand?” says Lillian.

“Apparently, Leah’s corporation has waiters, 3 of which they don’t need. And the 3 girls are happy to work here and get paid by Leah.”

“Is that even legal, darling?” asks Lillian.

“Good point, darling. I have no idea.”



“I have organised the food supplies,” says Simon. “Gobbo the chef will be coming Monday morning…”

Blake laughs behind Simon.

Simon holds his finger up at Blake. “It’s just going to be a soft opening, no big fanfare, no big announcement, you all have to learn your craft.”

“That we do,” says Lillian

“All you have to do is run it,” says Simon.

“Any ideas,” asks Lillian.

Amy gulps.

Simon snaps his large size diary shut. “Come come, I’ll have none of that talk, it’s all go go go now.” Simon air kisses both of the women and leaves the shop. He stops at the door. “Have you finalised the name?”

“Sour Cream,” Lillian says triumphantly.

“You’ll get all the lesbians in here,” says Simon.

“Really darling,” says Amy.

“Sour Cream,” Simon repeats.

“It is supposed to be ironic,” offers Lillian.

“You don’t want them thinking about their wastes lines as they come in the door,” says Simon.

“It is the house specialty cream cake.”

“Sure, why not,” says Simon. He flaps his hands. “Its esoteric.”

He exits through the front door, followed closely by Blake.



It is quiet, Amy and Lillian are alone for the first time. Lillian walks the length of the café, running her hand along the counter. She turns and looks back at Amy. “How soon before we can offload this joint.”

“We’ll have to humour them for a little while,” says Amy.

“This is a lot of work,” says Lillian. “Lesbos. 1982.”

“Oh, the sun and the sand.”

“Maria,” says Lillian. “I wonder whatever happened to Maria?”

“How hard can it be?” Amy looks around the café.

“We’ll have to find a patsy, darl, some poor bitch who is down on her luck and who needs…” Lillian sighs. “All of this.”

“But the children worked so hard.”

“I’m sure the boys just did it to spite me,” says Lillian. “When have they ever listened to me in the past?”

“Shannon is playing guitar Saturday Night.”

“So that is the three of them, a hat trick of my sons,” says Lillian. “Every last one of them, stabbing their mother in the bosom.”

“That’s it,” exclaims Amy. “My Jemma and your Shannon could run this joint. They only run their own business’ part time, let’s face it.” Both the women laugh.

“Advertising company,” questions Lillian. “That’s bullshit the world doesn’t need.”

“Personal trainer?” questions Amy. “I’m sure that is just so you can perve on the opposite sex in something skimpy.”

“Do you think that is wise?” questions Lillian.

“They have the time,” says Amy. “They could do it.”

“But those two find time for other things.”

“You son is a feral pig,” says Amy.

“What does that make your daughter,” says Lillian. “A pig fucker?”

“They underutilise their time, it is time their mother’s step in,” says Amy. “As for that other business, if it fits, it fits. What do I care?”

Brilliant,” says Lillian. “They could, we must get to work on it immediately.”

“It is a gift from their mothers,” says Amy.

“It is an amazing opportunity,” says Lillian.

Amy and Lillian Go To Church

Amy grabs the communion cup and drinks the entire contents unexpectedly, before Father Bob could stop her.

“My dear girl,” exclaims Father Bob.

Curate McKenzie replaces the original cup with a full cup, without anybody appearing to notice.

“The body of Christ…”

“Nya.” Amy waves it away.

The line snakes around and up both isles to the back of the church, communion takes some time.

Amy is unsteady on her feet after the huge chug of communion wine that she had taken.

“Steady on there girl,” exclaims Lillian. She grabs Amy by the hand.

The line to the confessional was long, so Amy and Lillian drank some tea and ate biscuits at the back of the church.

“So you just tell him the sin?”

“He listens and then absolves you,” purrs Amy. “The system has an inbuilt cleansing mechanism. Everybody is happy.”

“Does it matter the depth of the depravity?”

“No, you’re always absolved, can’t leave anyone behind,” says Amy. “So the worst the better, is the general rule of thumb, you don’t want to take any chances with a bus on the high road.”



The line has nearly finished by the time Amy and Lillian return from a spliff down the back of the car park. The last person went in. Amy and Lillian waited and then squeezed into a confessional together.

The wooden door slid open. “Yes my child?”

“Bless us…” says Lillian.

“For we have sinned,” says Amy.

“My children,” questions Father Bob.

“It’s a two for one deal,” says Amy.

