The llama parlour by Lette Kathy

Author:Lette, Kathy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: London : Bloomsbury
Published: 1992-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

THE LLAMA PARLOUR

black hair advised him, as he sent a huge tumbler of icy cocktail into her lap.

Well, you're helluva witty lady, aren'cha?' Pierce drawled, making an ineffectual mopping motion in her general direction. 'Did you think that up all by yourself?' Losing his balance, he made a grab for her, clutching at the long black ponytail. It came away in his hand. He looked at it as though it were a dead rat. Pierce lifted his eyes to hers with great effort. 'Don't fret Contessa. Your secret is safe with me, for I too am of noble birth.'

Tash was watching me closely. The DJ was playing 'My Funny Valentine'. 'Your looks are laughable,' the crowd crooned along, 'unphotographable. Yet you're my favourite work of art.'

Tash's fingers closed around my forearm. 'What happened to no more men on the menu?'

Shaking her free, I was on my feet and moving towards him, when it suddenly hit me where I was. If Pierce saw me here, in this club, he'd think I had herpes. God. I was having enough trouble getting him into bed while he didn't think I had herpes, let alone when he thought that I did. But, then again, what was he doing here? So that was why he hadn't made a move on me yet. He had herpes. In the time it took for all of this to seep through my muddled mind, Pierce, braying like a donkey, had attached the girl's switch to the back pocket of his jeans, hunkered down on all fours, kicked a famous film producer in the groin, and been tucked under the arm of a large bouncer with missing teeth. The only good thing was that, with his clean shaven head - an egg-shell blond we called it at home - nobody had recognised him. 'Each day is Valentine's Day,' the song purred on.

By the time I'd navigated my way outside, Pierce was lying in a pile of crumpled designer clothes in the car park.

'Have to take a piss,' he said, as I helped him to his feet. As he unzipped his fly, I retrieved his possessions. Along with the wallet and car keys, I found at least six plastic vials of multicoloured pills. Nudging them down the drain I heard the soft hiss of his urine as it hit the wall behind me. It struck me that Pierce's piss would have a street value of about $6,000. So this was what all the money was for.

'So, how's the old llama?' I asked witheringly. The membership of the Southern Californian Skeptics Club had just gone up by one.

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