The Tyme Wayster

Flashdance

  Jayne woke early that morning. She sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, allowing her body to ease into a waking condition upon its own terms and unprovoked, then broke the tranquil silence of that fresh, bright morning, whereby she laughingly apologised to Schrodinger, her cat and opened the window to let in the morning air. It was going to be an important day, for Jayne was going to be meeting up with her agent Sheila Polowski, or Two Wheeler-Sheila as Brad calls her due to her copulating compulsions with anyone that she could tackle to the ground and mount before they could catch their breath to protest. There were some women of her age that were known as cougars but Sheila was an anaconda; not the most attractive of her species but within her environment, she was a stealthy predator who once got hold of her prey, would not let go until she had crushed the life out of them and was renowned for swallowing men whole. She would often boast of being able to shag like a snake also.
  Jayne had finished the final draft of her latest book and was going to hand a copy over to Sheila on her flash drive to give to the publishers later that day for a proof reading. They were due to meet at eleven at the Stickett Inn where they could discuss the book, life and Sheila's latest conquests over a drink and some lunch. Kyra was coming too. Jayne didn't invite her, she had presumptuously invited herself for Jayne's benefit, whatever that was.
The house was quiet without Brad stomping around and complaining about anything and everything. He had changed over the past twelve months. Whatever was causing him to morph into this self centred, uncaring, shit kicker was not happening from home but was spawning from his place of work. Jayne knew that it wouldn't be the pressure of the job that was causing Brad to distance himself from her and the the things that he once felt akin to,, for Brad loved the challenge of meeting deadlines and proving himself to be on top of the situation at hand. It was something else, something that he did not want to share or bring out into the open. He had text her last night saying that he would be staying over till the following day at his grandmothers house in London, so to be able to sort out some of the paperwork that had been left there for him to sign, so with him being away another day, Jayne had free range to do a bit of snooping and see if she could find the reason behind his wall of silence.
  Schrodinger sat on the kitchen side licking his paws then grooming himself in his pretentious feline stance as Jayne descended the staircase and entered the kitchen tying the belt of her floaty crimson nightgown around her waist over the base of her Nurse With Wound T-shirt/nightshirt. She called a quick hello as she skipped through the kitchen towards the bathroom but halted instantly as Schrödinger started to do its washing machine impersonation, glug- glug- glugging as his stomach convulsed and turned while he arched, open mouthed over the sink. Jayne froze in panic as her baby started to wretch. Then she remembered that cats do this all the time when they cough up a fur ball. After all it was a fur ball, wasn't it?
  No, it wasn't.
  The cat exploded upon the kitchen work surface. A bright orange fluid shot in a horizontal spray from the back of its throat, covering everything in front of her as her back end also erupted, showering the far end of the work surface and pebble dashing the window in liquid shit. For a brief second, Schrodinger was held spit roasted upon a shaft of bodily fluids.
  Jayne screamed.
  It wasn't the fact that Schrodinger was diabolically I'll, it was the fact that Schrodinger was diabolically I'll all over Jayne's other baby; the bloody kitchen.

  The Stickett Inn was where Darren had booked the table for that nights little swaray with his friends and Jayne, so Jayne had chosen it for the business meeting with her agent and beaky-nosed Kyra, so she could accustom herself with the surroundings and note the quickest and most secluded exits if needed.
  When Jayne arrived at the inn, which was located a few streets from where Brad's workplace was located, the licensed bar had already started serving and several small groups of people had already gathered in sporadic settlements around the bar. The smell of fish, herbs, steaks and spicy exotic sauces drifted through the continually opening and shutting kitchen doors as waiters and waitresses finished off preparing the tables for the midday servings.
  Jayne stood in the centre of the lounge and scanned the surrounding tables for any sign of her cohorts. Yes, there they where, sat at a table over in a snug by the entrance to the beer garden. Jayne was fashionably late as usual, which was no big deal as both parties were used to her idle distractions in pursuit of deadlines.
  "What's the excuse this time"? Croaked Sheila, not looking up from the laptops paper thin screen as Jayne idled up to the table.
  "You won't believe it".
  "Try me".
  "My cat exploded in the kitchen".
  "Come again"? Sheila looked up at Jayne, dumbfounded.
  "Not literally like 'boom', but the bloody thing shat and puked at the same time covering everything in its path".
  "Everything"? Quipped Kyra.
  "Everything. It was like handing a full gravy boat to someone with Parkinsons and asking them to carry it through the house. Everything! Anyway, as you could imagine it took a little while to clean up after her but hey- ho, I'm here now".
  "So let's get on shall we. I do have to scrape the dead skin from my feet tonight".
  Jayne took the message as being ' shut up and sit down', so obligingly she shut up and sat down.
  "You never said that you were writing an erotic novel, Jayne. My God, I just dampened the seat reading the introduction". Grinned Kyra from over the top of the screen.
  "Well, I got to get my jollies somehow".
  "You still not getting it? Probably a good thing girl, your really dishing out the gold with your frustration". Croaked Sheila, draining her glass and pushing it towards Jayne.
  "That piece when Roberto shags Maria and turns her ham sandwich into a dropped Kebab, is truly amazing. This will have women strumming their hairy banjos, with their hands going like a hummingbirds wing".
  "Yes, thank you Kyra. Why did you stop writing your reviews for the Telegraph? What's everyone drinking"?
  Sheila and Kyra both called out their drinks simultaneously as Jayne picked her bag up from off the floor and removed her purse from inside.
"And hurry up with it, I've got another client to see after lunch and then book my ticket for a week in Cambodia". Sheila barked.
  "Cambodia? My God, have you been there before? What's the food like, isn't everything poisonous over there"? Gasped Kyra in great interest.
  "I've never been there before my dear but I'm meeting a guy over there that I met at Judy Carlisle's wedding the other month. The food is good but if your buying from the market stalls then you better be careful. Buy only named meat products as they serve anything that can be chewed over there. That includes dogs, cats and monkeys".
  "Monkeys? My God". Kyra sat upright with her mouth hanging open.
  "Monkeys are a speciality in some provinces. You can get them in fast food stores".
  "So what are you saying, that you can just walk into a takeaway and order a battered baboon and a large portion of chimps*"?