“The line was long,” purrs Lillian.

“Well I never,” says Father Bob.

“Do you have any sins to confess, my child, children?”

“No, none I can think of,” says Amy.

“Lorne, 1985,” Lillian whispers.

“We said we’d never speak of that.”

“It is still a sin,” says Lillian.

“And?” says Amy impatiently.

“Well, you have to confess it,” says Lillian. “Have you ever confessed it before?”

“I was drunk, we were all drunk,” says Amy, “I thought Carl was Denis, it was dark.”

“It is still a sin you should confess to your priest,” says Lillian. “You fornicated with my husband.”

There is an audible gasp from the priest on the other side of the mesh.

“We were drunk, it was a mistake,” Amy whispers.

“Confess.”

“My child…” Monsignor looks questioningly close to the mesh on his side. “Anything to confess,” he said in a, hesitant, sing-song tone.

“She screwed my Carl,” says Lillian.

Father Brown inhales audibly. “Well, how many times did you sin, my chid?”

“Just the once,” says Lillian. “With my husband.”

“Yes… okay… I’ll go with that,” says Amy.

“Well, how many times was it?” demands Lillian.

“Just the once,” Amy says meekly.

“Clearly not by your tone,” booms Lillian. “I demand to know how many times?”

“More than once,” says Amy.

“How many more times than once,” says Lillian. “I always thought it was just the once.”

“It wasn’t once.”

“My children, my children,” the Monsignor pleads.

“How many times?”

“How many times?” repeats Amy.

“Yes, how many times?” says Lillian.

“Well… it was once a week, while you did your yoga…”

“What do you mean?” demanded Lillian. “I do yoga all year round?”

“That’s about how many times it was.”

“Please! Please,” Monsignor demands.

“Fifteen hail Mary’s, for you, my child,” says Monsignor. “It seems an aberration, admittedly a repeated aberration, but it can count as the one mistake.” A small, square door opens, he hands his own set of rosaries to Amy. “All the help,” he whispers. “And you, keep a better eye on your husband.”

The sliding panel slides shut. He can be heard existing his side of the confessional quickly.

“Do you feel better?” questions Amy.

“You and Denis,” says Lillian. “Not just drunk.”

Amy exhales exasperated. “And he is no good to you now,” she says. “There is nothing he can give you now.”

“What am I to think?”

“You had a good life, you and Denis,” says Amy. “Why do you have to think about it any differently? It is all true…”

“WHAT!”

“It is all true, it all happened,” says Amy. “We humans are complicated beings.”

“That is true,” says Lillian.

“And now you have only got me,” says Amy. “Better than some deluded old bugger who doesn’t know your name.”

Lillian hesitates, she was shocked, to be sure, but where would that get her now? “Pals for life, no matter what, who’d have thought?”

“And the children,” says Amy.

“What?” says Lillian.

“We’ve got our children,” says Amy.

“Oh the joy,” says Lillian. “Ones swindling me with figures, the other is giving it a go with the law and my baby is well, he is fucking your baby.”


“Happy days,” says Amy. She takes Lillian’s arm in hers.

Amy and Lillian Go On A Cruise

The silver Mercedes CLA45 AMG sits in Amy’s drive way. Lillian is looking at it beyond the large opening concertinaing doors at the back of the house.

Pan in.

Lillian is standing in the middle of Amy’s lounge room in a sailors suit. She is clutching her wallet and her passport and her tickets in her hand. Her suitcase is sitting next to her. “Five minutes darling and the Uber will be here.”

“I’m nearly ready,” calls Amy from some where inside the house.

Lillian is wearing huge tortoise shell sunglasses, she feels safe behind them, and a wide brimmed straw hat, she feels safe under it. Her skin is pulled magically tight, she thinks, as she glances at herself in the mirror over the mantel.

A car pulls up out the front, the front door is open so the street is clearly visible.

Lillian moves her case to the front veranda. “Oh come on darling,” says Lillian. “My scars will have fully healed by the time you get yourself out here.”

The Uber is a rather ungainly tall-boy designed car, with a rather small luggage compartment, which only saving grace is that it fits Lillian’s wide brimmed straw hat in without a worry. Amy looks poured into the seat next to Lillian, her belongings some how piled up on top of her.

“I think that was quite unfair,” says Amy. “You rushing me like that.”

The driver is African and speaks with an accent.

“The dock,” thank you driver,” says Lillian.

The driver doesn’t seem to know what that is.

