Sagittarius
Hong Kong's preeminent spy, Charles Wu, was backstage during the Cavalia/Odysseo intermission, hoping to seduce one of the graceful Canadian acrobats--but they were much more interested in taking turns holding and petting little Buffy Cordelia. ("C'est la plus jolie bebe' en Washington!" said a lovely young blond.) Delia, for her part, was clamoring to be let down to run over to the magical horses. "Laisse-moi!", said a young redhead, taking Delia in her arms and leading her carefully away from the restless stallions over to a tranquil black gelding. "Voila'!" Wu sighed in happy resignation, outshone again by his young daughter. In truth, October had been an excellent month--first with getting back in John Kerry's good graces after the mutually beneficial trip to Asia, then getting back in Mia's good graces by reuniting her with her sister in Southeast Asia, then eliminating rival Glenn Defense Marine Asia by exposing their bribery recipients, and (oh, yes!) finally playing his blackmail card against John Boehner to get the House vote to end the Shutdown in the eleventh hour. Delia was now rubbing noses with the gelding, and the redhead was winking at Wu. Life was sweet!
Over in the lounge, Buddy Lee Trickham and Bridezilla were drinking cheap wine and discussing the horses they had grown up with, compared to the multi-talented herd they had just witnessed. They had a lot in common, Bridezilla had to concede to herself, but she couldn't help imagine what it would have been like to watch the show with Italian economist Luciano Talaverdi instead: she could hear in her mind the sound of his voice gushing over the lyrical pageantry of the exquisitely designed show, comparing various scenes to Roman mythology, and telling her she had eyes that flashed with the excitement of a white stallion--
"Hon?"
"What?" she asked.
"Never mind," said Professor Trickham, attributing her distracted air to the post-Gothic, neo-Bellum's female obsession with symbols of pre-industrial agrarian elegance and privilege--e.g., finely bred horses. (Bridezilla made more of an effort to focus on what Trickham was saying, but her mind wandered again: to her triumphant creation of the Mitch McConnell Kentucky Kickback--another political victory for the Prince and Prowling junior partner, but one which was known only to a select few.) "Hon, are you tired?"
"No!" cried Bridezilla, who just realized she must have sighed. "This show is absolutely stunning and gorgeous! Thank you so much for bringing me here! But it was such a long week at work--what with the Shutdown, and our military contractor clients' getting antsy."
"Of course, babe! But we're here to relax and rejuvenate! You aren't billing anybody right now, so forget about 'em all!" (But Bridezilla did not want to forget about her triumph--or Talaverdi--and her mind continued to wander.)
Sebastian L'Arche and Becky Hartley were also backstage during the intermission of Cavalia/Odysseo, courtesy of the VIP tickets some grateful clients had given them. (Hartley had cured their cat's constipation with animal acupuncture, and the Dog Whisperer had cured their dog's fear of Miley Cyrus music.) "I still don't understand how those women could hang on scarves!" declared Hartley. "I do a hundred crunches a day, and I can barely--"
"That horse is really unhappy," interrupted L'Arche.
"Him? Oh, he just needs to be fixed! My daddy is not gonna believe it when I tell him a third of the horses in this show are stallions! These people are just cruisin' for a bruisin'!"
"No, it's something else," said L'Arche.
"What, the biting? Stallions do that!" said Hartley.
L'Arche ignored her and walked over to the feisty Lusitano, which was ignoring his trainer's attempts to get him in line for the rehearsal sequence before intermission was over. "Shhhh," whispered L'Arche, placing a hand behind Jazzy's twitching ear. "Tell me." The trainer stood back, amazed that the stallion had stopped moving and was staring deeply at L'Arche--L'Arche had not even spoken to the horse in French! L'Arche stroked the horse for a couple of minutes and whispered some more words into his ear; then he gently nudged Jazzy back to his trainer.
"He'll be alright now," said L'Arche, and he walked away quickly.
"What was it?" asked Hartley, sprinting after him.
"Just another ghost," said L'Arche. "I told him this region is full of them, but they won't bother the horses."
But it wasn't just another ghost: it was the ghost of Henry Samuelson, spying on Charles Wu--convinced Wu was meeting a secret contact here. Everybody knew that Arabs were obsessed with horses, and if the Heurich Society was not responsible for Saudi Arabia's turning down the U.N. Security Council seat, then who was? Ghost Henry flitted restlessly around the tent, determined to find out what Wu was up to.
Several miles away, Angela de la Paz was running up and down the steps of the Jefferson Memorial, in sync with the pink warblers flying above her head, and the pink dolphins playing in the Tidal Basin beneath her. She had done it on a dare from Solomon Kane, and it had worked! She had flown to New York, crashed a United Nations reception, introduced herself to the Saudi Arabian Ambassador to the U.N., and convinced him to turn down the Security Council seat. Chi! The baby inside her was growing bigger, and she was going to have to change her workout routines soon. She went into a handstand, then carefully walked down the steps on her hands. She sat down for a few modified crunches, then stopped to catch her breath. She could feel Ardua of the Potomac half a mile away, reaching up to the 14th Street Bridge to give the E.P.A. Administrator a whack of cancer; Angela closed her eyes to concentrate until she felt Ardua sink back into the muck. Then she looked at her watch and got up to go get ready for her date with Kane at Odysseo.
