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Listeners' Fantasies |
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Dolores
by Boudicca (Queen)
 Visitors to the Fantasy Archers topic of The Archers message board regularly enjoy seamy slices of Ambridge life, dredged from the foetid imaginings of Boudicca (Queen). This is her latest wonderfully grimy offering:
Shula gazed disconsolately at her legs; once upon a time they could have been described (fairly accurately) as "lithe and sinewy". Cellulite and gravity had changed all that. And then there was the hair. She had tried all the usual things; depilatory creams left her delicate Archer skin red and raw as if it had been scrubbed with wire wool, razors were fine ... until your legs developed five o'clock shadow and home waxing had left scars, both physical and emotional, that would never quite heal. Shula knew that there was only one answer - an appointment at Giovanni's in Felpersham. The beauty therapists there were so botoxed to the brows that no hint of disgust or pity ever showed on their faces. And she wanted to look her best. It was summer and she wanted to wear floaty, feminine things. Things that Alan might notice. Alistair didn't seem to notice anything much these days; since he'd stopped gambling he'd become listless and vague. Alan was different. Since she'd met Alan, Shula had experienced a new understanding of muscular Christianity.
Susan bent over the tiny sink in the cramped caravan, trying to apply "Autumn Harvest" to her hair. The packaging had said that "Autumn Harvest" would cover her grey hair with rich tones and highlights, gently harmonising with her natural colour. It didn't say anything about how difficult it was to spread the dye evenly with no one to help, or how it would drip everywhere and splatter the towels or how bloody difficult it was to turn round in a caravan without jabbing yourself on the furniture. Susan wanted to look her best for Emma's big day and a long hard look in the mirror had shown her a drab, frumpy woman with greying mousey hair and frosted lipstick. "Autumn Harvest" was to be the first step in her mother-of-the-bride makeover and she just hoped it would be worth it. It would certainly be worth it if it made the vicar give her a second glance ...
At the front of Giovanni's, amongst the marble, gilded mirrors and potted palms, Mercedes Goodman was being escorted to her hairdresser by a minion carrying magazines and refreshments. Mercedes had been a customer from the very beginning and all her appointments were with Giovanni himself. Mercedes and Giovanni had a friendship that went back more than 20 years, ever since the night that Sir Sidney had asked Mercedes to organise a rent boy for one of his business associates. With Mercedes' help Johnny from Catford had blossomed into Giovanni from Milan and his business had flourished. Everyone who mattered went to Giovanni's and they all had their little secrets. There wasn't a body buried in the whole of Borsetshire that Mercedes and Giovanni didn't know about.
In the back of Giovanni's, in one of the pristine treatment rooms, Dolores admired her own long, slender legs. It had been tedious and unpleasant to be waxed, slathered in fake tan and then have that clumsy girl do her pedicure, but the end result was worth it. Dolores felt gloriously feminine and now that she knew that Alan Franks was one of Abigail's regulars a whole new world of possibilities seemed to be opening up.
****
It was in the aftermath of his annual Christmas sherry party that Bishop Cyril heard his sister Thelma's verdict on Alan Franks.
"He'll cause trouble with the women, Cyril."
Bishop Cyril was as close as he ever got to gobsmacked. "But why? He's not especially good looking."
"He's no matinee idol certainly, but an awful lot of women like that craggy type and he simply oozes testosterone."
"Does he?"
The reasons women found some men attractive were an impenetrable mystery to the bishop.
"Oh yes. Trust me Cyril, that combination of broad shoulders and almost fanatical idealism is irresistible to some women. And besides he has lovely eyes."
Thelma's 30-year career as the headmistress of an expensive (and academically demanding) girls' school made her, in Cyril's eyes, something of an expert when it came to the more extreme forms of feminine behaviour and he took her warning seriously.
"Oh good lord, it'll be worse than when that silly girl wanted to run off with the doctor! Are you quite sure?"
"Use a bit of common sense Cyril! An attractive, single vicar in a country parish where the most popular local entertainment is toxic gossip? It'll be hair-pulling and handbags at dawn before a year is out, so don't say I didn't warn you!"
Dolores enjoyed her work; it wasn't just the money, though she'd nearly cleared her debts now, it was the excitement of it too. Each man was different and she was different too; the clothes, the role they wanted her to play and the intoxicating sense of risk made her feel more alive than she had in months. Dolores was leading a double life and loving it.
Part 2 of this story.
Discover Dolores' real identity in .
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