Gaby Book 18 - Summery

 
We see a lot of tourists, Grockles, Dad calls them, around these parts, it’s popular with the Brits and Dutch in particular being easily reached in a day. We’ve got castles, railways, vineyards and of course down on the Rhein, cruises. They’re just a fact of life, for most of us the only contact will be a few Trekkers on the bike paths, the occasional coach on the roads.

Of course some businesses like the Sebenschuh’s Weinstube are quite reliant on the visitors but otherwise we don’t give them much thought. From the outside looking in they’re all the same, mostly older and beige but that’s generalising. It might only be serving food but when you’re ‘in’ the tourist industry it’s clear that nothing’s that simple.

Take the bus load we have this evening, compared to the first group these are much more chatty, louder, outgoing. There are several who are keen to try their schoolboy/girl German on us, we shouldn’t laugh, they are making at least some effort. It has changed the whole dynamic of the group though, oh there are still some quiet ones but even they’ve been laughing at the language faux pas – not the least when Mand replied in English to one enquiry in her flat south London accent.

From the actual work perspective things have gone swimmingly too, no spillages on customers, carpets or us. I’ve been working the bar with P between serving and we’ve been busy, busier than last time certainly, it must be the different atmosphere with this lot. It stretched the meal out some and we all ended up ‘working’ until the Global bus departed at nine thirty.

“Bleh!” Mand allowed slumping onto a chair.
“You want us to finish clearing up?” Con asked the boss.
“There isn’t much,” Herr Sebenschuh suggested, “I'm sure Ingrid and Pia can cope, let’s get you three home.”

Phew!

“You had them on all night?” Pia asked.
“Eh?”
“Your kickers,” she pointed ground wards.
I looked down, my feet were encased in pink canvas and rubber, “Bum, I meant to change when we got here.”
“I bet they’re more comfortable than these,” Mand suggested as she rubbed a foot finally free of her low heeled pumps.

I chuckled to myself, back in Warsop Mr Pilling used to call plimsolls pumps, I had a sudden flash of everyone running around the sports hall in heels.

“What’re you grinning at?” Con asked.
“Nothing, tell you later.”
“Come on then,” Mr P instructed as he returned from the house dangling the keys for the minibus.
“Later guys,” P called after us.
“Tschuss!”

“Think I'll have to get some of them,” Mand mentioned as I removed my boots when we got indoors, “these suck for rushing about all night.”
“You could wear flats.”
“Or boots.”
“These don’t exactly go with Landeskostüm,” I pointed out.
“Wasn’t thinking of those,” she shot back, “I saw some nice thigh boots in that place the other day.”

She couldn’t hold a straight face, that place is a erm ‘alternative’ clothing emporium near Bonn station which caters towards a certain style of ‘exotic’ dancing.

“Now that I'd pay to see.”
“What’s that?” Jules enquired appearing from the lounge with a tray of empty cups and plates.
“Mand wearing thigh boots with her dirndl.”
“Kinky,” the Dark One offered, “could be arranged.”
“Wotcha mean?” I prodded following her back into the kitchen.
“What I said, your dinners are in the oven by the way.”
“Arranged?”
“I might know someone with said boots, so what would you pay?”
“You’ve got some?”
“Let’s just say I have access, so how much?”
“It’s just a saying Jules, I didn’t mean I'd actually pay.”
“Oh come on, Gabs,” Mand put in as she retrieved our food, “fair’s fair.”

I was being backed into a corner.

“What do you reckon, Mand, ten?”
“Oh at least, maybe each.”
“Twenty euros,” I squealed.
“Done!” Jules stated, “my room fifteen minutes and bring the cash.”

I gold fished, I've been well and truly outmanoeuvred.

I knocked on Goth Gurl's door, it opened almost immediately.

“Dosh,” she demanded.
With a sigh I passed her the two ten euro notes.
“Thank you, sis, Mand inside.”

I went to enter myself but was stopped.

“Not so fast dweeb, you get to come in when we’re ready.”
“Whatever,” there’s no point in arguing, I'm already twenty euros down through my own stupidity. I crossed to my stairs and perched on the second step to wait.

It felt like hours but was probably about ten minutes that I waited before Jules poked her head out. She checked the landing before motioning me over.

