Double Entendre - Chapter 1: French beginnings
Sick of the taunts that they write like Mills & Boon authors, Nick Churchouse and Lane Nichols are facing their critics head on and penning a romantic novella over the following fortnight.
The Lost Boys proudly present: Double Entendre.
Chapter 1: French beginnings
The tall gangly youth behind the counter serving Rhiaynne her coffee was the first non-beautiful person she had seen all day. But even he had something of a sexy sway about him, comfortable in his spotty teenage world.
The French were starting to piss her off.
London seemed so far away, so distant, despite the fact she’d only moved out of the flat in Earl’s Court a week ago.
It felt like a whole lifetime had passed since she’d lugged her pack onto the Eurostar. She’d turned her back on that life gladly. But as much as she wouldn’t admit it to herself, she knew there had been no choice.
France had seemed the best place to go - so close, and a fresh start, if even just temporarily. Only a short train ride under the channel, Paris was about as removed as she could get from the neighbourhood that had been her home away from home for three years - and ultimately her self-esteem’s sacrificial altar.
She glanced around the café as her “coffee o lay” came over the counter, together with a teenage smirk that unsettled her. She couldn’t work these frogs out. Why didn’t they just know what a flat white was? She knew basic French and was trying to blend in, but they never seemed to cut her any slack, and she hated them for it.
They clearly didn’t know the meaning of hospitality, and she marveled at how robust her manners were and how tolerant she was given all she had been through in the past fortnight.
She put it down to her upbringing. Putaruru College had given her a good grounding, and the ringbinder of required service standards in the multinational chain she’d trained in had armed her with an enviable ability to relate to people. After all, just like the secret herbs and spices, they came all the way down from Colonel Sanders - and you didn’t get to be a colonel without some pretty awesome people skills, she imagined.
“Mur-see,” she nodded at the youngster in her best KFC deputy assistant shift leader voice, prompting only a dismissive eyebrow as he turned to the next woman in line, a precocious twenty-something dressed like she had stepped straight out of a Jean-Paul Gaultier show.
Flashy bitch, Rhiaynne thought.
She’d be laughed out of the RSA at home, and probably wouldn’t even get into the Grumpy Mole in Hamilton.
Taking a seat near the door, Rhiaynne looked out at the wintery street and all the Frenchies going about their day. She was so lonely.
It was only three weeks ago that she had been sitting in Gav’s flat, using his work laptop to talk on Skype with her Mum, telling crazy stories about London.
It was a blur back then, lurching from one dance party to another, 2am kebabs with the Kiwi crowd, getting wasted after work at Canary Wharf and imagining how rich each suit on the Metro was, late night shopping in Covent Garden with Razza and Julz.
She had seemed so proud, but Rhiaynne couldn’t bring herself to confess the latest turn of events. She’d lied, saying she was having an extended break after a girls’ trip to Octoberfest. Her mother wouldn’t understand, and would probably take Gavin’s side. She had always thought Gavin was the right man for her daughter, a thought Rhiaynne had shared as they had rollerbladed in Hyde Park, pub crawled through Venice and he’d held her hair as she threw up on the street outside the Walkabout.
But thinking about Gav now just made her want to powerchuck all over again. Thinking about telling her Mum it was all over made her feel like vomiting so hard it’d come out her nose. It was a feeling she’d promised herself she’d never go through again.
Paris would be the balm for a broken heart, she’d thought. The city of love, a place she’d longed to go with Gavin. It would have been so great, she had often thought. She could have bought him some French gears, something real “haute couture” like Lacoste. She knew he’d never wear anything like that, because he thought European fashion was “dumb”, but it would have been fun watching his cute monobrow crinkle in distaste at the suggestion.
She liked him in his denim shorts anyway, and his Taranaki Hard Core hoodie matched his jandals. He didn’t need a celebrity makeover. He was perfect.
She lingered on the word “was”, and put a fourth spoonful of sugar in her coffee to fend off the sour taste in her mouth.
“Bastard,” she muttered, unconsciously chewing her nails through clenched teeth. “Tres bastard.”
Lane Nichols will post Chapter 2 of Double Entendre tomorrow. Leave your suggestions for where he should take the plot in the comments below.
*blech*
Heres where to take the plot: To the bin!
Comment by Jasper — 1 December 2008 @ 11:04 am
Ahhh, so now we finally know who is the ‘chick’ of you two. Funny, I always thought it’d be Lane.
Tip to Nick, always blend your makeup right down your neck, rookie mistake there.
Comment by kater — 1 December 2008 @ 11:09 am
What happened to doing it from the guy’s point of view?
Thinking you could start from the gangly youth behind the counter’s point of view: Yet another English girl asking for their weird named coffees. Why can’t these stupid people just ask for coffee. He decided she was pretty cute, and wouldn’t mind putting her slippers under his bed, if only she’d shut up with that stupid sounding accent…
Haha…. etc etc etc…
Comment by Richard AKL — 1 December 2008 @ 11:20 am
So I’m guessing one of you lost the coin toss on being the girl on the cover?
Comment by Nick — 1 December 2008 @ 11:58 am
Does she have to be called Rhiaynne? Is it too late to change her name to something less trashy-stripper-solo mum?