“The dock. Boats?” says Lillian. “We are going on a cruise.”

“Sorry?”

“To the port,” says Amy.

The driver looks around at Amy and smiles.

“Oh never mind,” purrs Lillian. “I’ll direct you. Take a right at the end of the street.”



The ship is big and exciting.

“Sexy, isn’t,” says Lillian when she first looks at their luxury liner.

“It’s big, isn’t it,” says Amy.

Amy and Lillian have a two-bedroom suit on the upper deck with views of the ocean. They get settled quickly into their luxury surroundings.



There is a Captain’s Dinner celebrating their departure. Dress formally. The captain leads the feast. They all stay up late and party the night away.



The morning is slow. Amy sits at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Lillian appears in a black one-piece bathing suit, enormous black sunglasses and a straw sun hat. She removes her glasses. “I’m going to hang out at the pool.”

“You just think Rodolfo will be there,” says Amy.

“You say that like it is a bad thing,” says Lillian.

“Oh, I don’t mean to.”

“I’m hoping it will be a bad thing,” says Lillian. She laughs. “And Rodolfo being the swimming instructor, there is a fair bet he’ll be there.”

“I’m glad we got separate rooms,” says Amy.

“Why do you think I insisted,” says Lillian.

“Did you see that boy in his speedos?”

Lillian smiles. She puts on her over sized sunglasses and exits the cabin.



There are sunset drinks on one of the upper decks, everybody dresses up in cocktail frocks and drink and eat.

Lillian gets drunk and goes back to Rodolfo’s cabin.



The sun has come up, Lillian has just come in. She closes the front door, as Amy comes out of her room in her nightie with cold cream on her face.

“Oh my, my, my, my.”

“Good morning,” says Amy. “How was your night?”

“Oh my, my, my, my.”

“You have been repeating that ever since you got back,” says Amy.

“Oh Amy…”

“Lillian?”

“It was so quick, and, and, and, impersonal,” says Lillian. “I’ve never…” She laughs.

“Never…” Amy looks questioningly.

“I should have tried a few more before I married Denis,” says Lillian. “That is clear to me now.”

“You did try a few more before Denis.”

“Well, I should have tried a few more than that.”

“So Rodolfo was good?”

“I can tell you he is anatomically correct,” says Lillian. “Goodness me.” She laughs. “I’d recommend it.”

“Oh, Lillian,” says Amy. “I’ve only ever been with Carl.”

“As untrue as that statement is,” says Lillian. “Oddly, that is rather my point, luv.”

“What ever do you mean?”

“Well, it wasn’t really just Carl, now was it? Who do you think you are talking to?” says Lillian. “But, be that as it may, I have no idea what is stopping you getting back on the horse now?”



The ship is huge. The two women get dressed up and head out to dinner. In their first state of sobriety since that have been on board, it is as if they are seeing the ship a new again. The dinning room is immense and exciting, all colour and movement and filled with people. Lillian stops them at the door, by putting her left arm in front of Amy. Lillian closes her eyes and takes a big breath, she looks at Amy when she opens them again. “Party time.”

The ship, it is like a palace on the water, it is like one huge luxurious shopping centre, it is like being shut in a casino for a week of parting.

The discos throb all night, the girls are up every night dancing, pissed on too many glasses of chardonnay. Sleeping away the morning. Surfacing at lunchtime for the buffet. A little herb therapy after lunch, “On the poop deck,” laughs Lillian. Sitting by the pool in the afternoon. Dressing for dinner. After dinner drinks. Change of clothes for the nightclub. Repeat. Amy and Lillian are exhausted.

Lillian finds a Taiwanese man, named Howard, who sells cocaine on board, so of course she buys a couple of bags. “Think of it as a lazy stash.” That is inhaled with much enthusiasm for the good part of the time they are on the water together.

Lillian humps Rodolfo like a woman possessed.



The sun is shinning, the sky is blue overhead. Lillian is on a chaise by the pool. The water reflects the sky. She is reading.

Amy is a sleep on a chaise next to her, her towel pulled over her face.

Lillian puts her book down on the white plastic table next to her. She takes a hand rolled cigarette from a silver cigarette case and lights it with her silver lighter, held in her talons, her white painted nails.

The sun shines on Amy’s smooth face.

“You are going to have to give them up, if you want, you-know-what, to work.”

“I’ll just have more you-know-what, to get rid of the effects,” says Lillian. “It was a doddle.”

“You’ll end up like those trout pout Hollywood stars.”