Out in the river, a furious Ardua lashed out at everyone in sight, infecting another dozen ducks and a hundred more river rats with her evil hatred. That girl can't be everywhere in this city!
******************************
COMING UP: Men in veils.
Over in the lounge, Buddy Lee Trickham and Bridezilla were drinking cheap wine and discussing the horses they had grown up with, compared to the multi-talented herd they had just witnessed. They had a lot in common, Bridezilla had to concede to herself, but she couldn't help imagine what it would have been like to watch the show with Italian economist Luciano Talaverdi instead: she could hear in her mind the sound of his voice gushing over the lyrical pageantry of the exquisitely designed show, comparing various scenes to Roman mythology, and telling her she had eyes that flashed with the excitement of a white stallion--
"Hon?"
"What?" she asked.
"Never mind," said Professor Trickham, attributing her distracted air to the post-Gothic, neo-Bellum's female obsession with symbols of pre-industrial agrarian elegance and privilege--e.g., finely bred horses. (Bridezilla made more of an effort to focus on what Trickham was saying, but her mind wandered again: to her triumphant creation of the Mitch McConnell Kentucky Kickback--another political victory for the Prince and Prowling junior partner, but one which was known only to a select few.) "Hon, are you tired?"
"No!" cried Bridezilla, who just realized she must have sighed. "This show is absolutely stunning and gorgeous! Thank you so much for bringing me here! But it was such a long week at work--what with the Shutdown, and our military contractor clients' getting antsy."
"Of course, babe! But we're here to relax and rejuvenate! You aren't billing anybody right now, so forget about 'em all!" (But Bridezilla did not want to forget about her triumph--or Talaverdi--and her mind continued to wander.)
Sebastian L'Arche and Becky Hartley were also backstage during the intermission of Cavalia/Odysseo, courtesy of the VIP tickets some grateful clients had given them. (Hartley had cured their cat's constipation with animal acupuncture, and the Dog Whisperer had cured their dog's fear of Miley Cyrus music.) "I still don't understand how those women could hang on scarves!" declared Hartley. "I do a hundred crunches a day, and I can barely--"
"That horse is really unhappy," interrupted L'Arche.
"Him? Oh, he just needs to be fixed! My daddy is not gonna believe it when I tell him a third of the horses in this show are stallions! These people are just cruisin' for a bruisin'!"
"No, it's something else," said L'Arche.
"What, the biting? Stallions do that!" said Hartley.
L'Arche ignored her and walked over to the feisty Lusitano, which was ignoring his trainer's attempts to get him in line for the rehearsal sequence before intermission was over. "Shhhh," whispered L'Arche, placing a hand behind Jazzy's twitching ear. "Tell me." The trainer stood back, amazed that the stallion had stopped moving and was staring deeply at L'Arche--L'Arche had not even spoken to the horse in French! L'Arche stroked the horse for a couple of minutes and whispered some more words into his ear; then he gently nudged Jazzy back to his trainer.
"He'll be alright now," said L'Arche, and he walked away quickly.
"What was it?" asked Hartley, sprinting after him.
"Just another ghost," said L'Arche. "I told him this region is full of them, but they won't bother the horses."
But it wasn't just another ghost: it was the ghost of Henry Samuelson, spying on Charles Wu--convinced Wu was meeting a secret contact here. Everybody knew that Arabs were obsessed with horses, and if the Heurich Society was not responsible for Saudi Arabia's turning down the U.N. Security Council seat, then who was? Ghost Henry flitted restlessly around the tent, determined to find out what Wu was up to.
Several miles away, Angela de la Paz was running up and down the steps of the Jefferson Memorial, in sync with the pink warblers flying above her head, and the pink dolphins playing in the Tidal Basin beneath her. She had done it on a dare from Solomon Kane, and it had worked! She had flown to New York, crashed a United Nations reception, introduced herself to the Saudi Arabian Ambassador to the U.N., and convinced him to turn down the Security Council seat. Chi! The baby inside her was growing bigger, and she was going to have to change her workout routines soon. She went into a handstand, then carefully walked down the steps on her hands. She sat down for a few modified crunches, then stopped to catch her breath. She could feel Ardua of the Potomac half a mile away, reaching up to the 14th Street Bridge to give the E.P.A. Administrator a whack of cancer; Angela closed her eyes to concentrate until she felt Ardua sink back into the muck. Then she looked at her watch and got up to go get ready for her date with Kane at Odysseo.
Out in the river, a furious Ardua lashed out at everyone in sight, infecting another dozen ducks and a hundred more river rats with her evil hatred. That girl can't be everywhere in this city!
******************************
COMING UP: Men in veils.
posted by washingtonwaterwoman | 3:50 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home