Half life
Kind face kind heart
Carole Morin
Auntie Irene the Slut was trapped in an elevator with Steve McQueen when he was alive. She called long distance to tell Maddie, who didn't believe her. 'Why,' Maddie often asks me, 'would Steve McQueen get himself stuck in a lift with her?' Well, celebrities have to be some- where, and — knowing Irene the Slut she probably pushed the Stop button when Steve wasn't looking. Anyway, living in the New York Plaza, your chances of bumping into a rich blond are good. 'My only regret,' Irene the Slut said, 'is that it wasn't Paul Newman.'
I thought about Auntie Irene's superior celebrity encounters, and the diamond anklet she sent me for my seventh birthday, the other day when I saw Antonia de San- cha in Safeway. It was pure chance that big Antonia was pushing her trolley round the store ahead of me. Dangerous Donald and I usually shop in Ladbroke Grove Sains- bury's, but I was at a loose end while Dangerous was at a football match with Godzilla and Johnnie Deep. Since I can't drive, I went to the closer Edgware Road Safeway instead.
Big Antonia is living proof that you can be too thin and too famous. She's skinny without being slinky, though one girl's wan fatale is another man's femme fatale. It's outrageous that she hasn't been inundated with offers to star in horror movies. Her melancholic presence disturbed me as I filled a polythene bag with organic carrots.
A couple of housewives who looked as if they were on heroin were twittering about her. It was impossible to tell if Antonia was about to burst into tears, or was just rehearsing her narrow face for a part as a Funeral Director. Ashamed of myself for having the bad taste to stare, I abandoned my trolley and took a taxi to the Serpentine to see Tilda Swinton sleeping. Her serene face was shocking. As the next best thing to a corpse, it's understandable that Ms Swin- ton attracted 21,000 voyeurs. The problem with big Tilda is that she wasn't wearing pale satin pyjamas. Of course her denim outfit wasn't a turn-off to the hairy man standing beside me, who said, 'I wouldn't mind a poke at that.' I hope snoozy Swin- ton had a shot of morphine before the show so that she either didn't hear or didn't care. On the way out, I stopped to examine Queen Victoria's stockings. She either had thick thighs, or wore them wrinkly.
Dangerous Donald hadn't enjoyed the match. 'That Godzilla's a troublemaker,' Dangerous said as I put an ice-pack on his throbbing forehead. 'He only gets away with it because he's seven.' Let's hope wee 'Bob sure loves to camp.' Zilla outgrows football before he gets much bigger; though it was listening to Johnnie Deep's masochistic story about ex- girlfriend trouble that had given Dangerous his headache.
Gorgeous Johnnie Deep's girlfriend was clean when they first met, but got really involved with her job. She stopped wearing mascara and washing her hair. Forget all that nonsence about looks not being as important as the soul. That's exactly why looks matter: your soul shows in your face. Johnnie Deep dumped his girlfriend, but did the liberal thing and agreed to 'weekly meetings'. These weekly meetings are com- mon in separated couples who can't afford an analyst. The man has to sit and listen to the morally megalomaniac woman explain- ing why he's a pig. 'Pray that my headache's gone tomorrow,' Dangerous said. 'I promised wee Zilla we'd take him to the zoo and he's always in a vicious mood when the team's lost.'
In the middle of the night I woke feeling guilty for not siding with Antonia de Sancha against the heroin housewives. Then again, I don't want people thinking I'm a lipstick lesbian. I looked everywhere, but couldn't find the diamond anklet Irene the Slut gave me. I definitely kept it. Aun- tie Irene's glamourpuss materialism is a healthy reminder that there's nothing worse than a tart who doesn't have a good time.
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