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Excerpt From 'Making March' - Disgrace & Lace



DISGRACE AND LACE

13 February 2017

7 am

Well, last night was interesting. I arrived at Marie’s lingerie party clutching a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, feeling rather apprehensive. This is Marie we are talking about. Just about anything might happen, and let me tell you, it most certainly did.


Her living room looked like a movie set for a sleazy seventies porn video. Let me set the scene for you. Sparkly pink curtains draped over every doorway. Big plush cushions scattered all around with pictures of naked men on them. Male and female wait staff dressed in nothing but black G-strings and bow ties.


A bit of vomit slowly started to make its way up the back of my throat, and I wanted to hightail it out of there faster than The Road Runner being perused by Wile E. Coyote. While we are on the subject, one of the male waiters looked like he had a very large stick of dynamite down the front of his pants. He was most certainly carrying one hell of a package.

There was a stripper pole in the middle of the room, and so many lit candles, I’m pretty certain Marie was secretly hoping somebody would knock one over so she could call the fire brigade.


I could see Heather mouthing to me, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, turn around’. I turned around, and the image I saw will be burned into my retinas for evermore. There was Marie, in all her daring glory. Absolutely nobody knew where to look. She was sporting a white lacy bra with two holes allowing her nipples to poke out, and French knickers caressing her sixty-seven-year-old bum. Stockings and suspenders adorned her long legs, and hot pink high heels were strapped to her feet.


I took a long sip, or should I say gulp, of my drink, as I once again scanned my surroundings. What was this exactly? A lingerie party? A strip joint? A swingers party? You would be forgiven for thinking it was any of the above.


There were no models with the host, no mannequins. Marie was the model. Does this woman have no shame? Poor Heather was flushed with embarrassment. When it came time to make a purchase, and let’s face it, you feel obliged to buy something or you look like a cheapskate, I played it safe with a satin baby-doll number in black. Flattering … check, covers bum and thighs … check. At least I now have something decent, if I get lucky with Andrew.


We all got shamelessly drunk, probably in order to cope with making it through the night. Tracy and Nicole were almost unconscious by the time the host packed up her EFTPOS machine and headed for the front door.


People were starting to leave, and I noticed Marie was nowhere to be found. My mum returned from saying goodbye to Jenny and pulled me aside. ‘Kate, you know the married man who lives next door to Marie?’ ‘No, I don’t, Mum, why?’ Mum then dragged me into the next room and whispered, ‘I think Marie is in there with him, next door, I could hear them from the front yard’.


I asked Heather to take care of the goodbyes. I asked her to tell them Marie had gone to lie down as she wasn’t feeling too well. Heather flashed me a concerned look, and I told her I would explain later.


I found Marie in bed with Bob, or is it Peter? Oh, what does it matter, he is a married man, and she is also betrothed? Once everyone had gone home, I discretely led Marie back into her own bed. I had to save Heather from any further embarrassment in front of the guests, thanks to Marie’s mischievous misconduct.


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