French Lessons


Dorking had been prescribed some very strong medication by his physician and had bought some dodgy tranquilisers in order to bring Lola down, which he had loaded into an elephant gun.

Lola picked bits of parchment out of her underwear and perched herself on the edge of the chaise longue. She lit two cigarettes, passing one to Padraig who choked on the expensive French tobacco as he was only used to inferior proletariat fayre.

“So, this case involving the oppression of the poor people-erm I mean workers-and the fiendish Mr Mumbles and his cohort the factory supervisor “Johnny” Crackers sometimes known as “Knuckles” because of her vicious tendencies and the tattoos. What does it involve exactly-what are the issues?” asked Lola, flicking a skein of her ebony mane over her shoulder and blowing out a perfect smoke ring which Padraig deftly caught in his hand, causing Lola to sigh and putting him in danger of her imposing a writ of habeas corpus.

“Well Lola, ” he said thoughtfully, inhaling too quickly on his Gitane making Lola think that she’d have to teach him how to do it properly.

“This Mr Mumbles owns a factory and the workers there are being laid off because the chamber pots they make there are of an inferior quality as the clay they use is cut with chalk to save money. When people sit on them they fall apart.” said Padraig.

“How ghastly!” said Lola, “Not even a pot to piss in! Excuse one’s French! I’ve obviously been mixing with  the proletariat socialists rather a lot.”

“That’s fine Miss-er I mean Lola, in fact you have hit the nail on the head.” said Padraig.

Lola didn’t know what a hammer looked like and had not too much acquaintance with nails or any form of hardware, but smiled sweetly as she sensed a compliment somewhere.

“Don’t worry Padraig, with the skills that I probably have in abundance as a lady barrister and my imminent election as a lady MP oh and your working class experience, we will save the workers and I wont even charge I’ll do a pro bono!” she lit another cigarette.

Padraig raised an eyebrow as he didn’t know the phrase pro bono and thought that Lola may be referring to a physical act.

Dorking was incensed as he peered through a window spying a near naked Lola who was dressed only in her own hair and a small rug sitting next to Padraig who had a briefcase of Lola’s strategically placed and was wearing a flat cap.

Dorking was incapable of anything  as a man but was damned if he would let Lola have any fun with Padraig or anyone else.

“Do you know Padraig, ” asked Lola, “that I’m technically married?”

“Marriage is an outmoded institution and a tool of the capitalist oppressor!” said Padraig.

“Exactly, ” said Lola,” and strictly speaking it’s only a legal contract which can be dissolved.”

She smiled, glad that she’d said something which made her actually sound like a lady barrister, so there was some hope after all.

 

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