relieved when the wine arrived.
'You could hire a nanny,' Jen suggested, after they'd gone through the ritual of Georgina tasting and approving. 'If you can afford it.'
Obviously she looked as if she could, but you never knew. When they first met her they'd heard a lot about how her grandmother was going to leave her 'oodles' of money, but it would seem callous to ask if the old lady was still alive. Georgina had been very fond of her.
'Sure she can,' Meg answered for her. 'All she's gotta do is quit eating in places like this and go check out McDonald's more often. What I'm wondering is why we couldn't meet in London. The train fare alone cost me hours of shivering in front of a bunch of pervs with pencils, closing in to get the exact dimensions of my crack.' She laughed at their astonished faces, gratified at her ability to shock. 'I model for an art college. Pay's pathetic but it's better than waiting tables.'
'You're not kidding, are you?' Jen marvelled. 'Since when?'
'Six months or so. And why would I kid about it?' Meg emptied her glass of wine in two quick gulps and refilled it.
'I couldn't do it.' Georgina gave an exaggerated shudder. 'Not in a million years. I would die rather than let anyone ogle me in the nude. I don't even like having sex without the lights off.'
'Seriously, what do I care if someone sees my ass – or my tits?' Meg thrust out her chest, hand behind her head in a Marilyn Monroe pose. 'So happens I've real fine nipples, outstanding, some might say.'
'I can't imagine anyone paying to sketch my skinny bod,' Jen reflected. 'Not unless they're practising drawing stick people.'
'Yes, well, not for a million pounds,' Georgina declared. 'It might be sexy and oh so modern—'
'Modern? Are you for real?' Meg interrupted, flabbergasted. 'You reckon Rubens painted from imagination? Get your head out from under your Victorian crinoline, girl.'
'Maybe I am old-fashioned,' Georgina looked unrepentant, 'but I was going to say I think exposing yourself is the definition of crass.'
'Yes, and starving is the definition of futility,' Meg said grimly. 'Holding the same position for hours is damned hard work, nothing sexy about it.'
'Let's agree to disagree,' Georgina conceded graciously. 'And anyway, dinner tonight is on me. No, don't argue,' she held up her hand though no one was, 'I insist. Order whatever you like. It'll be a business expense for Giordani.'
'Oh well, in that case . . .' Meg's good humour was instantly restored. 'Hand over that menu.' She looked up as the waiter loomed again. 'I'll start with the stuffed mushrooms. And,' she smiled at the others, 'shall we share a plate of calamari? I'm famished.'
'I'd be happy to remove this place setting,' the waiter suggested. 'That way you'll have more room.'
'No!' Jen placed a protective hand over it. 'We have one more person coming.' When he left she asked, 'So, Meg, what else are you up to, apart from posing?'
'Yeah, enough about you, Georgie,' Meg tossed her red hair. 'Let's talk about me for a minute,' she joked spoofing her old self-obsessed ways. 'I'm an actress, dahlings. Can't you tell?'
Hamming it up hugely, she put a finger coquettishly to her cheek, pretending to think. 'So . . . I did some extra work when I was in LA, took a few classes and then enrolled at a drama school in London. My godfather helped a bit with the tuition – he's a movie producer. Schlock low-budget horror things.'
'How can you have a godfather?' Georgina demanded. 'Herb's an atheist and Clover always insisted she was a white witch.'
'Wiccan,' Meg corrected. 'So what? Who says Christianity has the monopoly on godfathers? Anyhow,' she grimaced, 'now I'm thinking I should have stuck to LA or New York. I mean diction is for the birds. Lee Strasberg didn't care if Marlon mumbled, did he?' She stretched for the wine bottle again.
'Listen to the two of you,' Jen moaned, suffering from a mammoth inferiority complex. 'I feel so boring. I'm just a humble old secretary.
'You could hire a nanny,' Jen suggested, after they'd gone through the ritual of Georgina tasting and approving. 'If you can afford it.'
Obviously she looked as if she could, but you never knew. When they first met her they'd heard a lot about how her grandmother was going to leave her 'oodles' of money, but it would seem callous to ask if the old lady was still alive. Georgina had been very fond of her.
'Sure she can,' Meg answered for her. 'All she's gotta do is quit eating in places like this and go check out McDonald's more often. What I'm wondering is why we couldn't meet in London. The train fare alone cost me hours of shivering in front of a bunch of pervs with pencils, closing in to get the exact dimensions of my crack.' She laughed at their astonished faces, gratified at her ability to shock. 'I model for an art college. Pay's pathetic but it's better than waiting tables.'
'You're not kidding, are you?' Jen marvelled. 'Since when?'
'Six months or so. And why would I kid about it?' Meg emptied her glass of wine in two quick gulps and refilled it.
'I couldn't do it.' Georgina gave an exaggerated shudder. 'Not in a million years. I would die rather than let anyone ogle me in the nude. I don't even like having sex without the lights off.'
'Seriously, what do I care if someone sees my ass – or my tits?' Meg thrust out her chest, hand behind her head in a Marilyn Monroe pose. 'So happens I've real fine nipples, outstanding, some might say.'
'I can't imagine anyone paying to sketch my skinny bod,' Jen reflected. 'Not unless they're practising drawing stick people.'
'Yes, well, not for a million pounds,' Georgina declared. 'It might be sexy and oh so modern—'
'Modern? Are you for real?' Meg interrupted, flabbergasted. 'You reckon Rubens painted from imagination? Get your head out from under your Victorian crinoline, girl.'
'Maybe I am old-fashioned,' Georgina looked unrepentant, 'but I was going to say I think exposing yourself is the definition of crass.'
'Yes, and starving is the definition of futility,' Meg said grimly. 'Holding the same position for hours is damned hard work, nothing sexy about it.'
'Let's agree to disagree,' Georgina conceded graciously. 'And anyway, dinner tonight is on me. No, don't argue,' she held up her hand though no one was, 'I insist. Order whatever you like. It'll be a business expense for Giordani.'
'Oh well, in that case . . .' Meg's good humour was instantly restored. 'Hand over that menu.' She looked up as the waiter loomed again. 'I'll start with the stuffed mushrooms. And,' she smiled at the others, 'shall we share a plate of calamari? I'm famished.'
'I'd be happy to remove this place setting,' the waiter suggested. 'That way you'll have more room.'
'No!' Jen placed a protective hand over it. 'We have one more person coming.' When he left she asked, 'So, Meg, what else are you up to, apart from posing?'
'Yeah, enough about you, Georgie,' Meg tossed her red hair. 'Let's talk about me for a minute,' she joked spoofing her old self-obsessed ways. 'I'm an actress, dahlings. Can't you tell?'
Hamming it up hugely, she put a finger coquettishly to her cheek, pretending to think. 'So . . . I did some extra work when I was in LA, took a few classes and then enrolled at a drama school in London. My godfather helped a bit with the tuition – he's a movie producer. Schlock low-budget horror things.'
'How can you have a godfather?' Georgina demanded. 'Herb's an atheist and Clover always insisted she was a white witch.'
'Wiccan,' Meg corrected. 'So what? Who says Christianity has the monopoly on godfathers? Anyhow,' she grimaced, 'now I'm thinking I should have stuck to LA or New York. I mean diction is for the birds. Lee Strasberg didn't care if Marlon mumbled, did he?' She stretched for the wine bottle again.
'Listen to the two of you,' Jen moaned, suffering from a mammoth inferiority complex. 'I feel so boring. I'm just a humble old secretary.
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