St John Smyth mopped his brow. He’d never get used to what California called weather. Where was the mizzle, the understated muggy heat? ‘She is perfect, Sir.’
‘Will you cut the Sir, crap? It’s Junior, Ok.’
‘If you insist, Sir. Junior, though if I may make so bold…’
‘No you may not. So, you sure the son of a b…’
‘Categorically so. My intelligence shows that the lady fulfils the criteria you laid down in your memorandum of the 21st inst…’
‘Come again?’
‘Your note, sir. You dictated, it, erm… Junior.’ Buttling for a movie mogul twice his age and he had to use such an inapposite diminutive. ‘If we make the not unreasonable assumption that Mr Mayer is a man of his word, then I think…’
‘The Broad will kill him?’
St John allowed a moue of distaste briefly to cloud his Romanesque countenance before restoring his features to their usual combination of bland skepticism and dyspeptic martyrdom. ‘Hardly, Mr Junior. Commissioning a murder could well be traced back…’
‘So how does that slimeball snuffle his last.’
‘Shuffle, Sir. And Suicide. Ms Williams has been placed such that when her true characteristics are revealed, he will do what he has been threatening.’
‘Ok, you’re a clever limey, Smyth but how in the name of Marion…’
‘Mammon, Sir.’
‘Shut up, Smyth.’
‘Sir.’
‘How’s this Dame getting Louis B to do the business?’
‘Ms Esther Williams is famous for her aquatic prowess…’
‘What the heck’s that got to do with anything?’
‘The memor… notes I took state Mr Mayer will kill himself if he has to work with another diver…’
‘Diver? Give me those… you cretin, I said Diva…’
‘Oh dear. Is this another case of ‘You say Diva and I say Diver…’’
‘Smyth?’
‘You’re fired.’
‘Very good sir.’
This is in response to this week’s prompt at Microcosms. Please have a look here and maybe a go…
TanGental 
Ha ha! Oops!
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This is funny. This happens in our house all the time. My father-in-law said his neighbour used to be a belly dancer. I said there aren’t many men who do belly dancing but I saw an excellent performance at a Greek restaurant a few years ago. He looked at me oddly. I later learned he meant ballet dancer but with his Yorkshire accent, it sounded like belly dancer to me.
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It happens here with regional accents too. Can be v embarrassing
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Hey, congrats on the horror-story win, by the way. I’m looking forward to reading it -probably in the full light of day.
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aw, thanks. Hope it creeps you out
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You would.
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Buttling in California — your imagination and honor knows no bounds, but alas language does.
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yes language defines and separates us for sure
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Such a master of witty banter. Well done!
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Aw, thanks – I was inducted into the Badinage Hall Of Indubitable Nonsense a while ago. It means I wear a monocle, sport a fob watch and vermilion spats and call my cat Bunter even though he answers to Cat
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Oh, very good – most witty! Wodehouse would be proud ❤
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hope so, I like to channel my inner Bertie
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Two nations separated by one language 💜
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indeed so..
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Lol 💜
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Oh my – that buttling business can be a challenge . . . especially for moguls obsessed with diver divas.
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I always fancied I’d buttle quite well. It’s the frock coat I think
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Very good, Geoff, you have an amazing sense of humour.
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You are far too generous but thank you!
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I’m not sure where an Aussie fits into this conversation. 🙂
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Oh if I know the Aussi, he’ll make his presence felt!
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Hehehe!
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Just finished the memoir on your mom and loved it. Would you want to do an author interview for my blog, Geoff? If so, give me an email address and I’ll send questions your way. 🙏
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I’m up for that. Glepard@saqnet.co.uk and that’s a Q not a G in the odd word in the middle
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👌- will get something to you in the next few days.
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There is so much here I want to plagiarize. Such fun but where to start?
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