Wait
For
It…
Earlier that day, a female millennial was conversing with a generation X lady of class. It was done over the telephone and she said, ‘she’s just left and he’s looking at her behind with quite some lust.’
‘There was no touching?’ Enquired the other.
‘No’
‘Was she wearing the agreed upon red dress?’
‘Yes, all’s documented, her body language was clear, she was willing to go further.’
How?’
‘She’d have done it there and then on the desk if he’d wanted it.’
‘Over the desk you say, how convenient, but how cliched too.’
‘Look, I’ll send you the file now, you can go over every syllable and decide for yourself just how salacious she was.’
‘Maybe he suspects—’
‘No, how? If he’d suspected anything, he’d have feigned disdain, he was horny. Watch the video frame if you want.’
‘I shall.’
‘He’s loyal. Perhaps red’s not his colour. Maybe, he prefers older ladies.’
* * *
On another phone, the millennial said to a generation X man of class, ‘good job, you played that well.’
He replied, ‘she is more suited to the fashion houses of Milan than a fictitious hedge fund actuary position.’
‘No, she’s fallen for it; she’s still on hold—’
‘I shall be brief, do not underestimate her—’
‘I don’t.’
‘She said you are wiser than you let on too—’
‘Did she now?’
‘Yes, I mean you fuelled her infidelity concerns and, darling, you got me to fiddle with her Facebook advertising preferences putting my discreet investigative services as her top hit.’
‘Just a little asset management I suppose.’
‘The video file is on the cloud now—’
‘Splendid.’
‘I’ve played my role well haven’t I?’
‘Yes my dear, you have now.’
* * *
The millennial said to the lady of class, ‘I’ve tempted that man of yours at the gym and on the streets. Lady Debonair, he is loyal.’
Well, so it appears—’
‘Appearances don’t always have to be deceptive.’
‘Red is red, black is black.’
‘What? Look, you know, he’s a handyman. I’m not saying he’s as pure as Snow White.’
‘A viewer of filth you mean? Aren’t we all?’
‘If someone says they never watch such stuff I’d trust a snake oil vendor more.’
‘Indeed, as would I.’
‘Job done?’
‘Yes I suppose so. Listen, no offence, but as I’ve explained and as you’ve observed, he’s capable of selling sand by the shipload to Gulf Arabs.’
‘Yep, I’ve noted his capabilities. No offence taken.’
* * *
In the evening of that same day in a palatial suburban family home owned by the man of class, the lady of class lay waiting in her old honeymoon gown. She valued plausible deniability for downstairs, she’d prepared the pasta and pesto in the same way as it had been made for them on the Amalfi coast ten years ago. Over the phone she said, ‘Claudio?’
‘All is a set il mio amante,’ he replied.
‘Hotel first, then quayside apartment?’
‘It will be as you want it to be mio dolce.’
At the same time, in a penthouse apartment which also happened to be owned by the man of class, the millennial lay dressed in nothing but a high-end pair of headphones. Her was anxious look was due to the GPS tracker showing that the iGen girl’s phone was both switched on and stationary. After once more hearing, ‘what’s up, Virginia here, leave a message after the tone,’ she said, ‘we need to debrief… what are you up to?’
At the same time, the driver of a taxicab said to his passenger, ‘where to Sir?
‘The Waldorf Astoria.’
‘Certainly.’
‘I’ve a little bit of business to attend to there… as we say here, no rest for the wicked.’
‘How interesting, back in The Yemen, my father would say, idle hands are the devil’s best friend.’
* * *
Later that night, in the lift up to a Club Lounge and Executive Suites, an Italian sounding man said, ‘let a the good times role.’
‘And why not indeed,’ the lift’s other occupant replied.
‘Life has its ups and a downs.’
‘Indeed it does and, what an apt comment to make whilst in an elevator.’
CCTV footage indicates that regaining his concentration after a moment’s hesitation, the Italian sounding one continued, ‘well, you seem to have dealt yourself a vile little Venus—’
‘I beg your pardon—’
‘Yes, and I in turn, dealt my decade old vendetta.’
Anna Bidoonism 