Half past five at the Embassy. I wait for my parasol from last night. I need a whisky. Im very shy deep down, and ready to be furious if she doesnt show up. Its my curiosity that would be most disappointed..
Five thirty-five. There she is! Can it really be her? Ravishing, tall, slim, with a small mouth and full lips, and dark porcelain eyes. She casts aside her fur coat in a gust of warm perfume. Were going to dance. Mexican? Cuban? Her very small head sits on a very long neck. She is tall; her mouth is at the level of my chin. When we dance my mouth is not far from her mouth. Her hair brushes against both.
Romanian. My name is Renée P... I was a model at Doeuillet... Delicious. She takes off her gloves. Long, little girls hands. Something in my mind starts dancing at the thought that one day perhaps she would agree to paint the nails of those hands