“Show me the brochure,” says Lillian. “My old life is behind me, and meeting people now a days is meeting new people. None of them know what I look like from one day to the next.”

Amy holds out a painted talon for the joint.

“I thought you said you were giving up?”

“No, I said you were giving up.”

Lillian hands the joint to Amy. “If my children could see me now,” says Amy.

“My children would stab me,” says Lillian.

The two women laugh.

Amy And Lillian Have Plastic Surgery

The room is white, it is a double room with two patients. Two women with bandaged faces are sitting up in bed, it is impossible to tell which is which.

One of the women is groaning loudly.

The other woman is pressing her call button for the nurse.



A couple of days later…

The two are sitting up in bed like cadavers, both smoking. There is just a mouth slit, through which to suck smoke and blow smoke.

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t come around…” mumbles Amy, holding her cigarette in the air.

“Oh, they did, darling,” says Lillian, through gritted teeth. “I had to give her many hundred dollar notes to get her to go away again.” Everything she says sounds as though it is through gritted teeth

“It’s just you and I sharing,” says Amy. “Who is it harming if we smoke?”

“It is only a double room, I kept repeating and repeating to matron,” says Lillian. “She didn’t get half agitated. But, I said pet, I said luv, I said pet, its just me and ‘er, let it go!”

“What does she expect us to do, wheel ourselves down four floors to the sanctuary garden,” says Amy. “I ask you?”

“What was this, again?” asks Lillian. She touches her face.

“A super hydrating, oxygen mask, to aide the swelling,” says Amy with pursed lips. Not that Lillian could see Amy’s lips at all, but she could imagine.

“How do I let you talk me into these things.”

“You can only spend your money, once, sweetie,” says Amy. “You can’t take it with you.”

“I’m having that looked into,” says Lillian. “The ungrateful bunch I have around me.”

“We could liquidate all of our assets upon our deaths,” says Amy. “We could have country burials, after which there could be a huge bonfire…”

“And all the money could be burned in front of those blood suckers,” says Lillian. She moans, and grimaces. “Oh don’t make me smile, it hurts under all of this.”

“I’m leaving mine to my children…”

“Oh how passé,” says Lillian.

“Oh Lillian, don’t be a bitch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m leaving what is left to my kids,” says Lillian. “I just don’t plan for any of it to be left, by the time that day comes.”

“Lillian Burlington-Smythe, do you think that is fair.”

“I do.”

“Could you live with yourself if you did that?”

“With no regret,” says Lillian. “But I’d be dead and home free.”



5 days later…

The room is spotlessly clean and white, the bed linen is white and clean, the floors and the walls were white.

Two women sit up in the beds. Both their face bandages have jut been removed.

The curtain between them is drawn back.

They slowly look at each other.

“You look five years younger already,” says Amy. “A fifty year old… with black eyes.”

“I was hoping for forty,” says Lillian.

“You’ll have to wait for the swelling to go down.”

“Ten years worth of swelling, darling?”

“It is possible, sweetie.”



6 days later…

They lie on cream chaises on the wide cream veranda of the facility. Big green leaf trees shaded them from the glare of the sun. They have minimal bandaging on now, just some light pressure bandages, due to be removed.

“My face hurts,” says Amy.

“Get the nurse,” says Lillian. “I need more drugs.”

A bell rang some where in the distance.

Cooper, the blonde fan boy, fans them.

“You took their money.”

“It was my money.”

“You’re living this high life of frivolous indulgence on the great wealth you inherited, and only you inherited, from your mother’s estate,” says Amy. “Then you blow the lot, their entire expected inheritance.”

“Yes, darling,” says Lillian. “Speaking of which, I have been meaning to mention…”

“What have you been meaning to mention?” The subject of their wills makes Amy cross.

“Your car.”

“My car?”

“Its time to get rid of it, update, buy something new,” says Lillian. “Spend some money, honey.”

“Oh Lillian…”

“You can still leave it to your damn children,” says Lillian. “Pretend you are buying one of them a new car, it’ll aid your recovery…”

“Oh Lillian, I don’t think that…”

“Oh rubbish, you love to drive, spoil yourself,” says Lillian. “You can afford it now.”

“It is true, the Humber takes a lot of work to keep in show room condition.”

“Oh Amy, OCD Carl is not making the decisions any more,” says Lillian, “You are.”

