embarrassing in its lack of subtlety.
Then to insense me further, this strange man says, ‘Well just because your daughter does not want … you can always come alone.’ How dare he go over my head like that!
‘That’s because she’s a party pooper! An old, old young person. Remind me never to come on holiday with her again!’ Then she fawns and flirts to the point where I want to cripple her. ‘I personally would love to come with you, but unfortunately I think I probably have to go where the old ball and chain goes. It’s a condition of my bail.’
He looks like he might not have understood, but he smiles anyway. Then his eyes meet mine. Is that hostility I see in those raisin-like eyes?
Then he says something that takes me aback. ‘You know, sometimes in this life, Angela, you have to take your chance with people. Not all Greek men are like our reputation you know.’ He bows his head to both of us and then he walks out.
I feel like saying, Hmm, I thought they had the reputation for giving it up the bottom . But, thankfully, I don’t.
My mother is practically legging it after him. I have to restrain her. ‘You called me an old ball and chain?’
‘If the cap fits!’
If the…! I want to kill her. But something suddenly dawns on me, and I feel a strange chill trickle down my spine. ‘Hang on…’ I grab her arm, making her stand still. ‘Did you hear what he said?’ I stare after him as he walks towards a white Jeep parked right out front. ‘He called me Angela.’
‘Well what would you have preferred he call you? Alfred? Or Dancer, the three-legged dog?’
‘But how did he know my name? You didn’t call me by it, I don’t think. And I certainly didn’t introduce myself.’ I watch him climb into the Jeep and glance back at us. He seems to hold my eyes for a few mysterious moments, then he pulls off.
‘Well… I reckon I must’ve. Either that, or he’s psychic. Anyway, one option is to run after him and ask him.’ She pulls a dirty grin. ‘Then maybe we can jump in his car and we can both go for a ride on him.’ She gasps. ‘Vivien! Vivien!’ She slaps her own face hard. ‘You mean, with him. With him.’
‘Oh, you’re on your own there, pervert,’ I say to her. ‘I hate how all these men see a couple of English women and think we’ve just come on holiday to get laid.’ I watch his car disappear down the road, still thinking how on earth did he know my name?
‘No they don’t! What mother and daughter would come on holiday to—get laid—as you crudely put it? Since you’ve moved to that midden of a country, Angela, you’ve adopted a very Jerry Springer attitude to life… Besides, I would never come on holiday with you if I wanted to get some action. Not with your personality. You’d have ‘em running for the hills, clutching their privates, as fast as they could stumble.’
As usual, she leaves me speechless.
‘Anyway, I’m sure he didn’t think I was fair game. Not at my age. More’s the pity mind you. I could probably have given him a good run for his money. And if he thought you were, well, you quickly put him right on that score.’ She scrutinizes me. ‘You’re nothing like your mother are you?’
‘Gee, that’s a relief!’ I tease her.
‘I’m talking about charm. There was nothing wrong with that era when women weren’t afraid to be women and men weren’t ashamed to be men. There were a lot fewer cross-dressers and homosapians because of it.’ She lets out a slow whistle, ‘if I were young again, I wouldn’t let a man like that cross my path without doing something about it.’
‘Come on,’ I say. We truck off to the only restaurant that looks open. An affable-face Greek man sits outside and welcomes us with friendly desperation. We order two Greek salads. ‘Oh God…’ I groan when he goes inside, to the fridge. ‘When the chef doubles as the waiter and he’s only got one customer at lunchtime, and your Greek salad only costs two
Then to insense me further, this strange man says, ‘Well just because your daughter does not want … you can always come alone.’ How dare he go over my head like that!
‘That’s because she’s a party pooper! An old, old young person. Remind me never to come on holiday with her again!’ Then she fawns and flirts to the point where I want to cripple her. ‘I personally would love to come with you, but unfortunately I think I probably have to go where the old ball and chain goes. It’s a condition of my bail.’
He looks like he might not have understood, but he smiles anyway. Then his eyes meet mine. Is that hostility I see in those raisin-like eyes?
Then he says something that takes me aback. ‘You know, sometimes in this life, Angela, you have to take your chance with people. Not all Greek men are like our reputation you know.’ He bows his head to both of us and then he walks out.
I feel like saying, Hmm, I thought they had the reputation for giving it up the bottom . But, thankfully, I don’t.
My mother is practically legging it after him. I have to restrain her. ‘You called me an old ball and chain?’
‘If the cap fits!’
If the…! I want to kill her. But something suddenly dawns on me, and I feel a strange chill trickle down my spine. ‘Hang on…’ I grab her arm, making her stand still. ‘Did you hear what he said?’ I stare after him as he walks towards a white Jeep parked right out front. ‘He called me Angela.’
‘Well what would you have preferred he call you? Alfred? Or Dancer, the three-legged dog?’
‘But how did he know my name? You didn’t call me by it, I don’t think. And I certainly didn’t introduce myself.’ I watch him climb into the Jeep and glance back at us. He seems to hold my eyes for a few mysterious moments, then he pulls off.
‘Well… I reckon I must’ve. Either that, or he’s psychic. Anyway, one option is to run after him and ask him.’ She pulls a dirty grin. ‘Then maybe we can jump in his car and we can both go for a ride on him.’ She gasps. ‘Vivien! Vivien!’ She slaps her own face hard. ‘You mean, with him. With him.’
‘Oh, you’re on your own there, pervert,’ I say to her. ‘I hate how all these men see a couple of English women and think we’ve just come on holiday to get laid.’ I watch his car disappear down the road, still thinking how on earth did he know my name?
‘No they don’t! What mother and daughter would come on holiday to—get laid—as you crudely put it? Since you’ve moved to that midden of a country, Angela, you’ve adopted a very Jerry Springer attitude to life… Besides, I would never come on holiday with you if I wanted to get some action. Not with your personality. You’d have ‘em running for the hills, clutching their privates, as fast as they could stumble.’
As usual, she leaves me speechless.
‘Anyway, I’m sure he didn’t think I was fair game. Not at my age. More’s the pity mind you. I could probably have given him a good run for his money. And if he thought you were, well, you quickly put him right on that score.’ She scrutinizes me. ‘You’re nothing like your mother are you?’
‘Gee, that’s a relief!’ I tease her.
‘I’m talking about charm. There was nothing wrong with that era when women weren’t afraid to be women and men weren’t ashamed to be men. There were a lot fewer cross-dressers and homosapians because of it.’ She lets out a slow whistle, ‘if I were young again, I wouldn’t let a man like that cross my path without doing something about it.’
‘Come on,’ I say. We truck off to the only restaurant that looks open. An affable-face Greek man sits outside and welcomes us with friendly desperation. We order two Greek salads. ‘Oh God…’ I groan when he goes inside, to the fridge. ‘When the chef doubles as the waiter and he’s only got one customer at lunchtime, and your Greek salad only costs two
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