Tales From a Broad

by Melange Books, LLC

  The heavy, dark wooden door to the pub made me strain from its weight as I pulled it open. Once inside, the smell of fried food enveloped me. My mouth immediately filled with water. I hadn’t eaten a thing since that morning’s all-you-could-eat bread buffet.

  The establishment was everything I had always pictured an English pub to be. Worn oak flooring, wood paneling, gas lamps, and etched glass windows. I looked over at the bar and saw a dozen beers on tap, greasy potato chips, and jars of hard-boiled eggs. Since egg breath isn’t exactly a turn-on across the Atlantic, I wondered whether people actually ate the eggs. That’s when I heard Tess calling my name.

  I followed the sound of her voice and saw her waving at me from a table in the corner. She was sitting with three guys, and yes, I had to admit, they were pretty cute. I pulled my hair into a pony and walked towards the group. Of course our never-ending travel day hadn’t taken a toll on her. Tess’s glossy hair was still shining, and she looked like she should be on the cover of a travel magazine. The guys were hanging on her every word as she sat there like Princess Kate holding court.

  When I got closer, I realized with dismay that I was old enough to be the young men’s mother. They were around Tess’s age, and I suddenly felt ancient. There I was, in my Burberry shoes, leggings, and cardigan, which were perfect for afternoon tea at the Savoy. Then there was Tess and the rest of the pub, dressed in skinny jeans and graphic print tees.

  One of the guys looked over at me and made a guttural sound that truly frightened me. I wasn’t sure if he was choking or if there was a dog with a Midwest accent being strangled inside of his body.

  “Are you okay?” I said. For reasons unbeknownst to me, his friends burst out laughing. Tess had to bite her lip to keep from laughing herself.

  “I would imagine that was supposed to be a purr,” Tess translated. “Aunt Lucy, this is Chaz.”

  Ah. That explained a lot. I’ve never met a Chaz, but he was exactly what I would have expected to go along with the name. He seemed to be fueled by their laughter, too pompous to even realize they were laughing at him.

  “Aunt Lucy,” Chaz said, giving me the once-over. “You are much hotter than I would have expected an aunt to be. A Brit would probably call you shagtastic, but I prefer the term cougar,” he said, with a wink.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I may look like one, sweetie, but I don’t date younger men.”

  “Who said anything about dating?” he challenged.

  I gave him my best fake smile and turned to Tess. “Um,” I mumbled under my breath, “what do you say we lose the aunt title for this trip?”

  “Good idea,” Tess said. She smiled and handed me a Carl’s Lager. “Let me introduce you to the nice guys. I had no idea,” she said under her breath. “He hadn’t really said much before you got here.”

  I waved my hand dismissively and took a big gulp of the beer. I hadn’t expected it to be so bitter, and I forced myself to swallow.

  One guy jumped to his feet and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Mark, this is Sam, and that’s an acquired taste.” He made a face and gestured to my beer.

  I shook their hands and smiled. “I’d heard English beer tasted a bit different, but ...wait, are you talking about the beer or your friend?” I pointed my thumb in Chaz’s direction.

  “Hey!” Chaz cried. “I take offense to that.”

  Sam snickered, and Mark held up his bottle to mine. “Good one.”

  “I’ll clink to that,” I returned.

  “They have American beers on tap.” Mark laughed and motioned to the bartender. “No offense, Chaz, but you do leave a bit of an aftertaste. He may be one of our friends,” Mark said, with a hand on his chest, “but please don’t hold it against us.”

  “I’m actually a fraternity brother,” Chaz corrected with pride.

  “And you think that helps your case?” I said.

  My kind audience laughed again, and though I was serious, the reaction lifted my spirits. I might be old, but I could still hang.

  “So you guys are from Chicago,” I said. “For how long are you travelling?”

  “These guys,” Mark said, motioning to the others, “have been backpacking for a few weeks already. Can’t you smell?” He winked at me and took a sip of his beer. “This is only my first stop. I’m traveling with my older brother, who you actually just missed. He went off in search of a converter. Anyway, he and I are planning to spend a week in Paris and a couple of weeks in Italy.”