“Oh my lovely Carl…” Amy looked as though she was about to cry, Lillian decides it is just post anaesthetic come down, and proceeded. The truth was that Lillian didn’t feel safe in the old Humber any more. It has old heating and no air conditioning and lap-sash seatbelts that Lillian hated.

“It is old, get rid of it,” says Lillian. “It is dragging you down, you’ll feel like a new girl.... inside matching the outside.”

“It is at the mechanic as we speak,” says Amy.

“There you go,” says Lillian. “I have my eye on this mid range Mercedes.”

“A Mer…ce..des,” says Amy.” Lillian could tell Amy likes the idea, even if she wasn’t about to admit it just yet.

“Well.” Amy sighs, as though she is bored. “As soon as I have these bandages off.”

“As soon as I’ve weaned myself off morphine, yet again…” Lillian washes down some pills with water from a white plastic cup.

“Do you fancy a month at the Green Fern?”

“I do darling, what a simply splendid idea.”

“My treat,” says Lillian.



7 days later…

They catch a limousine to the airport, attended by a nurse each. They catch a plane to the Gold Coast. They catch a helicopter from the airport directly to the retreat. They are wheeled into the building in wheelchairs. They are heavily shaded by sunshade cloth, like crippled bee keepers, or incapacitated astronauts.

“Landing capacity for 2 helicopters,” says Lillian. “Good to know.”

“Why, darling?”

“We may need to take separate choppers one day,” says Lillian. “You never know.”

“Oh Lillian,” says Amy. “You wouldn’t dare.”

The rural Queensland retreat is 5 star, Amy and Lillian don’t have to do a thing, every single thing is done for them.

Kanga was their chef, Melissa their concierge, Bradley was their cabana boy.

Amy and Lillian did nothing but indulge themselves for six weeks. No more was heard of them during this time.

“We’re off grid,” says Lillian. “And isn’t it divine.”

“I miss my kids.”

There is lush green lawns spreading out in front of them. They are bot sitting in chaises gazing down a lush valley. “Oh nonsense! Life is just splendid, darling, come on,” says Lillian. “Precisely because none of them care.”

“My children care.”

“Don’t you find it remotely rewarding that your children are fully self supporting functioning adults and they we’ve all come out the other side, job done.”



The day before they come home…

The laptop was set up on the cream wicker table on the cream veranda over looking the verdant forest. “Look here, darling.” Lillian was showing Amy a car on the internet. “A Mercedes CLA250.”

“That looks nice.”

“Oh here,” says Lillian. “A 45 AMG, get this one.”

“How much?”

“100K.”

“I just spend fifteen thousand on my face.”

“All must haves, darling. All must haves.”



Time to go home…

The black helicopter is sitting on the verdant green fake lawn…

“Darling, is this real?” asks Amy as she steps an unsteady plantformed shoe onto the grass.

“As fake as you face now is, darling,” Lillian says through gritted teeth. “Constantly being renewed.”

“Forward, like a galleon,” says Amy.

“Bradley had strong hands,” says Lillian. “He gave great massages.”

“But twice a day, darling,” says Amy. “Really, you wore that young boy out.”

“They never tire at that age,” says Lillian. She hands her bags to IceMan, the helicopter pilot. “Grrrrr.”

The girls step up into the back seats of the sleek, black machine. Their strapping helicopter pilot checks the doors, smiles at them through the glass, Lillian pulls her silent lion roar face as their eyes meet. IceMan gets into the front of the helicopter. The blades star to spin.

Amy And Lillian Go To The Drag Show

Amy and Lillian have not sat idly back in the intervening year since Carl and Denis’ internment in the Ashburton Twilight Home for the Bewildered. They have sold their two family homes in Camberwell, now that the kids have grown and left the nests. Many years earlier, they had bought adjoining terrace houses in Richmond as investment properties, long before the burden of capital gains tax could hang over them. In fact, Carl and Denis invested in six terrace houses in Richmond, three each. The girls sold their million dollar Camberwell homes, and moved into the two adjoining Richmond properties, still with two more investment properties to give them an income.

The girls have been on a mission to spend the millions each of them have tucked away in the bank. “That’s what we’re going to do, live it up.”

“Disgracefully,” purrs Lillian at the mention.

The doorbell rings.

“Are you determined to go in that mini skirt, darling,” coos Lillian.

Amy goes to the door. Nephew Simon and Blake come back down the hallway with Amy. They are both dressed head to toe in black. “Your very first drag show,” announces Simon.

They are going to some place called the Greyhound.

“Is this a drag show,” says Lillian bemused. “Or the trots?”

