Whirlwind Romance

A rush of emotion dropped a veil over all but the tiny world of the two people in seats 11A and 11B, in a jet plane floating somewhere over the Atlantic, in a still moment in time.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Zelda's Back

Sometimes I wish for the days of Nick and Nora, Fred and Irene, Miss Piggy and Miss Peel.

The Real thing  (6/28/14)

She arrives as usual in a fur coat
Sable I think
Tosses it to the hat check girl
Along with her Tiparillos, which are no longer acceptable
She stops
Pulls a lipstick from her tiny clutch
Presses it to her carmine lips
Pouts
And follows Germaine to her usual table.
At least this is how I remember it.
Zelda is no longer the center of attention. But
Only because the attention is on lesser things.
When did we wobble away from the diamond?
Why have we settled for the simulated topaz?
How could Georges not be there
Dancing in attendance?
Where is the music
The white tie
The tails
The rhythm?
Zelda settles gracefully at my table.
You're mouldering little one.
The world has not changed.
Elegance is in the mind.
The little people have never acquired the knack and will never
Be able to strip us of it.
Elegance isn't a matter of giving but of receiving.
It is a generosity of spirit that embraces the outliers, the undertakers, the fishmongers
Even the plumbers
And knows them to be interesting because they are human.
Elegance even allows the poor blighters who wave the banner of elegance in defiance of the truth
To exist.
So said Zelda
Before her first sip.

You can imagine what she had to say after the second.

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