Comment by Meg — 1 December 2008 @ 12:44 pm
Good choice on the name! I always find with books that I read a name in my head again and again and only when someone is talking about it do I realise that I am pronoucing it completely wrong. I am certain I have this one completely wrong. Couldn’t you have picked something simple?
Comment by Caroline — 1 December 2008 @ 12:52 pm
OMG! I miss London!!!!!
Comment by AILB — 1 December 2008 @ 12:53 pm
Am I the only one who cast aside my hatred of the romantic novella and decided to give these two misguided fellas a go?
Can’t stand the name, can’t quite get used to the colloquial style moderne - and yet, I managed a grin and even a chuckle a couple of times, so not all bad.
As for the cover. Tres …tongue in cheek.
Comment by daisydoo — 1 December 2008 @ 1:15 pm
Right! That’s it! I’ve turned my WiFi off for the next two weeks and run screaming from the room!! Call me when it’s over. In fact, no, don’t bother…
Comment by astropuss — 1 December 2008 @ 1:21 pm
A picture is definitely worth a thousand words.
Comment by richard — 1 December 2008 @ 1:31 pm
I’m guessing you opted to be the girl Nick so you could see how you look with less body hair. And to give you Lane the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be a buff bloke!!
And how the hell do you say that name Rhiaynne? Mowgli woulda been waaaay better!
Comment by Jojo — 1 December 2008 @ 1:56 pm
All the hair on Nicks body has simply been transplanted to his head.
I doubt very much those long flowing locks use ALL the hair. There must be some left over in dubious places.
Comment by Jasper — 1 December 2008 @ 2:16 pm
She thought to herself ….f— it, and got on a plane, back to Hamilton
The end.
Comment by melissa.b — 1 December 2008 @ 3:27 pm
Right! (sound of sleeves being rolled up - hard to do with this xyz tight-fitting Captain’s uniform btw)
Flashback one week to Rhiwatserface walking in to the “ladies” loos in one of those loathsome kiwi troughs in London(was the Church in my day - but substitute whatever the current one is)to either
(pick one):
- reapply the lippy (shade could be something like “passionflower vermillion”); or
- stick her fingers delicately down her throat (having decided that she didn’t really need that last bowl of wedges - didn’t want them sitting in her stomach and taking up drinking room); or
- Listen to drunken girly gossip from one of her shazza mates about Gavvy slipping it to another one of her friends - perhaps the attractively named “Julz” from your opening chapter.
Come to think of it - you should incorporate all three of these suggestions to create a stronger sense of the character development of whatserface.
She then hears a couple rooting loudly in one of the cubicles and, looking beneath the stall door, spots a distinctive set of jandles beneath a bundle of denim shorts and Jockey gruts………
Comment by CaptPicard — 1 December 2008 @ 4:03 pm
I’m with Meg and Caroline … I spent five minuutes trying to sound out the name and, like Caroline, I’m sure I’m still saying it wrong. What’s wrong with Rachel? Or Sharon? Or Angela? Why couldn’t you have given her a normal, kiwi girl name?
Perhaps tomorrow you could work a scenario into the plot where she has to book into a backpackers or youth hostel, or apply for a concession ticket for the metro system … because the poor blighter keeps getting her name wrong, she has to sound it out for him … that way we will all get it right!
Comment by RJ — 1 December 2008 @ 4:03 pm
The name is pronounced “Rain,” right? Like the stuff that comes out of the sky constantly in London and Auckland?
Comment by Jennifer — 1 December 2008 @ 4:13 pm
Actually - just thinking it through….
It would be funnier and FAR more romantic if you replaced the word “rooting” in my previous post with the phrase “engaged in flagrant carnal congress”.
There you go - now you’re all set for Chapter 2. Shouldn’t be too much work for Lane to polish that up.
Comment by CaptPicard — 1 December 2008 @ 4:16 pm
I was pronouncing it Ree-anne, rhyming with Leanne, only more bogan-like and with the unfortunate trend of ‘unique’ spelling… eg. Krysstynne, Rebekah, Em-magh, Jazmynne, Mushylle etc etc
Comment by m&m — 1 December 2008 @ 5:11 pm
Love the name! Love the premise! Heartbroken Kiwi bogan in France, tres magnifique.
Comment by em — 1 December 2008 @ 6:04 pm
I like to think that, at this stage of my reading-blogs-at-work career, I’ve all but mastered the art of inward laughter, but when I saw that picture this morning that all went out the door!
& this is definitely up your collective alley… just perhaps not so much that of your regular readers. But I didn’t mind it… I mean… it was okay? :’D
Comment by Lovefoxxx — 1 December 2008 @ 6:08 pm
Re: the name, again.
Can Gav turn out to be a bit of a stalker… so she changes her name.
How about Hannah, Millie, Sophie, Megan…
Thanks
Comment by Meg — 1 December 2008 @ 7:01 pm
Im sorry, but “cute monobrow” is an oxymoron right there.
*shudder*
Comment by kelp — 2 December 2008 @ 9:26 am
grumpy mole aint in hamilton!!
Comment by sally — 3 December 2008 @ 11:36 am
Precisely, Sally.
You’re thinking of Tauranga.. or.. New Plymouth. There might be one in Palmy too.
Comment by noodle — 4 December 2008 @ 9:43 am