“Quick,” she whispered.
“What's with all the cloak and dagger,” I asked.
“Shush!”
“So?”
“The ‘rents don’t know about this right?” she stated as I slipped into the Gothic boudoir.
“About what? Why are the lights off?”
My sister ignored my question, instead I was girl handled to a spot further in, “Sit.”

Whatever. where’s Mand? Gothy’s got one of those dimmer switches in here and the lights gradually came up to about a third of full power, enough to see by but not read.

“Mand?”
“Madame de Vreen to you.”

My jaw hung open, Mand was stood across the room, foot on Jule’s dressing table chair exposing a boot clad leg as promised. What wasn’t promised was the eye mask, what looked like dark red lipstick, elbow length gloves and – is that a whip?

“What the?”
“You wanted to see me in my working outfit, leetle one,” she purred before slowly stalking towards me, slapping the er, whip thing into her palm.
“What is this? Jules?”
“Madam has taken a liking to you.”
“Guys!”
Mand reached me and made a show of lifting her skirts before planting a foot on the end of my sister’s bed, “Like what you see?” she couldn’t hold it though, she started to chuckle.
“Mand,” Jules complained as she turned the lights up.
“Soz, couldn’t help it Jules, the look on her face.”
“Hope it was worth it, Pinky?”

With the lights up I could see the whole kit and caboodle, my earlier observations were confirmed. The boots, long, black and sporting a significant pointy heel, a fancy mask which I could now see disguised heavily made up eyes, the red lippy and shiny long gloves. Geez.

“How comes?”
“I've got this stuff?” Jules finished.
“Well yeah,” I confirmed, “you don’t, you know?”
“Be daft! And you can stop laughing.”
“Soz,” Mand giggled.
“So?”
“Look you can’t tell right?”
“Would I?”
“Promise me?”
“Okay, I promise now spill.”

She hesitated a moment before replying, what’s this all about?

“You know me an’ Boris, you know?”
“Do a bit more than kiss?” I suggested, “’s hardly a secret.”
“Well he um likes me to dress up a bit.”
“Kinky boots!” Mand put in.
“Ew! that’s just – dirty.”
“No it’s not,” my sister, erm, insisted.
“He’s turned on by stripper boots, Jules, that's just wrong.”
“Well actually the boots were my idea.”
“Jules!” I squawked.
“Shush! You want Dad coming up?”
“What were you thinking?” I demanded in lower tones.
“Don’t mock it till you try it, I bet Max would like the boots, who knows what else?”
“Course he wouldn’t!” I snapped.
“Just cos he hasn’t asked doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking it – unless he has?” Jules posed.
“A, a, a.”
“Gotcha Lolita!”
“Can I take these off now?” Mand asked, “they’re not exactly comfortable.”
“I'll give you a hand,” Jules replied to the vamp.

I saw my chance and made a dash for the door.

Well of course I couldn’t get it out of my mind now, my sister prancing about in boots and stuff, Boris leering from the bed. I couldn’t get to sleep properly now, just a sort of half dream state, the images started to morph, from Jules to Mand in her kostüm, the figure on the bed becoming less certain. And then it was me gyrating in the boots and my white bikini, the body on the bed clearing to reveal a grinning Max.

“Aaaaaarghhhhhh!”

I dropped off properly after that.

“Alright, kiddo?” Dad enquired when I reached the breakfast table.
“Didn’t sleep well, weird dreams.”

Yeah dreams of stuff I don’t even want to think about, wonder if I could sneak them out sometime – no, that’s just wrong!

“I thought I heard a yell but it went quiet straight after.
“Probably me,” I allowed.
“So you going up to the kiosk today?”
“Think that’s the plan, we’ve not been up since Monday.”
“Might see you later, I need to talk to Tomas about the fence.”
“A problem?”
“No, nothing like that, no I just need to check some stuff. I didn’t ask yesterday, how was the course?”
“Okay I guess, we’re now certified in the art of currywurst and Pommes as well as washing up.”
Dad grinned, “I know who to come to now after dinner.”
“When I say washing up,” I deferred, “I meant loading the dishwasher.”
“A useful skill of course,” he smirked over his coffee.

Our banter was interrupted by a loud bang outside followed a moment later by the annoying trill of a car alarm.

Maddy Bell © 09.01.17