  Tess rested her hand on his shoulder. “Aunt ... I mean, Lucy, you and Mark are cut from the same mold. He’s doing the hotel thing.”

  “Ah,” I said. “I’m jealous.”

  “Err ... excuse me,” said a deep voice with a British accent, from behind us.

  I turned around and came face-to-face with a young man. He had the whole rocker thing going on—long bangs, skinny jeans, and the tightest t-shirt I’d ever seen in my life. I was starting to doubt I’d be bumping into the Colin Firth type on this trip.

  “I’m with a local British network, and we’re currently recruiting for a new reality series. It’s kind of like “The Real World,” only cooler,” he boasted.

  Tess squeezed my arm so hard she actually left nail marks.

  “Your mother would kill you,” I whispered in her ear.

  “Sweet,” said Chaz. “Where’s it gonna be?”

  “I’m afraid it’s still up in the air, but Amsterdam looks like a front runner.”

  “Dude, three months in Amsterdam. Sign me up,” Chaz exclaimed.

  “That actually sounds pretty cool,” I admitted.

  “Well, not you,” the guy said. He gave me a strange look and scratched his chin. “Unless... Well, maybe we can use you, after all.” He paused to look at me thoughtfully.

  “No.” I chuckled and held my hand up in protest. It never occurred to me I would be included in this. I hoped this trip would bring me more excitement than I had expected. However, I had been thinking more along the lines of a class act. Not a shit show.

  “Yeah ... wait ... the more I think about this...” He slowly nodded his head.

  “Are you kidding me?” I narrowed my eyes and wondered if I was getting Punk’d. I half expected Ashton Kutcher to pop up from behind the jars of pickled eggs, but the guy didn’t seem to be joking in the slightest.

  “Absobloodylutely not!” he exclaimed. “In fact, you may add a good twist to the season.” He appeared to be getting rather excited, and although there was no way in hell I would ever allow myself to appear in a reality show, there was a tiny piece of me that enjoyed the attention. I may not have been a frontrunner, but it was nice to even be considered for a show with a young demographic.

  “Well, I am a twisted sister,” I joked, laughing awkwardly. Tess subtly held out her hand to me and wore an alarmed expression on her face.

  The guy glanced down at his clipboard as I leaned towards Tess. “What’s with the look?” I whispered.

  “Twisted sister?” She cocked her head to the side and gave me a pointed look.

  “It’s a hip show,” I hissed. “I was trying to sound...”

  “Eighties?”

  I feigned a hurt expression and was caught off guard when the guy looked up at me expectantly.

  “Are you around tomorrow to pop in for an interview?” he said.

  “Yes she is!” Tess shrieked. “We’ll make her available.”

  I smiled modestly and shook my head good-naturedly. “Guys, I really don’t think this is my thing.” I placed a hand on my chest. Boy, did it feel good to be flattered.

  “Nonsense,” he scoffed. “I’m really liking this dynamic.” He waved his hand around the group.

  “What dynamic?” I said, fishing for compliments.

  “Ya know ... you hangin’ with the younger blokes. It’s brilliant! Most of the older women I come across are all fur coat and no knickers. You seem to have a little more depth. You got the whole fresh face thing working...”

  I looked at Tess who
grimaced. “I see,” I said quietly, feeling suddenly foolish.

  “Dude, I get it. Like a hot den mother type o’ thing?” Chaz said, foaming at the mouth.

  “Something like that, man,” he replied enthusiastically. “We never had a season where the ages were totally mixed, and I think having a mature woman in the house could be interesting. A shag here and there...”

  The network visionary continued on with his grand ole plan to make a spectacle out of me and I felt increasingly like a little girl who had been busted for playing dress up, but in reverse. I was an older woman who had been busted for dressing down. It wasn’t my clothes, but rather my surroundings. What had I been thinking, trying to pass myself off as a carefree traveler? It wasn’t as if I had deliberately tried to fit in with the younger, happy-go-lucky crowd, but still. I certainly wished I could.

  “Helloooo, Mrs. Robinson!” Chaz exclaimed, snapping me out of my reverie.

  “That’s not my style,” I said curtly. “I don’t do younger.”

  “Oh, rubbish,” the guy dismissed. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “Not for me.” I turned my back on him.

  “It’s a TV show, for shit’s sake!” he cried. “Don’t be an arse.”

  “I don’t think so,” I smiled through gritted teeth and muttered, “arsehole” under my breath. A raucous crowd of young men and women came through the door, and nobody protested when he walked off to make an introduction.

  The group felt just as sorry for me as I felt for myself. What was I thinking, even engaging him in such a ridiculous conversation? There has never been anyone over thirty on a show like “The Real World” and I certainly didn’t intend to be the first.

  * * * *

  The following evening, Tess and I waited in Covent Garden Plaza for a taxi to take us to the train station. The next Eurostar was scheduled to leave for Brussels in an hour, and we were still a forty-five minute cab ride away. It was starting to rain, so when one pulled over, naturally I ran to it and jumped in. I slid my bag across the seat to make room for Tess and was startled by the sound of frantic knocking on my window.

  I saw an attractive young woman, and I cautiously unrolled the window. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh sure, now you want to help,” she spat, her face scrunched into a look of disdain. “Now that your ass is sitting on the seat I was supposed to have,” she growled, poking herself in the chest. A big raindrop plopped onto her cheek, and I watched mascara run down her painted face.

  “What are you talking about? My niece and I have been waiting for...”

  “I was here before you!” she shouted.

  “Noooo,” I said slowly.

  “Ladies, where are you going?” the driver called over his shoulder.

  “Victoria Station,” Tess replied. “Aunt Lu, roll up the window,” she pleaded.

  Tess didn’t have to twist my arm. I rolled the window up as the car began to move.

  The woman began to pound on the window fast and furiously. “Chav,” she yelled. “You low-life, American chav.”

  The driver made a groaning sound. Tess and I looked at each other quizzically.

  “Chav? Is that the best she could do? Is that even a word?” I demanded.

  The driver looked at us in his rear view mirror. “She looked a bit dodgy. Pay her no mind. She’s talking bollocks.”

  Tess had been fiddling around on her phone. “Give me a break... It says here that a chav is a term for an uneducated hoodlum in the United Kingdom. What an idiot.” She shook her head.

  I clicked my tongue. “Ew. Ignoramus. What else does it say?”

  “A chav can be a juvenile delinquent who is amoral, vandalizes, paints graffiti, and speaks in slang. Or...” Tess gasped, “She can come in an older version and be a trashy, classless cheeseball.” Tess winced and looked at me apologetically. “Aunt Lu, I really think we’ve read enough.”

  “No,” I said through gritted teeth. “Go on.”

  Tess groaned and reluctantly looked down at her phone. “In London, the chav trademark is none other than Burberry.” She pressed a button on her phone and tossed it into her bag.

  My mouth fell agape. “Wow.” I paused and swallowed. “Wow. The hat and shoes I’ve been proudly sporting all over London basically has marked me, a forty-two year old woman, as a certified chavberry.”

  “So much for playing it safe with labels, huh?” Tess poked me in the ribs with her elbow. “You hell raiser,” she teased.

  I pulled the hat over my eyes and slumped down in my seat.

  Chapter Three

  Goodbye London, Hello Amsterdam!

  Facebook Status June 6 at 10:00pm

  Tess and I ran to the platform just as the train to Brussels pulled into Victoria Station. I was pleasantly surprised when we stepped into the car, which was in pristine condition, both immaculate and rather luxurious.

  The plush seats were also inviting with their soft, navy blue velvet covers. After we’d settled, I immediately reclined my chair.

  “Ah,” I sighed with a smile. “I hope our connecting train to Amsterdam is just as nice. Clean, comfortable seats, a menu... Now these are the unexpected joys of travel.” I picked up the menu and read the dinner options.

  Tess gave me a sideways look. “Well, what did you expect? You purchased first-class tickets.”

  I nodded. “True. Well, I’ve had enough of feeling like a second class citizen. All I have to say is, Cheerio!”

  “Oh come on,” Tess admonished. “We had some fun, no?”

  “Absobloodylutely,” I said in a British accent, mocking the guy we’d met the night before. “No seriously, London was amazing. I loved everything we did. St. Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abby.... “ I frowned and paused. “It’s just that some of the extraneous variables threw me off.”

  Tess nodded her head knowingly.

  “I vote we stay somewhere a bit nicer when we stop back here on our way home. I need a re-do. Those living conditions were awful.”

  The train began to pull out of the station. When I looked at Tess for a response, I noticed she was staring out the window, looking forlorn.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. The last thing I wanted was for my niece to regret taking the trip with me. Because my wedding day was supposed to have been the next day, I think I was a little more down than usual. I bit my thumbnail and waited for her to look at me.

  She seemed to be lost in a world of her own as she played with the hem of her skirt.

  “Tess?”

  She turned to look at me. “Hmm?” she said with a tight-lipped smile.

  “I’m sorry I complained so much.”

  “Oh, please,” she said with a wave of her hand. “We stayed in a dump. I just feel...” She paused and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Kind of bummed we’re leaving. My experience was a little different than the one you had.”

  “Mark?” I wiggled my eyebrows and smiled.

  Tess’s cheeks turned pinkish as she nodded. “We had so much fun last night, Aunt Lu.” Her eyes sparkled, and a slow smile spread across her face.

  “I figured. I didn’t even hear you come in.” I hoped that I sounded nonchalant, but all day, I’d been dying for the details. Tess had always been honest with me, but still, I hadn’t wanted to pry and make her uncomfortable. On this trip, I may have been more of a friend than an aunt, but one fact still remained. I was her mother’s sister.

  “I got back late. Very. We spent the entire night talking,” she added quickly. “We stayed in the pub for about three hours after you left, and then we took a ride on the London Eye.”

  I sucked in my breath and placed a hand on my chest. “Doesn’t that go like two hundred feet in the air?”

  “Actually, to be exact, it went four hundred and forty three amazing feet high. The view of London was spectacular. Especially at night.”

  The look on Tess’s face was really something. She seemed to have come alive as she talked. I opene
d my mouth to speak, but she cut me off at the pass.

  “Hey, did you know Big Ben is really the name of the bell in the tower? Locals just call it the clock tower. That’s what Mark told me. By the way, he’s so smart, Aunt Lu. He just finished his M.B.A from Boston University.”

  I nodded in approval. “He sounds...”

  “We have so much in common too!”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face. I couldn’t recall ever seeing her this excited about any guy.

  “Books, movies, TV... You name it. Anyway, he and his brother are going to be in Paris at the same time we are. So, maybe I’ll meet up with him. If that’s ok with you,” she quickly added. “I don’t have to see him. We’re just friends ... though it might be nice.”

  I looked at her and rolled my eyes. “Gee, you think?” I said pointedly. “Of course you’re going to see him!”

  I rummaged through my snack bag for peanuts and noticed a string had come loose on the hem of her skirt.

  “You’ve been fiddling with this so much that you’re coming undone.” I reached over and twirled the string around my finger before I gave it a gentle tug. “It’s really beautiful though.”

  And that it was. The skirt fell above her knee and was made from a thick lime green cotton fabric with pale pink swirls cascading throughout. The hem was about two inches wide and a darker pink textured ribbon.

  “Did you get it on Portobello Road?”

  “No.” Tess smiled shyly. “You’re kind. I made it the night before we left.”

  I swallowed the peanut whole. “You made this? You made this? Oh my God, Tess.”

  “What? It’s not a big deal, Aunt Lu. It took me an hour. Finding the fabric was the hardest part.”

  “Oh, just shut up and say thank you. It’s amazing. Here I thought home décor was your thing. This trip is getting better and better. I’m travelling with a designer.”

  Tess gave me a funny look as she paused to reach into my bag for a handful of peanuts. “And I am travelling with a total nut bag.”

  * * * *

  We arrived in Amsterdam at nine that night. Since we had to change trains in Brussels, the trip had taken a little more than six hours. We went straight to the hostel, which was thankfully much nicer than the one where we’d previously stayed.