The prices are off the charts and as I told Camille, I’d like to meet the asshole who’s going to buy one.
“Hi, I’m Dave…wanna see the painting I just bought? And you two are?”
“I’m Camille, and this is Susannah, how do you do.” I watched Camille scale him from head to toe like a dress she was interested in before she felt the fabric. He was handsome alright, but definitely played for the other side.
“I am just so thrilled to be the owner of that painting,” he cooed, pointing to a splash of fingers on the far wall. “It will look gorgeous over my king-size, canopied bed.”
“You don’t say,” I said, my eyes glazing over. When I’m turned off, it’s written all over my face. My grandmother used to say when displeased I looked like a holy picture. Camille, who, if the guy was straight would have been much more attentive, was preening in her tiny mirror mumbling mirror mirror on the wall. But none of this deterred dapper Dave.
“I think you girls should buy one too…imagine what it will do for your sex life.”
“Like ending it?” It just popped from my mouth like a tiny toad.
“I’ll have you know, I’m a top decorator and my advice is worth your consideration.”
“I’ll have you know, I couldn’t afford you anyway since my apartment is more or less furnished from the street.”
“Dave, let’s be honest here,” said Camille,” (uh-oh) we really have nothing that you could possibly want so perhaps it would be in your better interest if you moseyed on along.”
Omigod…this guy looked like he got hit in the face with a pie.
‘Well, that was quite rude of you.”
“It all depends how you look at it. We just saved you a lot of time. We’re not money girls, at least not anymore…we really only came for the shrimp”