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Lap of Luxury
“Cut the crap, Erwin, you’re not fooling anyone.”
Erwin Teasdale lowered the Wall Street Journal slightly to give him a better view of his tormentor. Then, satisfied that it was only Nathan (Zippy) Trumpetier, he said nothing but quickly gave the newspaper a refreshing snap and raised it back to its original position. Up yours, Zippy.
Zippy sat down on the lavish leather chair directly across from Erwin’s position on the Louis XIV settee. Usually, he sat on the settee so he could stretch out a little, but today, Erwin had beaten him to it. Nervously, he fondled several of the artifacts assembled on the spacious glass-top coffee table in front of him, picking it up, examining it closely and placing it back in its original position. The Manhattan Men’s Club offered many up-scale amenities for its members, the crème-de-la-crème of New York society. “I trust your vast portfolio is doing well?” Kiss my ass, Erwin.
No answer…
Minutes passed as Zippy stared around the room, tapping his fingers on the chair arm and moving his head in rhythm to a beat heard only by him. At some point, he felt his performance was complete and once again stared at Erwin before leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. Suddenly, an expulsion of air from Zippy’s pursed lips broke the silence, causing Erwin to once again move his newspaper aside and stare over the top of his bifocals at Zippy. “Are you quite finished, or should I go sit in the billiards room?”
“God, Erwin, what crawled up your butt and died?” Zippy said, being sure to employ his best Pay attention, dammit! tone.
Erwin folded the newspaper and tossed it on the table. “That’s it! I’m outa here…” As he walked by Zippy, Erwin shook his head sadly. “Why I waste my time trying to enlighten you is beyond my comprehension…” The floor-to-ceiling mirror offered the opportunity for Erwin to briefly stop and slightly adjust the collar of his shirt. Satisfied that his sartorial excellence had not been tarnished, he noticed that his friend hadn’t moved, so he put his fingers to his lips and whistled. “Well, are you coming or not?”
Yet another gasp of air shot from Zippy’s mouth as he struggled to rise. “I suppose…” he muttered under his breath as he walked obediently toward Erwin.
Once in the hall, the two pushed their janitor’s carts toward their prospective destinations. It was nearly opening time, and they hadn’t finished their rounds.
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