El Morocco was practically empty, save for a small gathering of lecturers from the art college nursing coffees and complaining about paperwork. Anais was busying herself filling up jars of La Peruche brown sugar. She looked over at the clock face and thought about someone she missed.
Marie marched through the door heavily in Belstaff boots. Her gait was inelegant, like a farmer. She had one of her angry rashes. When she got mad her face and neck went purple, which clashed violently with her albino hair. Anais followed her out to the courtyard and reached for the roll up and lighter in her pinny pocket.
"D'you want some coffee?"
"No. I'm fine. I just need one of these" Marie lit up a Marlboro light, and inhaled arrogantly.
"What's up with you then?" Anais asked.
"Rupert doesn't know I'm smoking again. He's being such a tosser about this apartment thing, and…." As she continued to splutter defiantly, vague suggestions of tears were building on her pale eyelashes. The mood in Marie's florist shop would be bleak. The staff would be in later, bitching about her in their tea breaks and Anais would have to laugh.
Anais and Marie went back years. They had both turned up from London at the same time, and Marie had hired Anais because she had answered a rude question rudely, and knew how to deal with customers the Bond St way. They found each other insufferable but had a grudging like for each other that never went away, despite their frequent 'differences of opinions'. Marie was vile, there was no question of that, but Anais always managed in some small way to be amused by her often-appalling behaviour. There was the strange habit of affecting different accents. On a good day you'd get a kind of Madonna on helium American accent, on a bad day you may get a grating Australian, and you always knew you were in trouble with Marie if you got the clipped upper class British accent. That was usually game over. Another spat, another rash, more smoking.
Marie had been with 'Rupy' since their late teens. She was a rebel expelled; he was a private school boy prone to the type of giggling fits that only come so easily to the privileged classes. She spoiled him when it suited her, with childish gifts of sweeties and junk food. His being a plastic surgeon amused her, and it comforted her that one day he actually may be of some use to her. The spoils of his work were her bread and butter. The spoils of her work were frittered away on expensive accessories, bottles of champagne and cigarettes. Marie made bold claims, she claimed she had once been possessed (which Anais thought may well explain the accents) and that her Mothers jewellery was too expensive to insure. No one was sure whether to believe her or not.
"So I've had enough, and I called the Agents, and said absolutely no way. And Daddy thinks I should just stick to my guns. Ok, I've got to fly. I've got 3 weddings this weekend and I've got two off sick." The Belstaff boots stamped out the butt of her cigarette. Marie found it hard to tolerate sickness, or any kinds of human weakness come to that. Anais pulled her best sympathetic face, shook the parasol they had shared and put it back in the umbrella stand.
The lecturers had gone, spent post-it notes screwed up in empty lipstick smeared cups. Anais started to clear the table and thought to herself that people never change, they just get more so.