“I don’t think any of them would be wanting the trots,” says Amy. She brakes up laughing.

“Amy!” Lillian gasps.

“In St Kilda,” says Amy, as if it is an exotic locale. Nephew Simon promised it is, practically, in the next suburb. “Have you home by midnight.” Truthfully, Amy and Lillian are just new to Richmond and their “home zone” isn’t quite locked in as yet.

“It’ll be fab!” Simon gushes.

They are packed into the back of Simon’s Alfa Romeo, the car with no headroom. “Jesus, I thought we were going to die coming over Bridge Road,” says Lillian.

“It was a little hairy,” Amy says, as she straightens her dress after alighting from the said Alfa Romeo. “A bit like the women we are going to see tonight.” Amy elbows Lillian in the ribs and brakes up laughing.

“I don’t think you are allowed to say that,” hisses Lillian.

“So what am I allowed to say?”

“Not that.”

“So are… these… transsexuals, or transvestites, or…”

“They are drag queens, sweetie, how fucken old are you trying to be?”

“What’s the difference between a drag queen and a transvestite,” says Amy.

“A drag queen only tucks, darling,” says Lillian. “When she is getting ready for the show lights to come on.”

“What do transvestites do then?”

“They usually lurk in their wives wardrobes after dark, when everybody else has gone to bed, luv.”

“This way,” says Simon ushering the chatting women along.

“A drag queen is a show girl,” says Lillian. “A transvestite is usually a pervert.”

“Oh, I’m sure that is not the case,” says Amy. “I’m sure they are just misunderstood.”



Simon and Blake lead Simon’s aunts into the Club. Amy and Lillian’s mouths are agog. “What is this, bring ya grandma day,” hisses a voice in the crowd.

“Friendly, aren’t they,” says Amy.

It is busy, but the boys manage to get Amy and Lillian seats. The music is playing too loudly to speak.

“Drink?” asks Simon.

“G&T, darling,” says Lillian.

“Oh yes, a G&T I think too,” says Amy.

Simon dashes off somewhere with Blake.

Amy and Lillian sit on their stools.

Simon appears back with drinks in his hands. Blake has drinks in his hands too. The two boys stand behind the two women.

There is suddenly a shriek next to them. “Amy!” Amy’s brother, Oliver, is standing there in tiny shorts, clearly off his face, saying, “I feel faaaaabulous.”

“Ollie,” says Amy, the years of whispers, and suspicion manifesting as confirmed in her whining tone.

Oliver dances into the crowd.

Lillian looks over at the mouth-gaping Amy, “I told you so.”

“Jesus, Lil, the whole interpretation of my family just did a spin.”



Scotty is there on a first date. Dinner and a show. “This is Chelsea. Chelsea this is Simon. And Blake.”

Lillian “Grrrrs” at Scotty.

“My mad aunt Lillian,” says Simon. “Don’t mind her.”

“Scotty, you look lovely,” says Lillian. She winks and makes kissing lip.

“Lillian,” says Scotty nervously.



The house lights go down. Scotty jumps. The stage lights come up.

There is a pin spot on a drag queens face, looking as though she may be wearing a big frock off in the shadows.

“Oh, with a beard,” says Lillian. “I can’t watch them with a beard…”

“Oh Lillian… says Amy.

“It spoils the mystique,” says Lillian.

“There’s mystique?” says Scotty.

ReJenoLust sings, “I Will Survive.” She gets a rousing applause at the end.

“Was she… er… he, she actually singing?”

“No, darl,” says Lillian. “She was lip-syncing.”

“You mean drag queens can’t sing.”

“Oh, some can, darling,” says Lillian. “The better ones.”

“1985. Paris. The Old Quarter.”

“I think her name was The Divine Latrine?” says Lillian. “And a rendition of It’s Raining Men that involved it, actually, raining urine.”

“I remember too much Pinot Grigio and a regrettable incident with a boy named Pascal.”

“Oh darling,” purrs Lillian. “Pascal was anything but regrettable.”

Amy And Lillian Go To A Wedding

The lawn is manicured to within an inch of its life.

“I hope they don’t think that a paedophile in a dress splashing water on your kids head has any significance today,” says Lillian.

The waiter holds the silver tray in front of Lillian, she does her silent lion’s roar face, to the waiter as she takes a canopy. It is meant to be a smile, that she never quite mastered.

“Oh Lillian, old father Bob wouldn’t touch anyone.”

