Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret

Lala's Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret

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By:  Ukiyoto Publishing  Completed
Language: English
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Chapter 1

Lala woke up, as she did most mornings, naked and shaking. A narrow sunbeam shone through the slightly open grey shutters, giving a sparkle to the old cobwebs rolled round by wind and rain. The windows swung slightly as a hot breeze blew across the plum trees on the plain below, letting in more sun, illuminating the high ceiling of the wide room. A musty, cast aside woolen blanket lay in a heap on the unvarnished wood of the herringbone floor next to the bed and its jumble of occupants.Lala closed one of her eyes in protest at the searching light. The other scoured the floor beside the bed for the glass of vodka and red bull she had started but not finished last night. It lay beside the book she had been trying to read. Graham Greene, Travels with my Aunt. She had read it once, years ago, long before her life sounded like a chapter from it and had been trying to read it again for nearly a year. She had only managed a third. She pulled her leg from under another

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Comments

user avatar
Sally Johnson
it is taking too long to get to the point of the story. Really don't know where this story is heading ....
2021-08-13 18:22:48
1
user avatar
Nelly Hernandez
donde se traducen estos libros al español . gracias
2024-04-29 01:12:08
0
36 Chapters

Chapter 1

  Lala woke up, as she did most mornings, naked and shaking. A narrow sunbeam shone through the slightly open grey shutters, giving a sparkle to the old cobwebs rolled round by wind and rain. The windows swung slightly as a hot breeze blew across the plum trees on the plain below, letting in more sun, illuminating the high ceiling of the wide room. A musty, cast aside woolen blanket lay in a heap on the unvarnished wood of the herringbone floor next to the bed and its jumble of occupants. Lala closed one of her eyes in protest at the searching light. The other scoured the floor beside the bed for the glass of vodka and red bull she had started but not finished last night. It lay beside the book she had been trying to read. Graham Greene, Travels with my Aunt. She had read it once, years ago, long before her life sounded like a chapter from it and had been trying to read it again for nearly a year. She had only managed a third. She pulled her leg from under another
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Chapter 2

   On market days in Monsègur, and on fine, early summer mornings before the canicule arrives and burns everything under an African sun, the locals mingle with English, French, German, American, and Dutch tourists, and those who own second homes. Then there are those, like Lala and Teddy, more firmly expatriated. Each tribe is identifiable with a little practice: the locals, farming stock, short and square and, for the men, badly dressed in nylon pullovers and royal blue work trousers, with flat caps and the occasional Basque beret covering their heads like yarmulkes or taqiyahs. Their faces, sometimes wall-eyed with glasses, all shapes of round, or sallow melting splodges like Dali paintings. The gummy, tooth few grins and scowls, reveal the plaque devouring hanging remnants of incisors, thin or thick lips clamped tightly on cigarette butts aplenty. The women make more effort with their appearance, but still clearly belong to a tribe once residing in the 70s, with burgun
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Chapter 3

  There is a sign on a wall in Chateau Duras which says: During the Hundred Years War the entire inhabitants of Duras were pitilessly slaughtered by the English. Slowly, as in the ages of time all things must move, the centuries bestowed both better and worse until eventually, a concorde was signed, a handshake across La Manche, and after the shedding of so much blood during the two great wars, French and English brothers and sisters could only dream of peace. Since the 1960s and 70s the tourists arrived in a benign invasion, and many stayed, falling in love with that lush region of France once ruled by the English crown for 300 years, an era nearly long as the Romans ruled Great Britain. Duras is one of those little French towns where English seems to be spoken as much as French, especially in the long summer months when, as in Monsègur, their rosy hued faces throng the cobblestones and slender alleys, and mill about the chateau and its museum, and, of course, the obligator
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Chapter 4

   Lala woke up alone, as did Teddy, while Sèdonoudè was in bed with Linda. They had spent time talking after leaving Lala to Quentin and found in each other, a growing emotion shining in their eyes. Quentin left once he had satisfied himself, but not Lala, and returned in the early hours with stinking breath to the wife with only bedclothes tucked up against her chin, to protect her from his drunken verbal assault. She breathed easier once the brute fell into a deep, snoring sleep. Billy woke, to his utter confusion, with the long, pale form of Jeremy Baden-Flogg lying next to him. Of the flood of ambivalent feelings which overcame him, the first and most stubborn was a feeling of shame. Once subsided, it was followed by a sense of relief, because he had known about this unfulfilled aspect of his sexuality for a long time. He had led a troubled life, and periods spent in young offender institutions, including as part of a gang of youths involved in the death of an old
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Chapter 5

