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Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 26
A Small, Scientific Name in MarchJude Cameron opened the stiff window doors to the tiny balcony of his apartment on Rue Lachassaigne in downtown Bordeaux. The sky glowed sky blue and, for the first time, the warmth in the air superseded the cold, the vestiges of which glided gently as a cool undercurrent across his body as he rested his elbows on the balcony rail and looked down into the street. Down there, it was empty, apart from the meagre array of bicycles chained to the black, metal tubes meant for that purpose, the green recycling bin half in the road, Arabella’s old blue Volvo transporter, and the cigarette butts and other street detritus mixed in with the soot and dust of city life. It was quiet. A quiet, broken only by the Doppler effect of irregular cars and then, by the heavy, clunking footsteps of a jogger running down the middle of the empty road. The bearded man’s face strained red with effort as he looked determinedly into the middle distance, seeing
Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 27
At first, Tony Porsche complained on the radio about the measures being taken to slow the spread of the virus. He had even entertained the popular notion encouraged by the usual hard of thinking public figures, that it was no more dangerous than a common flu, and that the ‘herd immunity’ was just what was called for. The penny drop took a long time, and the bronze coin spun slowly in the air of public belief, discourse, chance, before landing tails up, meaning everyone had lost. It was all seriousness and solidarity after that. Still Lala could not bring herself to loathe him, nor Boris Johnson. Part of her understood their charm, whereas they had always made Teddy apoplectic. Lala was not perturbed by braggarts and liars, in fact, she preferred them to the moralists, who, she thought, were far too often cloaking their own venality in fine robes. The world was entering a disaster like the flu of 1918 (though science would most likely halt it at some point), but La
Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 28
Bordeaux was empty. Never, ever, had Lala seen it so. As Sèdonoudè drove Teddy’s old fiat along the Rue Aristide Briand, near Place de la Victoire, no soul was to be seen. The cafes that served the milling university students and the shoppers of the Rue St Katherine were shut. The punters, vanished. Only at food shops here and there were shoppers with scarves wrapped around their mouths, woollen gloves on hands, even though the sun had come out to kiss the benighted people of Bordeaux. Matchstick Lowry figures, clutching reusable cotton bags, seeking food for their caves. Lala rolled own the wind and, the smell! It smelled fresh as spring! The throat burning, sinus clogging foul odour of petrol fumes were gone. As they got near to the hospital, a semblance of normality returned with the urgency of flashing blue lights and now, totally unnecessary sirens. The interior of the Institut Bergoniè was a near silent study in motion, as hospital staff moved around covered i
Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 29
In the worrying days before her operation, Lala tried not to drink, but she could not stop. The doctors at a clinic in La Rèole ran test after test: blood, heart, lungs, but the results, astonishingly for one so cavalier with their health, all proved to be no cause for concern. Even the numbers for her liver, though the enzymes were high, were not catastrophically so. Lala was so afraid for what life she had, she locked herself in one of the rooms at Chateau Nullepart, the one with the Fantin paintings of flowers and the old wooden trunk, before persuaded by Sèdonoudè that staying at home in a room and allowing the cancer to grow and kill her, as it had Teddy, was not an option he would allow. He would break down the door and call the doctors if need be. Finally, she left, meekly accepting that whatever would be would be, and sat in silence on the journey back to the Institut Bergoniè. Once there, she donned the long, tight, white, elastic stockings to help prevent
Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 30
Sèdonoudè stood in the grocer’s shop on the corner nearest the entrance to the Institut Bergoniè. Grapes, isn’t that what all sick people have? He had not been behaving himself in Lala’s absence, or in the confinement that was now supposed to apply to everyone. Except for the most important public service workers in those essential roles of health, food, transport, and public safety. He had printed off his ‘attestation de dèplacement dèrogatoire’, and gone out for cigarettes and booze, and trysts with Linda in the back of Teddy’s old fiat. A gendarme had caught them in flagrante, and, after watching his dark buttocks heaving in between Linda’s milky white thighs for longer than necessary, he proceeded to extract a 135 euro fine from each of them, and then angrily deliver a long moral lecture of the bit ‘the public’ can do to help the nation in its time of great need. It was idiots like them, he said, which prevented him from visiting his mother in the ephad, adding tha
Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 31
There were no more hospital visits. From now on, those entering the sick world of hospital halls, or those trapped by infirmity in those halfway houses to the after world - old people’s homes - and, in some pathetic cases, little children, were to die alone, save for the remote compassion of those ordinarily dedicated to saving and nursing them. France, like the rest of Europe, was in a desperate fight against an exponential monster. Lala went home in an ambulance just as Teddy had done, but to a better prognosis. Sèdonoudè was there to greet her. ‘How are you doin’, Lala?’ he said, as two ambulance men unstrapped her wheelchair and rolled it down the ramp. They had tired, irritable eyes above the obligatory face masks. Eyes which had seen too much and were sick of seeing it all too often. They maintained a polite aloofness, which at least was better than that time in the hospital when a porter, clearly at the end of his wits, cursed under his breath as he banged the troll
Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 32
Outside, the land never rested, and there was always work that needed to be done. Serge sat on the chugging, red tractor as it drew the teeth of a giant plough through the stiff soil of a fallow field. He sat back in the tractor seat and pulled his tobacco pouch from a pocket of his overalls as he always did, then rolled himself a smoke. He looked at the silhouette of Chateau Nullepart in the sunlight of this glorious spring day and thought about his place in the world. Well, the old, dissolute, anglais was dead, and Madame was not long for this world by the looks of her. Better them than me. But what about my house? He saw Sèdonoudè skulking around in the garden, which was not usual. And as for you, petit nègre, once Madame is up so are you my dark little friend. Serge laughed to himself, a snort of contempt, then carried on ploughing the field in the same way that it ever was.*** After wandering around Chateau Nullepart like a forlorn ghost, Sèdonoudè p
Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret Chapter 33
The recent past: the Brexit ravings, the murder of Jeremy Baden-Flogg MP, Teddy’s sad, mundane death, were now subsumed by a dull ache, a persistent paranoia, a reckoning with sad, individual failures, unhappiness’s, woeful longings, dreams never likely to be achieved. What matter were they, when one moment a person is happily chatting to others in a bar or a shop or peaceful social gathering, or sharing memories of themselves as little children or wonderful drunken nights on social media pages, when the next, those snapshots, are all that will ever be left of them as their bodies succumb to the evil magic of fate? What did they matter, the old girl and boyfriends they were delighted to find still thought kindly of them, a small flame perhaps still burning? Those loves for cigars, wine, music, art, dance, food, sex, violence, solidarity? ‘My glass is empty.’ Lala sat in Teddy’s chair which was now her permanent throne. Sèdonoudè brought her vodka and red bull. The habit
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