Amy takes a pastry and a serviette.

“You get them young boys around them in dresses and they go mad for it. Apparently,” Lillian takes a bite of her canopy. “,” says “The closest thing recorded to a fox attack in living history.”

“Father Bob is happily married.” Amy sips her flute of champagne.

“They bite off the boy’s genitals,” says Lillian. “Drug crazed.”

“That’s awful.”

“Like baby franks coming out of their skins.”

“Oh!”

“Worst case scenario.” Lillian shrugs. She couldn’t remember what fag-hag convention she went to with nephew Simon.

“I can’t see Father Bob.” She laughs. “The equivalent to bobbing for apples,” says Amy. “In a barrel full of prepubescent cocks.”

“Well maybe not Father Bob,” says Lillian. “What about Monsignor Ivan Roesdale up your mick joint? Is he married?”

“What is this Northern Ireland circa 1980?” says Amy. “You mean the Catholic Cathedral, Monsignor Rosedale, and, of course, he is not married.”

“His alter boys,” bellows Lillian. “Do they look miserable?”

“Oh Lillian.”

A waiter walks passed Lillian. “Pst!” The waiter stops and wheels around with his silver tray. Lillian takes a vola-u-vent, with her white, manicured fingernails. She does her same silent lion’s roar face as a thank you.

“I don’t mind if I do,” says Amy forcefully as the waiter starts to walk way.

“If they look miserable, I swear they are secreting body parts on their… um… person… which are not, um, er, their body parts to secret,” says Lillian.

The waiter offers his tray to Amy. She selects her canopy carefully.

“Yes, alright already,” says Amy. “The boys up the mick joint are getting…um…er… rodgered!”

“Apparently,” says Lillian.

The waiter looks shocked, he backs away with his tray in front of him like a shield.

“Thank goodness we’re not going to the Mick joint?”

“No.”

“Thank God!” says Lillian. “I wasn’t at all sure I was up for all that suffering.”

Lillian whistles another drink waiter who is standing a fair distance away with his flutes of alcohol sparkling in the sun. She then fully mimes her desire for 2 champagnes. The waiter wanders over confused seeking out an explanation from Lillian. When he gets close enough, Lillian takes 2 flutes with her manicured fingers. Same silent lion’s roar face as thank you.

“And that is only the alter boys,” says Lillian.

“Boom, boom,” they both say together.

The waiter offers a drink to Amy. “Scott,” she says. “Aren’t you Scott from the bar the other night?”

“Yes, I moon light as a waiter.”

“Grrrrrr,” says Lillian to Scott.

“Oh… I remember.” Scott backs away with his drinks tray.



“So which one of these temples of indoctrination did Penny and Stephen decide on?” asks Lillian. She is looking at her order of service trying to make sense of it.

“Oh Lillian, they are your relatives,” says Amy. “I’m only your plus one.”

“That is not something I always admit to in polite company,” says Lillian. “The Barington-Smythes.”

“Said just barely cloaking your loathing and contempt.”

“Was I cloaking my contempt,” says Lillian. “I wasn’t meaning to.”

“It’s his mother’s church,” says Amy. “Stephen’s” Amy shrugs. “Apparently.” Amy always knows how everything fits together, she always knows the detail.

“Stupid girl that Penny,” says Lillian. “Try to tell me how things are going to be run.”

“Stephen is her husband now.”

“Not yet.”

“Lillian what are you up to?”

“Oh nothing. I’m not up to anything,” says Lillian.

“Lillian Smythe, boy and man, how long have I known you, what are you up to?”

“Oh, don’t be so stupid,” says Lillian. “The sooner this travesty is over, the better.



It is indicated the people should take their seats, the service is about to begin.

Amy and Lillian make their way to the front door. They are at the door, being greeted by the priest. Lillian turns back into the sun, just as her head passes under the doorway arch and says, “Did this dump have a name?”

“St Barnabus Church.”

“So, one of the lesser saints,” says Lillian. “Doesn’t bode well.”

“I’m sure he was just as popular as all the other saints…”

“I’m sure we should have a MRI of your head,” says Lillian. “All made up. There has been marketing departments since the year 100BCE.”



Stephen is standing nervously up the front with his 2 grooms men.

“He’s going to have a long wait, if he is starting this early,” says Lillian.

“Don’t want to let her get away.”

“Nice looking boy,” says Lillian. “He looks sturdy enough to produce healthy babies.”

“That’s what it’s all really about, isn’t it?” says Amy.

