2003-2004 Monologue writing exercise.

This a piece of writing I worked on back in 2003-2004. I have posted the evaluation before posting the
written piece.


Evaluation of ‘Don’t fall for his taut body!’

I wrote this piece in response to a picture provided by the course tutor, Graham Sellers.

I was fascinated by the image of a sad and yet somewhat regal looking elderly lady.
I immediately started filling her back story in my head: she was a proud rich woman
duped out of her earnings. This in itself isn’t the most original of storylines- a notion
alluded to by the words, 

‘I’ve become a living cliché.'

However, this storyline lingered in my mind for some time and I believe it is powerful enough to
resonate in the mind of the reader. Although the woman in the picture looks sad and frail, I believe
that in her heyday she would have had the cultural assumptions and norms of a member of the British
aristocracy, even if, as suggested, she wasn’t born into that class herself. Indeed those who have
recently ascended a social class have a tendency to express the assumptions more loudly than those
who were born into the class.

I think that the piece has strengths and weaknesses: the dialogue and the sense of bitterness and
betrayal are clear and powerful, ensuring, in my mind, that the reader will be thinking of the character
for some time. However, as stated, there are weaknesses: the piece is rather brief, the backstory of her
meeting with Sebastian could have been developed further. Indeed the character of Sebastian could
have been developed

And more description of the settings could have been used to help develop the atmosphere. However,
due to constraints mainly imposed by work I’ll have to hope that the character of Helga Levertov will
permeate my writing in the future.

Don’t fall for his taut body!

It’s going to be cold this evening, I can sense it in my bones. I’m shivering all over and it is only five –
thirty. Good god, how did it come to this? I can’t stand it: the cold, the dirt, the smell and the loss of
dignity.

I can see a short stubby little man shuffling away from me on the other side of the road. Hah! Impudent
creature! Walking away in faded old slacks from Marks and Sparks as if I am something he has trodden
on. What a grotty little man. The nerve of him, looking down at me, how dare he! For I am Helga
Levertov and I have seen more wealth in one day than you have in your entire life. Hah! Run away
from me you insolent fool! Do not judge me, for I am from far superior stock than you!

Don’t fall for his taut body! That is my advice to all wealthy women everywhere. It is almost too
unbearable to admit that I fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. I have become a living, breathing
cliché.

Three years ago it was all so different. I had just finished with Boris, the ape- like President of
Glaxcom, leading chemical firm in the U.S. It was great to be single again – men are such frightful
bores! I may have had to endure violence, boredom and downright 

Cruelty before, but, with my fortune amassed thanks to Sidney Levertov, my now deceased Billionaire
husband, I would tolerate discomfort no longer!

I showered to rid myself of Boris. I giggled at the array of flowers, perfumes and clothes littered on my
king sized bed. The pinks, purples and gold clashed violently with each other as I pushed the items
aside and sat down. I got dressed and examined myself in the mirror: obligatory black ball gown,
diamond tiara, rouge and a smile. I was dressed to kill, my appearance shouted out one word: money.

The restaurant, La Prix du Charlemagne, was exclusive enough to keep out the trash. I looked around
for that fawning buffoon, LeClere, the Maitre-D. Damn the fool! He looked permanently constipated,
disgusting creature. He arrived. He fawned. He bowed and scraped, took my order and slithered through
the double doors.

It was at that moment I saw him. He sat solitary, dignified and taut. I could sense the power bristling
under his tux. He was blonde haired, blue-eyed and chiseled from rock.  I flashed him a knowing smile.
He responded. Good, I thought to myself, physically powerful but young-easily moulded. I could keep
him for a while and discard him when the onset of boredom overwhelms. How wrong I was.

The next six months were a blur. Sebastian, for that was his name, was of good breeding- he was related
to the Rothschilds and had attended Eton and Cambridge. Wealth attracts wealth. What could I say
about Sebastian? He was young, powerful, beautiful and full of adventure. He made me feel so alive!
As I drained him of his youth and vigour, the bastard drained me of my wealth. I cannot remember
how he got hold of my financial details, my safe, shares and Swiss bank account. They were all tapped
and bled dry. He left me helpless, pale and destroyed.

I remembered that final day as if it were yesterday. La Prix du Charlemagne as usual: lobsters and
champagne; LeClere bowing to the floor and Sebastian taking a rather long time in the bathroom.

                                 “ The bill Madame,” hissed LeClere softly.

I scribbled away at the bill, not concentrating, wondering where Sebastian was.

                                “ The card does not work Madame,” slithered LeClere.

                                “ Nonsense, you incompetent fool!” I bellowed.

Five hours later, the Police, Management and the Local press had all had a slice of my humiliation.
Sebastian turned out to be an Andrew Smith, born in Basingstoke and educated at a comprehensive.
The shame and indignity of this almost hurt as much as the loss of my fortune.

                                 “ We’ll get him Mam!” informed a red-nosed Sargent.

                                 “ You could stop at mine,” simpered LeClere, eyes bulging.

The crack of my hand around his face echoed around the charmless interview room.

It’s getting darker now! The tent flap is dancing madly in the evening wind. It will be deathly cold
tonight. I survey the last of my wealth: the tent; the deck chairs; the stretch of sand dumped angrily by
the council who had planned to build a new bus shelter; the board decorated with eviction notices- I’m
bad for business, the hotel owners declare. Hah! To hell with them! Two and a half years I have sat
here, I’ll sit here until I die. Don’t fall for his taut body!