THE BIG BOY BRUNCH PART 2

A literary tribute to Britain's greatest bakery chain, with thanks to Jackie Collins 

Mmmmmmm.......those smells. Sauvignon didn't normally eat much during the day time. She looked at the designer watch Benito had given her at Zermatt. That had been some holiday. They had gone to ski, but had spent most of the holiday indulging in rampant sex in their chalet, shooing away the maids and cleaners, ordering up champagne on room service. "These are the only slopes I want to ski on",  Benito had joked, pouring Dom Perignon across her naked breasts. But Benito was gone, taken out by a gang-land rival in Napoli, his naked torso turning up in a dumpster. The watch from her dead suitor revealed it was already 12.15, way too late for breakfast but maybe brunch...

Friends were always scolding her for picking at salads, refusing dessert then slyly stealing a spoonful of chocolate mousse from them. "A little candy is fine and dandy", her best friend Beth would joke. Sauvignon didn't like to point this out, but Beth was heading into the O-zone, the spectre of obesity already there in her fattening thighs. Lucky she had a Toy Boy, Tony, with an obvious thing for Big Mamas. From what Sauvignon guessed, Tony liked nothing better than a hot afternoon of humping and pumping with Beth grinding herself into him. Chacun a son gout...

Trainer Josh was a stickler for macro-biotic stuff and occasionally joked he would put her over his knee if he found so much as a Snickers wrapper in her gym kit. If only....

"What you having?" The man behind the counter, no more than a boy really, sounded a little sharp and impatient.  Sauvignon quickly jumped to and took off her shades. "This is like a deli, right?" she asked, suddenly aware how out of place her accent sounded. "It's a bakery, love..." A middle-aged woman, kind and motherly, was tending to some brown rolls. "Do you have, like a menu....?" To her annoyance, Sauvignon was blushing. She heard something like a muffled giggle behind her. Two young  boys, both in school uniform, were sniggering. Freaking kids. No respect. She had heard that the UK, like the US, had given up on corporal punishment. Treat a lady like that in her old neighbourhood and Uncle Silvio would have been busy with his belt and these little rats would have sore asses for a fortnight after. 

"Excuse me....could I have a Belgian Bun?" A little old lady had pushed in front of Sauvignon. Where were the famous British manners? Jesus Christ. "Are you from America, dear?" the interloper asked, as her tasty sultana-filled bun with sweet lemony icing and a glace cherry on top was wrapped. Sauvignon put on her special "I'm going to be nice to you, because you're obviously quite poor" smile she normally reserved for beneficiaries of the Anaconda Foundation she met at its annual galas. "That's right. From Florida". "Lovely. You remind me of one of those ladies out of Dallas. What lovely skin you have". Despite herself, Sauvignon was delighted by the compliment. "Why, thank you". She was aware of a gentle conversational buzz inside the cafe. They couldn't be used to her class of person here. She could have been Jennifer Lopez.

"Have you made your mind up?" The man again. "Do you have pastrami on rye?" "You what? Sandwiches behind you. Next please". Sauvignon turned around awkwardly to confront a shelf of wrapped baguettes and sandwiches. She picked one or two up, studying their contents with a mixture of curiosity and contempt, wondering if these guys should be trusted with tuna and mayo.  "Have a bloomer, love". Belgian Bun lady again, on her way out. "Mind, I shouldn't say that", she whispered, clutching Sauvignon's arm. "Bloomers is what we used to call knickers in the olden days". 

"Wouldn't mind getting inside her knickers". It was one of those bratty school-kids. The nervous sniggers now turned into howls of laughter. "That is quite enough, you two. Get out". A young man, slick black quiff and leather jacket, was on the scene. Quick as a flash, he grabbed both boys and bundled them out of the door, pointing a warning finger as they scuttled off down the street. Sauvignon noticed that the boys didn't offer any protest. They clearly knew their assailant and wouldn't be coming back in a hurry. Sauvignon also noted the gentle hush that had come over staff and customers. The queue opened up and quiff man, rubbing his hands together, was quickly at the front, chatting away to the woman behind the counter. "Five years....out Tuesday. Wife done a runner. Can't blame the cow.....Now let me take care of our foreign guest". He grinned over at Sauvignon and wagged his finger at here, a clear come hither gesture. In other circumstances, she would have given him the finger, summoning her like some stray bitch. But he had come to her rescue. "Forget the sarnies, love. You look like you need warming up....How's about a Cornish pastie? We'll have a couple of Raspberry Ripple cupcakes for afters"......He laughed a throaty laugh and she was suddenly reminded of that old boyfriend of hers from back in the day....
(to be continued)