Sunday, May 25, 2003
Service: * * *
Food: * * *
Ambience: * * * *
Babe Count: * * * * *
I've just dropped Darryl off at her parents. They're all going through to visit a cousin of hers who lost a husband to kidney failure last week out of the blue. I've been at her place most of the evening after she and I decided to go to an art exhibition. "Wait," says her mom. "Come in. Have you eaten? Would you like some chicken? An apple?"
"Uh... just an apple, thanks," I say.
"What happened to your hair, Darryl? Have you been driving in an open convertible?" Her mom's pretty observant. I like driving my MX5 in winter with the top down and the heater on full blast. It's very romantic.
There's a wedding photo on the wall. "Who's this babe?" I say, knowing that it's Darryl's mom in her heyday.
"Trevor! Come here! Come listen to what this young man has to say!"
Darryl's dad emerges from a room. Handshakes, greetings, introductions.
"Tell him!" she says. Darryl's standing there shaking her head gently.
"I said," I tell her dad, " 'Who's this babe?' "
"I had good taste," he says.
So now I'm in Hyde Park. Still sex-starved, cos as romantic as my car is with the top down and the heater snarling its dragon breath all across my and Darryl's bodies, somehow sex just didn't raise its lovely head today. Sigh.
But heck. Hyde Park is an antidote to that. It's sex city tonight. Babes extraordinaire all over. Two in particular. So I whip out the sketchbook and surreptitiously start a slow drawing. I normally crank them out really quickly, but I'm working on technique at the moment, so I'm using very controlled strokes. This means that I'm observing much more intently than usual.
I've just finished eating my usual JB Rivers feast... their Cajun Chicken Salad. Lots of decaff cappuccinos. Excellent. A new waiter though. Keeps mishearing me. But no harm done. He'll still get my customary 20% tip. I believe that waiters deserve to be treated as humans. I get very pissed off with people who bark orders at them and then don't tip.
So now I'm really observing this girl's breasts as I massage the paper with my ink-soaked pen.
Which means that any second now I'm going to be bust. Cos the waiter is standing behind me peering all around the restaurant to see who my model is. "Who are you painting?" he says. I cock my head in the general direction of the blonde babe with the sumptuous breasts and the rather prominent nose. He points right at her. "That one?" he says. Everyone at her table looks up. They look at me.
I want to throttle this waiter. Or jab my trusty Maped Ruling Pen in his crotch, like I did to Janine's Matthew in Kaapschehoop. "Yeah, her," I say.
An envoy from her table comes up to me. There are three boys, three girls. All three girls are just totally luscious. The three boys are biceptuals... they spend a lot of time in gym getting slinky so girls like these will go for them. Clearly a very good strategy. Which is why I've been going to gym quite a lot recently.
"Hi," says Greg. "Do you mind if I see your drawing?"
I show him. "Is that Linda???" He laughs. Beckons.
Linda gets up. Comes over.
"Oh my god!" she shrieks. "I look like a witch!!! Oh no! Is my nose THAT bad?"
"Please don't beat me up!" I say.
A bit of small talk. They look through my sketchbook. Smiles all round. They head back for their table. I sneak a super-quick sketch of her. And she catches me again. Immediately back to my table.
"Who's this?" she says.
"Uh," I say, "it's your friend." She buys the story.
"Oh, good. Thank god. Ilana," she calls, "he's drawn you too!" A pause as she flicks through the book again. "You've got a thing for hooked noses, hey?" Back to the table.
I hear one of the guys say, "Hahahaha! Ask him where her broom is!"
Then I turn my attention to Ilana. If this is possible, she's even more desirable than Linda. And I've been studying her panties peeking out from above her jeans. A dark, rich brown. Velvet. Love. Lust. Renewal. But trying to steal these drawings unobserved is impossible right now. Six waiters are standing behind me watching. And the babe-table is completely aware.
Another super-quick sketch.
Ilana comes up to my table. Yeowch. She's breathtaking. She looks at my drawing of her.
"Can't you draw women so they look MORE beautiful than in real life?" she says.
I have to improvise here. So I say, "You're both WAY too beautiful to capture in an artwork."
Greg says, "Is THAT how you get away with it? You use that line?"
"Yeah," I say, "but I normally get beaten up by boyfriends who can't stand to see their girlfriends humiliated. Did I get away with it this time?"
Both Ilana and Linda say emphatically, in unison, "Yes, you get away with it this time."