( My very close brush with wealth )

 

During my long ago agency modelling days

taking part in a photo shoot inside and outside

the Carlton Hotel

 

given a break I get changed into lesser clothing

covered by a towelling robe

feet flip-flopped

and off I go on my traffic stopping

zebra crossing way

displaying the occasional teasing bum wiggle as I do

 

down onto the beach

walking through the many widely spread canopied

sun lounging very wealthy lovey dovies

having hand and foot pampering service

from white coated white gloved

cocktails and caviar loaded shoulder high

silver tray bearing waiters

trouser creases sharp enough to cut through

a table leg  

and whose annoyance at my unfamiliar presence

is all too obviously seen in their upwardly rolling eyes  

 

I eventually get to lower myself into the crystal clear blue sea

swimming a few hundred yards out

 

swimming to me is like falling off a log in a skimpy bikini

which is what I am wearing

 

With limbs in a crucifix position

an old and well tanned guy floats looking up at the sky

that is until he sees me

and acknowledges my nearing to him

with a wave from a heavy golden ring on every finger hand

accompanied by what I can only describe as

a wolfishly salivating smile

 

and that look does not let go!

I don't look back a second time

I go back

quickly!

 

once dried off its back to the hotel

where upon entering my room

the bed changing maid drops the bombshell......

pardon me madam 

-yes?

but I was watching you from the balcony

-and?

well I was wondering why you didn't wave back 

to that billionaire who waved to you?

 

whhhhaaatttt!!? what is his name?

I asked trying to catch my breath

in a failed gold diggers panic

 

sorry madam but we are not allowed to divulge our clients names

however if you are quick enough

you might catch him taking the launch

back to his huge white yacht anchored offshore

and I'm sure he'll oblige you with his famous autograph

 

-autograph!? autograph!?

the only signature I want to cosy out of him

is his signature on a wedding certificate!

 

thats why I'm off to the jetty now!

but madam you haven't changed out of your bikini!

exactly! I reply

before flaunt practising my way to the door

thinking to myself oh please! oh please!

Mr Onassis let it be you!

 

at the jetty too bloody late! 

all I get to see is the arse end of his departing yacht

and more arse ends

those of the all clothes bereft girls surrounding him

on the after deck swigging what I should have been swigging

 

and now I'm cursing to myself as I kick

my flip-flops off thinking

where the bloody hell are my running shoes

just when I needed them!