Simon Plumpleton, whose surname was the result of an ancestor’s misguided social ambitions, pulled his stomach in and admired his Botox-enhanced face in the mirror. He grinned, and smiled at the memory of his frequent chats with the lovely Araminta Brankowitz during his visits to “Flatters,” a club for apprentice millionaires, where a wide range of affectations were catered for. “Image is everything” the knowing Manager always said to his team of bonus-chasing workers. “Most people have no idea what is going on but are loath to admit it. Charge them without mercy” and the staff did just that. Wallets were drained, cups emptied and bottles uncorked as brave social climbers gorged their vanities at an establishment where waiters and waitresses were trained in the skills of stroking limited abilities.
“You are so dignified” said Araminta as she looked on at Lord Montecule, ( a purchased title ) climbing outside a bottle or two of a freshly harvested Pinot Grigio. “Anyone worth his salt,” he realised, “Would not buy vintage wine in this establishment but, at £ 30 a bottle, the price of recent vintages were still inflated enough to make him feel he had ‘Arrived,’ and what better feeling is there?”
Leaning over the bar the fair maiden, revealing a generous amount of cleavage owing to her carefully chosen wardrobe, asked, “Will his Lordship be gracing our tables today” and we all know the answer don’t we? Her new manner and vocabulary were acquired during the “Client Filleting Module” on her “Continuous Improvement Programme,” reserved for the more attractive and astute among the waitresses. Male waiters were a rare breed in this exclusive club, where an air of bravado mixed with sexual malnutrition was common among the majority ageing male clientele.
“I Love lettuce. Its so green isn’t it. So very green. That gentle green” said one member to his half-full glass while standing by the bar. He had forgotten what love was and the nimble Araminta, straining her modesty to breaking point, leaned over toward him and asked, “What is it you want?” and he raised his eyes to hers as they filled with unrequited sadness and he told her, “I just want to understand the point of life. Just understand one thing.”
“You are my favourite client Marky.” she replied. ” You are a Poet, No, Yes, No,Really” which has a bard-like nuance to it don’t you think ? Her admiring phrases nearly drew his attention away from her angelic figure and, inspired by her attention, he heard himself saying. “A bottle of your best vintage and damn the cost.” He looked at her as if he had found a friend.
With skilful movements, she was already un-corking a Puligny Montrachet 2010 at £435 a “pop” while extending a tactful hand for his credit card. “Damn it all” he thought. “No one cares anymore and perhaps Araminta really understands me.”
So skilful did she become at handling clients, and those she wished to influence that, without really understanding what was happening, the Owner of the club, Gus Forthright by name, was found waiting at the alter of a nearby church some months later wondering how he had handed over half the shares in his business to a women half his age and more, whose parents he had never met. “You are my soul-mate” said the angelic Araminta when she joined him at the alter, in a tone touchingly reminiscent of the genuine. As long as he could pay her bills and offer a life of soft-furnishings and compliments, her smiles would be for him alone, because, now she had arrived, her word would always be her bond. Yes,No, Yes ?
countingducks 
Oh, your delightfully cynical world is incredibly drawn. Pity I drank al my bottles of 2010 Puligny-Montachet, acquired during a visit to the vineyard – not a bad vintage!
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A slightly different take on “climbing the ladder!”
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“You are so sensitive”, always works a treat… or so one of my well to do friends tells me 😉
Sx
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“You are so sensitive”, always works a treat… or so one of my well to do friends tells me 😉
Sx
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Wonderful….and sadly oh so right on the money:)
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A delightful little sting in the tale.
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Usually your wry and cynical humour simply amuses me, but on the occasional day, it saddens me. Today is a sad day.
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I certainly had no wished to make you sad. 😦
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Ah, my friend, you didn’t make me sad – my own thoughts and interpretations in that moment brought about that emotion 🙂
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First of all, I love all of the names, amazing creativity here. A sad story in my opinion, but very well-written.
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I seem to have made a few people sad which is really sad for me as that is seldom my intention. Its all meant to be tongue in cheek, but I must have/ of over-cooked it 😦
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Oh, I don’t feel sad, just a sad story. No worries )
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In these types of relationships, you always have to wonder what the woman is thinking.
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It’s been my experience that those people so concerned with appearances have very little time or temperament for self-assessment. They say it’s unnecessary. A front, I believe, for their fear that appearances are all they have. (I think there was a pun in there…)
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What’s the address Peter. I think I know quite a few who would fit in well – including me.
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Perhaps yes, perhaps no. 😉
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Delivered with a marvellous slice of cynicism and written with your usual aplomb, Peter. This is an enjoyable read, yet, on a deeper level, concerning as we, as a society, still persist in this form of social climbing, and, indeed, appear to actively encourage it. One would of hoped that , by now, we would have arrived at a state of mutual acceptance. I’m showing my Socialist roots here, I think!
Enough said. A great story!
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Having worked as a waitress before, I can picture this scene all too well…
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It’s sad… but it’s very well written!
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This story was completely creative to me. A bit sad but you wrote the heck out of this piece my friend. I enjoyed this.
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I love the names you come up wirh Peter, all a perfect fit for your characters. A somewhat sad tale but I loved every word!
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SO clever!
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Your writing is evocative. I really enjoyed it. Thank you.
Best wishes
Opher – from Opher’s World
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