Thursday, 11 May 2017

An Army of Gold Digging Whores*

[Media prompt] 42 per cent of adults say knowing someone’s credit score would affect their willingness to date that person.
An Army of Gold Digging Whores*

Darcy Melbourne sipped champagne from a long stemmed flute that Monica had told her was a French antique. But now Darcy wondered about that, and so she took a photo and emailed it to an acquaintance who knew about such things. When Monica returned from the kitchen, Darcy smiled.

“Smells delish,” she said.

Monica sat down, collapsing like a soufflé gone wrong. Her lip quivered and when she reached for her glass it nearly ended badly. Not that it would have mattered. Darcy’s acquaintance had suggested by reply that Monica’s glasses were as antique as last night’s facial scrub.

“There, there,” said Darcy, putting down her glass. “Everything’s going to work out fine.”

Monica sat up and breathed deeply.

“I just don’t know how you do it,” said Monica. “Every guy I date turns out to have the earning potential of a lab rat.”

“I’ve heard of the type,” said Darcy, “but I can’t honestly say I’ve met one.”

“See,” said Monica, “that’s just what I mean. How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Avoid men who don’t have any money.”

There was a long silence. Darcy leaned forward to top up her glass. Normally she shrugged off these sorts of questions with a quip about good luck, but Monica had lied about the champagne flute.

“Don’t tell anyone this,” said Darcy, reclining into the chair, crossing her long, stockinged legs. “But I have a little secret.”

“Really?”

Darcy nodded. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders like a river of gold. She looked at her reflection in the glass doors of a horrible little cabinet on which Monica had arranged some photos of her family. A small tribe of petite bourgeoisie from a small city out west if she recalled correctly.

“I have one of these,” she said, opening her Birkin bag, an authentic one, not fake like the flute she put down on the glass table by her chair. She slipped her slender fingers into a side pocket and pulled out a small device, about the same size as an old credit card.

Monica pulled her chair closer. The sound of it dragging across the wooden floor made Darcy flinch.

“Sorry,” said Monica. “I hate it when it does that. What is it?”

Darcy pressed one corner between her thumb and forefinger to turn it on.

“It collates information from phones,” said Darcie, looking at the small screen. “And when it’s finished, I know everything there is to know about a person.” She looked up and smiled.

“But, how–

“Oh, don’t ask me that,” said Darcy. “All I know is that it reads the closest phone, and tells me anything I want to know.”

“Such as…”

“Well, look at this,” said Darcy, moving over so she could show Monica the screen. “See, I can see the names of every man you’ve contacted this month, and there, I can see how much they’re worth.”

Darcy scrolled through the list.

“Not one of them is worth a damn,” she said, laughing. “Here, look at this one. Mark Buffalo. At current earnings, his grandchildren will be still be paying off debt.”

“Where can I get one of these?”

Darcy stood up, patting her skirt down over her thighs.

“Oh, you can’t get one of these,” she said. “Can you imagine if everyone had one?”

*With apologies to Bill Burr.

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