Mr DeCerenzo (name changed to protect the innocent) and his lady companion arrived on time, always a bonus for the humble chauffeur. He had that look European men pull off so well, scruffy yet elegant. Somehow they can mismatch colours and styles and still look chic. It must be in the Campari.
She looked American trying to be European. A tiny woman, she was barely bigger than the average fifteen-year old. Surreptitiously examining her from behind, the smallness of her legs fascinated me. Did she shop in the children’s section to find clothes that fit?
There was something not quite right about the interaction between them. She was too proprietorial over him, fussing and being unrelaxed. Her face said she was forty, but her brittleness told another story.
I asked The Boss about them, hoping to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. It turns out he was a former tennis pro, and found her here.
The Millionaire’s Club. Really. It’s no joke! Apparently Mr DeCerenzo met a few dozen women within six months of joining, all transported from various airports and hotels by Bossman’s limousines. This one has been around for a year, living with him in his golf course McMansion.
A dating website for gold-diggers. Thank goodness for the internet.