“Baby making.”

120 year old Grandma Tito is in the central position in the church. Everybody is going up to her and kissing her rings, which she holds out flat in front of her.

Lillian passes by Grand Ma Tito. Lillian does the silent lion’s roar face at grandma, after which grandma says, “You. You.” Grandma points in Lillian’s direction.

“Good to see you up and about grandma,” says Lillian.

Lillian turns to Amy. “Oh, just die, already, you old, old bitch.”

Simon is in the second row, with another handsome young man.

“I hear that Simon has been down the fire station getting… um… er… serviced by… the… um…er…”

“Fireman?” asks Lillian. “I’m told it is a secret hose fetish.”

“So you’ve already heard and I don’t have to feel bad breaking a confidence.”

“I’ve wondered if he’d consider double dating,” says Lillian.

Lillian’s brother, Reggie is there with Big Birtha. “Reggie.”

“Faylene.”

Amy looks at Lillian. “Don’t ask,” says Lillian.

Macko had an early bail hearing and he just made it in time. Lillian made the silent lion’s roar face to him too. Macko visibly shakes at seeing Lillian.

Charlie’s brother, Harry, is there, sitting with their parent’s Olive and Selby in the second row on the other side of the church.

Josie Jahooverwatsit is there with her personal trainer husband Mike. He is a friend of Stephen’s, they are sitting next to Selby, Olive and Harry.

Lillian sits behind Simon. “Darling,” says Lillian.

“Auntie Lillian this is Blake, Blake this is Auntie Lillian…”

“You can just call me Lillian, darling,” says Lillian in a husky tone.

“And Amy.”

“Lillian. Amy,” Blake says with all the confidence of two people.

“How do you do,” gushes Lillian, croaky and low.

“Pleased to meet you both, I am sure,” says Blake.

“So are you two… you know…”

Simon tilts his head sideways in question

“Is he your current…”

“Current?” quizzes Simon.

“Squeeze, darling,” says Lillian. “The one that is making sure your cherry doesn’t grow back?”

“Aunt Lillian!” Most of the congregation looks around.

“Is all I am asking,” simpers Lillian. “He’s rather handsome.”

“He is,” gushes Simon with all the attitude of a young girl in love.

Some more relatives enter the church, Simon’s attention is distracted else where it is just about to begin.

Lillian looks at Amy then she points to Simon with her chin. “He’d take it like a chook, babe,” says Lillian. “Total pillow biter, he reminds me of your brother.”

“My brother?” exclaims Amy. “My brother is married with a wife and children.”

“Oh damn,” says Lillian. “I’ve nearly done that on so many occasions, who’d have figured today would be the, actual, day…”

“What are you saying about my brother?”

“Nothing, darling,” says Lillian. “I misspoke.”



“Thank you ladies and gentlemen, if you could take your seats.”

The church has filled up. “Not bad,” says Lillian to Amy. “You’d hate to die tragically young and then have nobody being bothered to turn up at your show to say goodbye.”

“It’s your fault he is in the mess he is in today.”

“Darling.” Lillian had to subdue a throaty laugh. “It is just natural selection working at its very finest.



“So if any man…”

Lillian first coughs with the tickle in her throat.

“Knows of a reason…”

Lillian coughs some more as if the tickle just isn’t going away.

“Why this man…”

Lillian coughs as though she may really be struggling with what ails her.

“Or this… woman…”

Lillian is coughing like the cough isn’t going away.

“Should not be joined in marriage.

Lillian now sounds like she is coughing up a lung, struggling for breath. She has turned scarlet and people are suddenly rushing to her aid.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I think we may need to stop the service at this point to attend to Mrs Lillian Barrington-Smythe.” The service was stopped and people came to Lillian’s aid.



Standing out the front of the church. A string quartet plays. “Ruined, but not quite,” says Lillian. She clicks at Scotty to bring champagne to them.

“Four years at RADA,” says Amy. “People forget.”

“That was the I-didn’t-know-what-to-do-with-myself phase,” says Lillian. “I still got my degree, though.”

Scotty offers a flute to Amy.

“Not ruined completely, but left to hang as a bloody rag in the memory of the special day,” says Lillian. “Penny is a witch. She led that rabble against mother’s will. You can’t blame me, I am only thinking of my children.”

Scotty offers Lillian a flute of champagne.

“I was imagining your cock caught in my throat the whole time, Scotty.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Scotty makes retching sounds. “Can you please just stop talking to me?” He backs away.