The Port of the Moon   The sun was high above the poplar trees as they drove away from Chateau Nullepart, which looked, as it always did in summer, like the fairy tale castle of naïve children’s books. Teddy put on his sunglasses and waved away the pungent smoke from Lala's spliff. He unwound the window to let the air in and the fumes out, which caused a drip of ash to fall from the dog-end in Lala's lips and leave a little smudge on her summery dress. Her shaking was better now, and though sometimes an unimportant imperfection, like a smudged dress or a smile out of place, was the kind of thing to provoke a mountain of rage, like the proverbial straw which broke the camel's back, this morning, for equally obscure chemical reasons, she was able to resist. The Girondine countryside slipped agreeably by, agreeable as all countryside vistas are, especially to those starved of them. Inversely, Lala and Teddy enjoyed the occasional trip into town. They drove along the rou
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Chapter 6

  'But where were you, Jeremy?' Eloquentia Baden-Flogg was very unhappy. Eloquentia by name, Eloquentia by nature. 'Thomas had a dicky tummy and he threw up! There was nobody there to help me. I told you we should have made Ginny cancel her holiday. I need help with the children. There are simply too many of them.' Jeremy made all the right noises. 'But darling, Lala was having an episode. Poor Teddy was at his wits end. Look, I've brought croissants.' He waved the bag at her like a flag of truce, but Eloquentia was not for surrendering. 'That's all very well, Jeremy, but what about us? What about poor, poor Tommy poo? There was sick on the rug.' Eloquentia looked so distressed as she uttered the word 'sick', that Jeremy tried to put his arms around her. She pushed him away saying, 'I'm not finished,' and nor had she. 'It's a bit much to expect me to put up with your disappearing acts. It's bad enough that you live a double life in London. I know you have your obligations
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Chapter 7

  'Where's Don Don? Where is he when I fucking well want him?' Lala was having a turn. Teddy put his arms on Lala’s shoulders as if to calm an implacable storm. He admired and pitied in equal measure Sèdonoudè's ability to get it up in the face of such demands. 'But he's not here.' Teddy was not up for this. He had spent the night in agony, unable to urinate, until waves of sweat gushed from him, which, to his nose, smelled faintly like the urine he was unable to excrete. 'Find him. Find me something.' Lala sat down in her chair and her voice, cracking, emitted a tortured sob. She had to place her knuckles in her mouth to stop her teeth gnashing. There was nothing he could do. He tried calling Sèdonoudè on his cellphone. He fidgeted with the keys, cursing silently that his fingers, instead of doing his bidding, seemed to wander across letters and symbols with a will of their own. ‘Look Lala, I need to go to the doctors, can you drive me there? ‘Where’s that bastard hid
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Chapter 8

  Lala watched through the kitchen window as the fiat pulled up on the gravel outside for an interminable another time. Teddy and Sèdonoudè were drunk, barely able to clamber out of the car without falling over, having returned from the market with a basket of token items, some merguez, and a little salad. Thick as thieves again, Lala thought. If blood was thicker than water, then alcohol was much stronger than blood. She was sulking and glowered at Sèdonoudè as he stepped into the kitchen, his boisterous grin dropping to an apologetic smile. He vanished quickly into the warren of rooms in the chateau before her dissatisfaction turned to ire. She clucked her teeth and let him slip away, for though she was many things, she could never be anything quite so boring as a nag. She addressed Teddy. 'It's the referendum tomorrow. What do you think's going to happen?' Teddy did not know. After the murder of Jo Cox, he felt that the whole exercise lacked any real moral legitimacy, anyon
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Chapter 9

  The next morning started much as most did at Chateau Nullepart, with its meagre occupants rising from a groggy slumber. But something had changed, an invisible line crossed, one tentative step from certainty to its opposite. 'They voted out!' Lala started laughing. 'The silly fuckers!' 'I don't think it's that funny,' Teddy said, looking perplexed as Lala scorned his seriousness. 'What about our right to stay here?' Lala stopped laughing. 'They won't kick us out. Think of the money.' 'Yes, yes, I know but you never know what kind of demented passion this sort of thing unleashes. I think there are a lot of very unhappy people out there.' Lala thought about the word 'unhappy'. She did not often, but from time to time it leapt out at her like a bogeyman she had almost convinced herself was unreal. Everything she did, had done, consciously thought about, was a vain attempt to avoid that word. It followed her assiduously. Tapping at her shoulder. Here I am, it said, w
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Chapter 10

The Letter   It lay on the kitchen table where Sèdonoudè had placed it. Teddy walked around it for some time, making coffee, toast, needlessly arranging bits of crockery which he would not ordinarily bother with at the best of times. That was the cleaner's job, when she was around at least, and not taking to her bed for days on end to struggle with yet another existential crisis. He knew where it had come from; he recognised the stationary. It just sat and glared at him, a ray of sunlight giving it a glow, radiating like a beam from where it hit the filmy plastic oblong containing the address and his name. Every time he looked at it, it gnawed at him a little. Like the gnawing dull ache from his groin which these days would not go away. He needed whisky for a moment like this. The smell of it reeked from his coffee cup. He opened the letter with trembling hands and as he read the words at first, they seemed to swirl, as if he had suddenly developed acute dyslexia. But a
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