SUB: Rich Bitch Beige/Krys
- I was reading a novel a few days ago, when a character used the word (?!) 'beige-y.' I wondered if I could do something with that; here's the result.
Rich Bitch Beige
by Krys Douglas
Kate and Sarah sat on a bench in the mall sipping double latte cappuccinos. A morning’s shopping demanded a break. They were near Englander’s Jewelry, and Kate was telling her friend about the necklace her husband Bill had purchased there for her birthday.
“Uh-huh”, Sarah murmured, but she wasn’t really listening. She was watching a woman walking toward them.
“Have you heard one word I’ve said?”
“I heard ‘necklace’ and ‘birthday.’” Sarah smiled at her friend.
“Hummph! What’s so interesting?” Kate turned to see what Sarah looked at.
“Someone I know calls that Rich Bitch Beige,” said Sarah.
The woman was a symphony of beige: slacks, blouse, coat. As the friends watched, she entered Englander’s.
“My God, even her hair is beige,” remarked Kate about the woman’s sophisticated up-swept hairdo. “Beige, beige-ier, beige-iest. Could she get any more nondescript?”
“It’d be hard. Now tell me again about this necklace.”
The friends chatted and sipped coffee for a few moments, but their conversation skidded to a halt when a young man on a skateboard shouted to a mother pushing a stroller to get out of the way. He swerved to avoid her and crashed into Englander’s plate glass window. A mighty cracking was followed by a shower of broken safety glass. Shoppers began running toward the sound, gawking at the skateboarder. Three security officers were among the crowd.
“What on earth! Doesn’t he know the rules about no skateboards in the mall?” Kate asked indignantly.
“You would think someone wearing a helmet and protective gear would know the rules,” replied Sarah. A flicker of movement caught her eye and she turned to see the beige woman leave the jeweler’s. As she walked casually away from the store, she pulled hair pins from her hair and let it fall loosely around her shoulders. Then she removed her coat and carried it over her arm past the next store-front; she then reversed the coat and put it on again; it was now a brilliant royal blue. The woman took something from her coat pocket.
Kate rose and walked to one of the security officers. Touching him lightly on the arm, she said, “Excuse me, but that woman just shoplifted something from Englander’s.” She pointed to the retreating woman.
The officer looked where she pointed. “Are you sure, lady?”
Hey Mike,” the officer said I’m going to check something out.” He trotted after the woman. When he caught up with her, he took her arm. She turned to face him and Sarah and Kate saw she was now wearing horn rimmed glasses. The officer said something and she shook her head vigorously. He firmly pulled her back toward the jeweler’s.
Just then, a shout came from within the store. “I’ve been robbed!” The jeweler rushed outside. A second officer put up his hand and asked him to explain.
“When I heard the crash that, that…imbecile caused I ran to see what happened. In a panic I forgot about the tray of brooches I was showing a customer. Now they’re gone!” His voice rose to a wail.
Sarah approached the security man. “I believe you’ll find them in that woman’s coat pocket.” She nodded to the woman as the first security officer came to a stop before the store, his hand firmly on her elbow.
“Would you please remove your coat?”
The woman glared at the security people and then at Sarah. She shrugged and removed the coat. Reaching into one of the pockets, the officer pulled out six dazzling brooches set with diamonds, rubies and emeralds.
The officers took the woman and skateboarder into the store.
“How did you know?” asked Kate.
“I wondered she why she would want to be so nondescript. And when she just walked away from the crash, with no curiosity at all, well – that just wasn’t natural. Then she changed her appearance and I knew something was up.”
“How did she think she could ever get away with it?”
“Oh, Kate, please. Everyone was focused on the window and the skateboarder. Even the jeweler. Nobody paid any attention to her.”
“But eventually the jeweler would have realized. He did.”
“And what would he have said? He’d have given a description of a totally nondescript woman.” Sarah chuckled. “When you’re looking for a wren, you pay no attention to the peacock.”
Kate grinned. “My friend, Sherlock Holmes. Lunch, Sherlock?”
“Of course. Detecting tire the little grey cells.”
“Wrong detective. Bourbon St. or Miguel’s?”
“Bourbon St. I love their Shrimp Diablo.”
Writing is no trouble: you just jot down ideas as they occur to you. The jotting is simplicity itself— it is the occurring which is difficult. -- Stephen Leacock