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She went shopping with me for an appropriate dress and picked me a black dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination. It was alter neck with a cleavage that almost went down to my belly button and so short that the minimum movement and I would be exposed! I insisted I could never wear anything of the sort, that I was not slim and with perfect pear shape 34B boobs like her but she was having none of it. She told me that the bigger the boobs the better the desired effect my 36DDs were definitely going to have an effect. I looked in the mirror of the shop and let out a sigh and gave her my credit card in response. She smiled and dragged me to the cashier where my tiny amount of fabric inversely correlated with the huge amount of cash (should have checked the price tag before). So we went from the shop to her apartment where she told me to shave… completely, did my hair and painted my nails red to match the red lipstick. When I looked in the mirror I swear I did not recognised the. There was the ordinary snake-in-the-grass type, and then there was its slimy underbelly. Karl Boch and his poker buddies slithered with the latter. ‘Here take this.’ Dutch held out a glass with a double-shot of bourbon. ‘You look like you could use it.’ Moe took the glass and knocked back a mouthful of the amber liquid. The expensive hooch burned, and Moe relished the inferno on its slow descent to the pit of his stomach. He studied the remaining booze as he spoke. ‘I had you figured for a different kind of politicking, Dutch. The games these Kraut lovers play could get you a cement overcoat.’ Dutch shrugged his shoulders. ‘I didn’t get a vote in this election.’ Moe glanced over at Dutch. ‘Flamingo’s is your place, ain’t it?’ Dutch stood beside Moe, sipping his drink and staring through the mirror, avoiding Moe’s eye. ‘Some people you just can’t say no to.’ ‘Put that in writing, and I’ll paste it in my scrapbook.’ Dutch opened his mouth, but then suddenly went mute. Moe was waiting.
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