That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Fatmammycat gunned the Maserati round the cobbles in a skitter of squeals.
The private show had gone well. Very well indeed. She patted the sharkskin portfolio on the passenger seat beside her. They had lapped it all up. This time next year, fashion week would be toasting FMC Internationale as the new black. In five years, street markets across the continent would be awash with Chinese counterfeits of her new label. She had arrived.

In the basement carpark, Fatmammycat pressed for the penthouse elevator.
As she did, some of the lights flickered and went out. She instinctively moved away from the wall, into some space on the floor.

In a rush of black silken taffeta they were upon her. Six of them. Fashion Ninjas, and by their scent and Paris manicures they were D & G. Obviously.

“No matter what,” she thought, taking up her defensive stance, “they must not get those designs.”

At Milan airport, Ronnie Hennessy relaxed into the backseat of a taxi.
“Piazza Del Santa Maria” he ordered.

They circled her, feigning attacks, trying to draw her out. She stood her ground, waiting her chance.
The elevator pinged.
“Now or never” she thought.
Before the weighted handbags started to rain down, she pushed through to the lift which now stood with its doors open, then turned to face them. None of them dared approach the cornered feline in such an enclosed space, but instead gathered just out of claw reach, mewling and posing and striking the right attitude with what light was available, cursing her most foully.

“Marks and Spencer,” said one, her faultless teeth framed in beautiful full lips now twisted into an erotic pout.

“Come on come on!” thought Fatmammycat as she stabbed in the code that would take her home to safety.

“Top Shop.” said another, running her hand down her waist to rest on her hip, accentuating the superb cut and workmanship of her outfit.

“Jesus,” Thought Fatmammycat as the doors started to close with treacle slowness.

When the gap was less than a foot, the tallest of them, their leader presumably, leaned her impeccable upturned nose in to deliver her venomous barb.

“T K Maxx!” she hissed.

“Oh Christ nooo” Fatmammycat heard herself say as her world spun and the merciful embrace of unconsciousness took her in its yummy arms.

No comments: