A Few Sandwiches Short Of A Picnic (Part Two)

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

“Good afternoon, gentlemen, if that's the right word,” the black woman said with a smile as she passed the truckers' table and approached the counter, where Joe was standing with his spatula in his hand staring at her breasts. “No dribbling Joe, please. Can I order four coffees? No sugar, just a spot of milk and a sweetener in two of them – us girls have to watch our waistlines.”

“There's no need for that, love, we'll watch 'em for you,” Stinky Pete said, eliciting a nervous snicker from his colleagues.

“I'm sure you will,” the black woman said as the group sat at the next table. “My name is Candice, and this is Helen, Catalina and Dainty – pleased to meet you. I understand you're all lorry drivers?”

“Mostly we are,” Gideon said, “except for Stinky Pete, 'e only pretends to be a lorry driver. 'E can't drive, in fact I doubt if 'e can do anythin' remotely useful. 'E's a poseur, an' 'e only comes 'ere to enjoy our incomparably delightful company. That's 'im over there, by the way, the one crawlin' with lice, this is Stan and Wally and my name's Gideon.”

“Fuck you, shit-'eater,” Stinky Pete grumbled.

“Now now, boys, didn't I tell you to be on your best be'aviour?” Joe said. “No profanity in front of the ladies, please.”

“Leave them be, Joe,”Dainty said. Her name was a misnomer, Joe remembered thinking when she was introduced to her a few days previously; she had the biggest pair of hooters he had ever seen, though her charms were doubtlessly silicon enhanced, there was no way they could possibly be real. “We did tell you we wanted to meet a group of rough and ready men, and surely a little foul language goes with the territory.”

Gideon eyed the four women suspiciously, the black one and the one with the infeasibly large tits who had already spoken and the other two, one of whom had a dash of oriental blood flowing through her veins and one who looked Spanish. “Let's cut to the quick, why don't we, ladies?” he said. “You're drop dead gorgeous, the lot of you, so what exactly do you want from a group of scruffy truck drivers?”

“That remains to be seen,” Candice said, lighting a long pastel pink cigarette and handing one to the oriental woman. Curiously Joe failed to mention the smoking ban – in fact he placed a mug in the middle of the table for the women to use as an ash tray after he had brought their coffees over.

“Maybe we don't want anything,” Helen said. “Maybe we're just researching this charming region's assorted lowlifes for our own amusement. Maybe we have a hidden agenda, though, only time will tell.....”

“You must want somethin',” Wally said. “Generally speakin' the likes of you don't come to an' 'ole like this an' mix with the likes of us - not unless you want a particular somethin' an' want it pretty badly, anyway.”

“Let me tell you something,” Candice said, drawing on her cigarette. “I was born not far from here on the Delves council estate. My mother and father have always been hard workers, but they had very little in the way of material wealth. They moved to a bigger house on the outskirts of town a couple of years back, a house that I bought for them because I can. I thought they deserved better, I didn't buy the house simply because they were my parents and I felt guilty about them living in rented accommodation while I owned three large houses, one in Birmingham, one in London and one in the south of France. My acquaintances all have similar backgrounds, by the way.”

“And?” Gideon said, lighting a cigarette, because he didn't see why Joe's mysterious VIP's were allowed to smoke if he wasn't.

“I'm simply trying to tell you that we all come from relatively poor working class backgrounds, but without exception we used the assets that God gave us and slowly but surely made something of ourselves,” Candice said. “And you could all do the same.”

“How, exactly?” Wally said. “What 'ave we got that's worth anythin' to anybody? What game are you lot in, anyway?”

“I thought at least one of you would have guessed by now,” Helen said, drawing on her cigarette provocatively, her lips as red as fresh blood. “Don't you want to hazard a guess, anybody?”

“I dunno,” Gideon said after a long pause. “I can't guess for the bloody life of me, an' it don't look like any of me mates can neither, darlin', so it looks like you're gonna 'ave to tell us.”

“Fair enough,” Candice said. “We're adult movie stars, we're all pretty famous in our field - I'm surprised you boys don't recognise any of us, but we've never worked together before. Mr. Hopkins has kindly agreed to let us make a film right here in Greasy Joe's, in return for a handsome fee, of course. Joe has already agreed to to take on a rather athletic role in our film, and we were hoping the rest of you would consider similar positions.”

“You're kiddin' us,” Stan said. “You 'ave to be, never in a month of Sundays would we be offered such a chance. That bastard 'Opkins is be'ind this, 'e's pullin' a fast one, an' if we fall for it we'll never bloody live it down.”

“You're deeply mistaken,” Candice said, standing up. “Would you care to disrobe, girls, and show the gentlemen the outstanding quality of the merchandise on offer?”

“No problem,” Dainty said, unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the floor, revealing a purple bra barely enclosing her delectable physical delights and matching knickers. The other girls followed suit, and soon they were all semi-naked showing off their charms. The onlookers simply sat there open-mouthed, not knowing what to say.

“Gordon Bennet!” Wally grunted as Dainty unhooked her bra, draped it over the back of the cheap plastic chair she had been sitting on and deftly stepped out of her knickers. Helen flung her knickers at Stan, and he caught them, holding the tiny lacy garment to his face, drinking in the delicious odour of woman it was infused with.

“Oh, buggery,” Stan mumbled. “How are we going to pull off a stunt like this without our wives finding out? Come to think of it, though, a chance like this is too good to miss, an' if me missus gets wind of it I don't give a flyin' fuck.....”

Just then Stan woke up. He had been on the road for a long time, he had drifted off to sleep behind his Daily Sport, and unluckily for him he was a very deep sleeper. “What the fuck are you lot gigglin' at?” he said, unaware of the fact that Wally had taken advantage of him and drawn a pair of glasses, a beard and moustache on his face and the words 'prize cunt' on his forehead with a black permanent marker. “What you been up to, you fuckin' wankers? Joe, what 'ave they done?”

“Nothin' mate, nothin' at all, 'onest,” Joe said without cracking his face, but the other three were laughing so hard they couldn't speak and Gideon had to rush to the toilet to empty his bladder before he pissed himself.

“You're a bunch of bastards whatever you've done,” Stan muttered, picking up his newspaper as Gideon returned, and he was still none the wiser. “I was 'avin' a brilliant dream about four beauties comin' in 'ere to make a raunchy porno flick, an' you lot bleedin' ruined it just as they were strippin' off. I'll get you back for this, I swear to God I will.”

The four truckers fell silent as a sky blue vintage Yankee car pulled up in front of Greasy Joe's - Stan even put his Daily Sport down so that he wouldn't miss anything. The chauffeur climbed out and circled the highly polished vehicle opening doors for the four delectable women it contained. “If I ain't mistaken that's a vintage Cadillac,” Wally said. “It's like somethin' out of Bugsy Malone, only it ain't black.....”