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her, Ivana,” said Karl, slapping his hand with a baton made from rolled-up posters.
    “Don’t listen to him, Ivana,” replied Naomi. “You know what he’s like.”
    “Thankfully, my dear, I
don’t
. And neither do I
want
to,” retorted Ivana, unwrapping the present. “Oh! Naomi … this is too much … it’s beautiful.”
    A small gold necklace centred with a large pearl rested in the opened box.
    “Here. Let me clip it on for you,” volunteered Naomi, circling the necklace on to Ivana’s neck. “Oh, Ivana,
that
is so you.”
    “It’s beautiful, darling. Thank you … both.”
    “Vodka and orange, Ivana?” suggested Karl, while a waiter, attired in nothing other than a leopard-skin thong and a banana bulge, hovered at the table, menacingly close to Karl’s face.
    “
Large
,” replied Ivana, winking at the waiter. “I always take it
large
.”
    “A large vodka and orange, Bacardi and Coke and a
small
glass of Hennessy, please,” said Karl, emphasising the small, while doing his best to avoid looking at the semi-naked young man. “Wow, that lady singer has a set of pipes on her. She doesn’t even need the mic.”
    “Freaky Muckery?” spiked Ivana, acidly. “She and her sidekick, Ben Gay, have been on the karaoke machine all night and doing my head in. Did I say karaoke? Derrieroke, I call it. Freaky pulling a song out of her arse and trying to sing it. C’mon, Freaky and Gay! Stop hogging the karaoke!”
    Defiantly, Ben Gay immediately brought the invisible guitar to his teeth and ran his mouth along it like a beaver munching a log.
    “What’s got up the old queen mum’s bum!” retaliated Freaky, garnering much laughter from the crowd.
    “Not you, anyway!” responded Ivana, lightning fast.
    Ben Gay went sliding along the stage on bent knees, knocking over Freaky and the karaoke machine in the process, his head landing between Freaky’s legs.
    “Shouldn’t that be the other way round, Freaky!” shouted Ivana.
    “Oh, Ivana,” giggled Naomi.
    “Well, serves her right. She’s a cheapskate, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a cheapskate,” replied Ivana. “She’s so cheap, she charged her children for the breast milk they consumed.”
    Even Karl had to grin at that one.
    “And as for Ben Gay? Don’t get me started! He’s a twin. I went out with both of them, years ago, just to see if their dicks were identical.”
    Karl cringed. His armpits suddenly felt clammy. Wished semi-naked Tarzan would hurry the hell up with the drinks.
    “You’re cruel, Ivana!” giggled Naomi. “And were their dicks identical?”
    “Totally. Right down to the last blue vein, darling!”
    Naomi burst out laughing.
    “Any bloody chance of that waiter?” asked Karl, trying to catch Naomi’s attention.
    On a roll, Ivana asked, “What did Freddie Mercury’s mother say as his coffin was being lowered into the cold ground?”
    “I don’t know,” replied a giggling Naomi, shrugging her shoulders.
    “That’s the cleanest hole he’s been in for a while!”
    “Oh, Ivana. That’s not nice,” said Naomi, sternly, no longer smiling or laughing. “You shouldn’t make fun of the dead.”
    “You’re right. Of course, you’re right, darling,” replied Ivana, sounding slightly contrite. “It was a cheap joke and I apologise. Actually, I’ve always been a great fan of Freddie.”
    Thankfully for Karl, the waiter returned and deposited the drinks on the table. Karl left it to Naomi to tip, not knowing where it might end up.
    “Do you think the owner would mind if I put a poster up on one of the walls?” asked Karl, taking a much-anticipated sip from the Hennessy.
    “Poster? Depends, I suppose,” replied Ivana, sipping on the vodka and orange. “What’s the poster of?”
    Karl unrolled the group of small posters of Martina Ferris. The young girl’s sad face seemed even more forlorn coming out eyes first.
    “I had a few of these made this morning, hoping the local bars and cafés