BLACK BIRD

Andrea's sent an URGENT cablegram stating:

JACQUELINE:
MUST STOP MOMENTARILY TO TAKE MY EVENING CALL.
ANTONY SPOTTED SCOOTERING TOWARD SPAIN.
FRANK IS WEARING YOUR GLOVES.
HARRY'S SUSPECT.
DON'T JUMP FROM YOUR CASA OFF ROCKY RIDGE.
-ANDREA

Darling, I hadn't the chance to make it to the top of the stairs till after I'd finished Andrea's cable and by the time I opened my door I was fraught with the spooks from his dramatic tone so that when a black bird flew past my head I ducked for cover and spotted an envelope of white on the floor that wasn't addressed to any one particular and figured it quite all right to open, seeing it in my room and all. It was empty other than a small slip of paper like the kind found in Chinese cookies. It read:

Something you lost will soon turn up.

First of all, Frank's not wearing my gloves as remember, I'd found them in my Kelly bag with the pearl handled gun that had the penis song tied round it with the ribbon I'd untied from Andrea's Aston Martin before I'd gone shopping for eight pairs of sandals.

What gloves Frank is sporting, I haven't a clue. But not mine.

And, anyhow darling, you know I've hundreds of pairs. I just never told anyone ALL the clues I've been collecting for this on going masquerade of everyone's intriguing stories. Incidental or not.

And the only thing Harry's suspect of is his raucuos covet of a queen's crown.

Most certainly I jump from the casa each afternoon after having spent a morning in all it's glory once I'm prepared to make an entrance or a grand arrival. It's proposterous to think I'd do it in another manner, other than a different way more splendid than the first.

Darling, it's thrilling having found a bird in my room. It's an ominous premonition of favored luck, I'm sure.

Thank the saints that Betsy's still on top of my luggage as I can't imagine her deeply sweated browed face having to pack and unpack, pack, unpack, and pack every three days. She seems more responsible with her feet on the ground.

It seems as if I get no rest.

Now I suppose Harry will be all about the city once Antony drops by with my green scooter. Which I'm never driving again darling, as even parred down as I am in couture outfits to choose, not a one of them looks as desvestatingly gorgeous as they do on me in a Martin driven by Andrea.

The moment after I'd rang room service, myself, for a drink from downstairs and situated into a view from my veranda did Andre dial me up in whispered tones telling me to hush as he's taking the midnight train and will be here in the a.m. to discuss our next scene as we're expected to appear before Inspector Clouseau in Paris, France on Friday the 13th.

Andrea is just mad for capers with twisting plots, you know.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Ciao

-Jacqueline