Why oh why is this workday dragging on so? I am way over my fool-suffering limit for one day. Way over.
I just received a fax from someone with a wonderful literary name. Haydee Farfan. Isn't that a great name?
Brings to mind a character from one of those 1920's-Great American novel-Fitzgerald-ish sort of novels.
*As I entered the grand doorway the wonderful stench of stale old money and fresh new debauchery lifted me through the threshold. A Scotch or two and much idle chatter later, I headed for the balcony and a bit of fresh air.
There, leaning against the railing, was the most striking female I'd ever seen. Willowy, wistful and with a bemused grin upon her face, she stood silently sipping her drink while looking for prey.
She returned my stare never changing expression and I took a circular route to her position.
"How could such a stunning creature as yourself ever be alone like this?" I asked, mustering all the courage I could.
"Maybe it's a ploy to lure men in. Or perhaps I shot the horse I rode in on." she countered.
"Either way, it's fortune smiling upon me, my dear. I'm Gibby, what do they call you?" I inquired.
"They call me all sorts of things, most not fit for polite society. But some call me Haydee Farfan." she answered.
Haydee Farfan! The most notorious vixen in the city? I wasn't sure if I was intrigued or scared out of my mind.
She noted my silence and said "What's wrong honey? Scotch got your tongue?" and she laughed an uproarious laugh that seemed to shake the rafters.
"No, it just seems that I am familiar with that name and I was trying to place it." said I, trying not to stammer.
"Well, sweetheart, remember truth is often stranger than fiction".
And that is how I met her. Haydee Farfan. Oh, how I still breathe her name. Sometimes followed by a curse. Sometimes followed by longing. But always followed by a sigh...*
or something like that.
Looks at watch. Damn the day is still not over. What's up with that?