The Continuing Adventures of The Scottish Geisha
Chapter 3, Installment 17: Of Lizards and Snakes
The Continuing Adventures of The Scottish Geisha
Chapter 3, Installment 17: Of Lizards and Snakes
Everyone was surprised to find the Scottish Geisha in a foul mood following a pre-SARS business trip to Asia.
“I thought shopping in Hong Kong always cheers you,” said the MVP as she watched The Scottish Geisha unpack her second and third suitcases.
SG sighed with no small measure of drama. “Normally, that’s true,” she said, pulling out a stack of silk scarves in brilliant, pastel and rainbow hues. “Here, choose from these. But this time, I had a bit of…trouble. You know, concentrating.”
MVP picked up a fist full of scarves, admiring the way the light played through the subtle weaves. “How so? What do you think of this one?”
SG pulled out a bundle of satin Chinese jackets and smoothed each one flat with a careful hand. “The black and amber one goes better with your coloring,” she said. “Those dratted ex-pats again, throwing me off my game.”
The Scottish Geisha takes her shopping as seriously as any professional athlete.
MVP draped the black and amber scarf around her shoulders. “With my black dress?” she asked. “And what happened with the ex-pats?”
SG narrowed her famous eyes. “No, better with your gold silk suit, I think,” she observed. “You would think, considering that there are what? 31 Scottish ex-pats in all of Asia? Wouldn’t one think that I’d already met and dealt with more than my quota?”
“How many Scots have you met on your travels in Asia?” MVP queried. “What about this one?”
“Too pink. Try the cranberry and silver one,” SG urged. “Of the 31 ex-pats of Scottish descent currently residing in Asia, I’ve have to dodge 29 of them. The other two were at a funeral,” she concluded, pulling out a thick stack of beaded sweaters.
“Must have been quite a trip,” MVP mused. “I like the green one,” she said.
SG intercepted. “No, no, that lighter one matches MY eyes. Try the hunter green one with the gold flecks. Works better with your hair. And don’t tell me about Scottish men. I cannot get away from them. Three this trip alone.”
MVP peered in the mirror, her neck swathed in rivers of scarves. “You are right,” she concluded. “The green and gold one compliments the highlights in my hair.”
“Remind me to praise your hairdresser,” SG said dryly. “I cannot abide this Scottish obsession anymore. First, I cannot understand word one that any Scottish man says to me so I don’t even know if he’s complementing my eyes or asking for the pleasure of my company while I’m flat on my back.” She shuttered. “And one of them was so…..young.” A shutter.
MVP gave up on the scarves and started in on the sweaters. “This black one is nice,” she remarked. “And what’s wrong with younger men?”
SG shook her head. “Way too funereal for you. That one should go directly to my younger sister, Mary Jane. And younger men are so….young. This one was rather south of 30. Good Lord, what would we talk about?”
MVP discarded the black in favor of a cherry red version of the same. “Who said anything about talking? You can’t understand those Scots anyway so why not just go along, as the saying goes, for the ride?”
SG narrowed her trademark eyes, refraining as usual, from more cryptic remarks. She fished into the contents of a bag. “See what I bought my dad? It’s whisky, from China. Very good for male virility, like red ginseng from Korea.”
MVP studied the contents if the bottle studiously. “There is a dead lizard inside this bottle,” she stated blandly.
SG peered at the bottle. “Why so there is. How positively enlightening. I thought it was a snake.”
“No,” MVP stated firmly. “It has four legs.”
SG wrinkled her nose and drew back. “Oh, yes, I can see that now. It certainly does.”
MVP picked up the bottle and peered closely into its’ amber depths. “Your mother will be delighted,” she said.
“Her dogs will try and kill the bottle,” The Scottish Geisha predicted.
“I’d pay money to see your dad wrestle a bottle full of dead lizard whiskey away from those overgrown mongrels on steroids,” MVP commented, not taking her eyes off the bottle.
“I think,” The Scottish Geisha said, “That my dad will like the Cuban cigars better.”
“Those are illegal you know,” MVP remarked, modeling the cherry sweater.
SG paused to consider the preponderance of evidence regarding her crime. “Only if you get caught, you know, like cheating on somebody you were about to dump anyway. It really only counts if you get caught.”
“Pre-dump?”
“Pre-dump, naturally, of course. It most certainly doesn’t count as cheating if you get caught post dump. That’s considered de facto transitional dumper behavior and is completely acceptable. Unless you are in Saudi Arabia, then they just douse you with gasoline and burn you alive for having a clitoris.”
