Elevenses

Bev thought Gordon made for quite a nice boyfriend. He was a young politician, although his popularity couldn’t have been due to his good looks, she was sorry to say. But at 25 years old he held an active student card for discounted movies, tickets, meals etc. And he had a sizeable HECS debt to his credit.

Bev didn’t care about Gordon’s looks, nor even his battered car with crumpled panels and no hub caps. What mattered – obviously – was the profile. She made quite a display of herself in his open-top VW Beetle as Gordon drove down Collins Street in the city in the early evening, Bev waving to sundry folk and calling out to surprised passers-by as if she knew them. So chic!

“Camila!” she yelled in the general direction of a busy mother emerging from the Deli. “When are we on for canapes, darling?”

Gordon turned a shade redder and would have floored it, if he were not under strict instructions from Bev to crawl down the street, delaying the traffic for maximum pretentious effect.

The next day, Bev threw caution to the wind and went on a shopping spree, buying nearly 30 dressy suits and frocks suitable for Liberal party functions and luncheons with community members. Now that Gordon was elected it was important she looked the part. She would use Sarah Palin as her style guide. She would search high and wide to find those gauche spectacles: hang it all, she would even use the internet if she had to.