Profile - Runty (ii)

Runty could never have made it, say, trading bonds in The City. He wasn't a natural entrepreneur and big cash throughflows and turnover increases and heavier profit margins were not really his thing, the success of Bargain Abasement notwithstanding. As we noted earlier, Runty was a caring man and he cared very much about each and every valuable member of his clientele, except Lady Satanette who stuck the sharp thing just there, ow, ow, and twisted a bit, OW, you're barred, but pay for it before you leave.

So his first reaction, as he set the hot, steaming mug of sweet tea down on a coaster and gently parted the heavy velvet curtains to glide into the depths of the shop, was to serve this customer to the best of his ability. A few seconds later he was struck with the weak-kneed realisation that he wanted this customer to serve him to the best of his ability.

Why? He couldn't really say. It was a true coup de foudre, which Runty, for all his affected preference for foreign words and phrases, used to think meant 'cup of food'. Now he knew damn well what it meant and the sight of Claudio's clammy brow and thinning curls and louchely angled Cuban-heeled cowboy boots was hammering home the meaning deep into his thumping heart.

What he didn't know then, and refused to believe as time passed, was that Claudio was pathologically incapable of either noticing Runty's passion or of doing anything about it. You'll find out about that in Claudio's own profile.

Claudio had put down the scrotum clamp and was peering at another product. Runty advanced, his every step seeming to clatter like metal weights falling onto a concrete floor, and he made a mental note to stop wearing diver's boots in the shop.

'Wossis, then, mate?' said Claudio, confirming for Runty that this man had the voice of an angel from heaven descended (even though we know it was more like the whiny, cracked voice of a youth with testicles undescended). 'It's jass a fackin photo, innit.'

'Er, it's a mandrill,' replied Runty. 'If you want one, I order it for you. Usually takes about a month.'

'A mandrill? I thought this was a bleedin' sexy shop. Not a fackin pet shop. Why you wanna fackin ape, iss crazy, innit.' Ah, those sensuous Argentinian tones, redolent of sultry tango rhythms. Runty thought he could float away to paradise on their magic carpet of tonality.

'Certain of my male clients receive, er, pleasure from them,' said Runty. 'They aren't called mandrill by accident, you know.'

Claudio furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of this, failed, shrugged, turned on his Cuban heel and walked out, the whip-crack of the doormat slashing a raw angry weal into Runty's heart.