MVP continued to stare into the bottle, apparently memorized by the contents. “I don’t think your ex husband would quite agree with that,” she said, forcing herself to blink at last. “The it not being cheating part I mean.”
The Scottish Geisha lowered herself gracefully amid a pile of a score of very excellent knock off purses. “Yes, but it is the ex, the dumpee and therefore, officially sub-human. You cannot cheat on a sub-human, it’s a known scientific fact.”
MVP finally put the bottle down. “I don’t know if our collective pets would agree with that. Every time I come over here and don’t bring MVP (most valued puppy) and then go home she treats me like the worst traitor. She sniffs and sniffs and is most put out.”
SG shrugged. “Sounds a lot like most men I know,” she said. “And our pets are not sub human. They are…beyond human.” She unzipped her computer carrying case and unearthed a nondescript looking disc. “Look, here is the real present I bought you.”
MVP did a little Dance of Joy. “Woo-woo!!! Where did you get a boot leg DVD of The Two Towers???”
The Scottish Geisha smiled her Mona Lisa smile. “On the streets of the Kowloon night market of course,” adding, “Three bucks U.S., it’s a crime, really.”
MVP was too busy dancing around the room. “Does it work? Is it any good? OHMYGOD!”
The Scottish Geisha maintained her world class cool. “Yes. The quality isn’t bad though you miss some of the finer details. A couple of the scenes are choppy because they strip out the copyrighting code. It’s worth a watch even if it does make you a co-felon.”
MVP dismissed the notion of jail time with a wave of her hand. “Who cares? I’ve got Viggo!” she said, adding hastily, “And I’ll buy the DVD when it comes out here in the U.S., of course. That will cancel out my sin.”
SG began unpacking stacks of tee shirts with Mandarin lettering on them. “Crime, cancel out your crime, not sin….only going to confession can cancel out sins. Who is Viggo? Is that the cute one? The munchkin I can never understand?”
MVP paused in her celebration. “Honestly. Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of Tolkien expert?”
The Scottish Geisha regarded her friend gravely. “Indeed I am. Ask me anything about the books, I can tell you how many Riders of Rohan were maimed at Helm’s Deep and how many leagues between Isengard and Mordor as the crow flies but don’t ask me about actors. You know my opinion of the entertainment industry.”
MVP sighed but did so with good humor. “OK, one more time because I love you. And your gold card. Viggo plays Aragorn. You remember him, right? And the guy you can never understand plays Pippin the Hobbit.”
“A most unquenchable hobbit,” SG said, apparently quoting one of Tolkien’s’ books directly.
MVP couldn’t let that one pass. “Well if he’s anything like the other 29 Scottish men you dodged while in Asia, he’s probably still young enough to rate extremely unquenchable. Consider the possibilities. He’s young, in his 30s, cute, and you wouldn’t be able to understand a word he said, a definite plus, given your current level of patience with men in general.”
The Scottish Geisha cocked her head most attractively. “That, my friend,” she said gravely, “Is far more information than I need to consider about any actor. Much less a Scottish one. Plus, you just want to keep that son of Arathorn wannbe to yourself.”
MVP nodded. “He’s probably taller than the Hobbit actor in real life,” she mused.
“But you would probably understand everything he said to you and what a disappointment that could turn out to be, considering the overall level of intelligence and education of people in the entertainment industry.” Clearly, The Scottish Geisha was threatening a tangent.
MVP looked in the mirror. “I think the cranberry sweater works with the black scarf,” she said. “And as long as he takes off his clothes, I don’t care what he says.”
The Scottish Geisha was nearing her limit. “The cranberry and silver scarf works best with the black sweater. The sweater you are speaking of is cherry not cranberry. It goes better with the black beaded scarf. And stop scaring me with fantasies of naked actors who speak with unintelligible Scottish accents.”
MVP cast a look around. “There is a black beaded scarf? That was a Freudian slip if I ever heard one. Viggo isn’t Scottish, the actor who plays Pippin is. Subconsciously, that’s what you truly desire, you know, a naked, Scottish actor.”
The Scottish Geisha began unpacking silk pajama sets in gold, scarlet and jade. “Subconsciously, what I truly desire is to go shopping unaccosted by persistent Scottish men,” she said.
MVP was still looking around. “There is a black beaded scarf?” she repeated.
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Prologue: Nobody ever found the black beaded scarf. But the upside is that The Scottish Geisha has yet to see any naked Scottish actors. A thought that cheered her considerably
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