OH MY GAWD! The Duchess of Winchester had a Wildcat 22 which is a rifle. For gosh sakes darling, my little pistol looks like a beautiful pearl accessory in comparison and certainly doesn't look the least bit dangerous. I think the Duchess has cold in her blood. The damn rifle is so bloody long she keeps it in her trunk. I felt so innocent and she seemed so dangerous. The first club we ran into, yes darling, ran right straight into as the Duchess doesn't use the brake. She stops her car upon impact. Well, we stopped at the Tiger Tiger Club when she smashed us up to the brick lined garden out front, which caused only a moment's discomfort when a man calling himself the maitre' d came running out to see the commotion. Darling, truly it lasted no more than a moment as the Duchess simply went to the back of her top down and pulled out her rifle and hushed the little maitre' d by asking him if the Tiger Tiger Club was a hotel. When he responded that it most certainly was not the Duchess cocked her gun and said, "Well then, you're most certainly out of line, but in mine, as a maitre' d is the master of a hotel not a night club." And with that darling, he said to us, "Welcome to the Tiger Tiger Duchess Winny and Lady Jacqueline." The woman is bloody nuts I tell you, but damn good fun and wild with spunk. And she's quite the dresser, much like ME. Though I think my clothes frame me in a much more fashionable way. And moreover, I find my gun much more attractive than hers.
Once inside the Tiger Tiger I had the best of fun with Lapo Elkann, remember darling, he's the son of Fiat heiress Margherita Agneli? Well, the two of us danced a magnificent pas de trois with a chair while the Duchess and Count Gian Luca Passi de Preposulo wished they were us. Oh, it was rare.
We next found our way crashing into the Zoo Bar & Club where Francis Bacon stories of his patronage there are legion. That wore on me some, as after the third I was done with short essays about a dead man's drinking. Don't get me wrong, as I do so find Francis a fascinating figure whose lover was a reformed burglar named George Dyer who tried to commit suicide at the Algonquin Hotel by swallowing a handful of pills; wherein once word got out the authorities promptly had Francis and George flown back to England. No? Truly? Yes, darling, truly. Flown right straight out of the States and back to the Queen. It's told that on being scolded by Lizbeth for his scandalizing behavior he replied to her, "Death can be so life-enhancing." And you know how his little tragedy of life ended, don't you? Francis had a death-haunted brush for years to come. Just look at his most fascinating paintings of all. They were done after George finally was successful in killing him/her self. Whichever gender he/she truly was. I haven't the slightest. But, I would most definitely conclude that George had an intense personality that played to Francis's creative mind, you know?
Anyhow, darling, I shant say the Duchess and her gun scared me, as I so love a good blast. However, her crashing ways in stopping a car caused me to have the most dreadful of crick in my neck this morning. I so wished to stay on with Lizbeth a few days, but Antonio dialed me this morning with news that I must hurry to Paris as a cablegram from Mr. Long was received at the HOTEL DE CRILON last evening requesting, in earnest, that I return his Penis Song. Well, damn darling, didn't I toss that in the trash with my shoes? I can't remember. That was so weeks ago and what fergodsakes is so urgent about a penis song when I've got bigger things I need to address. Like who slipped that wonderful gun into the Martin and gave me the beautiful red ribbon? And most importantly, who was the divine person who found my gloves and placed them in my Kelly handbag? I do so want to give my thanks for such a kind act.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST
I most likely will be expected to charm the Inspector and like; identify couture outfits bloody dead and all. Which as you know, I'm extremely adept at doing: Charming and identifying. But, right this very moment I have no intention of moving as I'm placed horizontal with an ice pack behind my head.
Oh, pleasure, pleasure!
What else should bring one anywhere?
Oh darling, I'm so rot with having to amuse everyone that I'm longing for Côte d'Ivoire; to sit by the sea and lie under the sun in my sleeping Africa. The very essence of romance is uncertainty, you know? So I find it best that I let everyone's worries, needs and pleas be left to linger while I put up my feet. I only am in need of an aspirin is all.
Let them all wait in speculation, perhaps then they will see how romantic a mystery like Me can be.
Oh, pleasure, pleasure, I'm going home with nothing more than ME.
"I dreamed of going to Africa....then, one day, it happened..."
I'm off!!!
-Jacqueline
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