The X-box and the Pudding

Peter Charlton waited patiently as the customer before him spoke garrulously about his purchase. He was about forty, Peter's own age, a big man with the appearance of an athlete gone to seed. Too many years of inactivity, too many hours in the pub, and too much junk food had converted muscle to fat. "Wonderful thing, the X-Box," he said. "It's the ultimate! Can't wait to get it home and unpack it."

The slightly built Vietnamese behind the counter smiled at him. "You should be very happy with it, sir. It has the latest technology. If you have any problems we're always happy to help."

The man spun around, barging into Peter. The package jerked from his hands and only Peter's quick reaction caught it before it crashed to the floor.

"Hey!" said the man. "Careful!"

"Careful yourself," said Peter. "You were the one who bumped me."

"Oh, yeah, I guess." The man looked up and saw Peter clearly for the first time. "Don't I know you?"

"I don't think so."

"Sure I do. I remember you. Yeah. Chicken Charlton, that's who you are. We went to school together."

"I haven't heard that name in a long time."

"I'm Mickey Allen. You remember me, surely? Captain of the footy team."

"Ah, yes. Of course. Well it was nice to see you again, Mickey. You look as though you're in a hurry."

"Always time for an old mate. What have you been doing with yourself? "

"Well I've..."

"I'm working at Cranes, over at Smithfield. We make carburettors. I'm a supervisor there now, practically a foreman. I reckon I'm on the way up. A yuppie, that's me! What sort of work are you doing?"

"I..."

"Hey you remember Sandra? The cheerleader? We got married, you know."

"That's nice. She had, umm, a nice figure."

"She sure did. Still has, I suppose. She's put on some weight but, hey, that's all the more to love, right? I can live with that. I've put on a little myself. What about you? Who was that dumpy little bird you were going with when you left school? God she was ugly. Looked like a plum pudding with the bottom dropped out of the bag. Still, you weren't a great catch yourself so I suppose you were lucky to get a girl. Jenny, that was her name. "

"Jean, not Jenny. She's done well. She went on to Sydney University and..."

"Oh, one of them. Got a B.A. I suppose. Everybody's got one of those these days. Bugger All—that's what it stands for."

"Well, actually..."

"What about you? What did you do when you left school?"

"Jean and I..."

"You kept seeing her, then. Well, why not? Everybody gets somebody, they say, and both of you would have had trouble getting somebody else. You didn't marry her did you?

"As a matter of fact..."

"God! She must be a size these days. Look, I am in a bit of a hurry. My car's off the road. Again. It's getting a bit long in the tooth, I suppose. Anyway I need to get to the station. Could you give me a lift?"

"Sorry, Mickey. Jean's waiting outside and her car isn't built for three people."

"Ah, it's like that then. I suppose we can't all drive a big car. One of those motorised shopping trolleys, is it?"

"Something like that," said Peter. He passed a credit card to the man behind the counter. "Hello, Minh. Just settling the monthly account."

"Thank you Doctor Charlton. Is that new software doing what you wanted?"

"Pretty much. I had to add a few bells and whistles, but it's fine."

Mickey looked at Peter carefully for the first time. "Did he call you 'doctor'?"

"He always calls me that. It must be a nickname or something."

"You're not a doctor, though?"

"Not the sort you're thinking of."

Together they walked out of the store and Mickey stopped, bug-eyed. Parked outside was a Porsche coupe and in the driver's seat sat a slim, elegant brunette in her late thirties. Her hair looked as though it had just been set, her complexion was flawless and, best of all from Mickey's point-of-view, her designer top revealed the merest glimpse of what promised to be a magnificent body.

"Hey! Look at that bird in the Porsche," he said. "Wow! What a doll. I'd like to give her something to remember me by. And look at that car! That's the 911 coop, you know. You don't see many of those around."

"Not too many." said Peter.

He beckoned the woman and she left the car and walked toward them. As she neared she said with a smile, "You summoned, Master?"

Peter grinned back at her. "I've just been talking to an old acquaintance who's something of an expert on puddings," he said. "I think he wanted to meet you. Do you remember Mickey Allen, captain of the football team?" He smiled at the other man's obvious discomfort. "Mickey, I know you remember Jean."