Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Makes A Comeback
by Tux Toledo
Page 2
"Good morning, Sarah," I said.
"Good
morning, Winston." She grabbed my hands and kissed me a bit too
dramatically. "It's so nice to see you. It's been such a
long time." Her smile restored the youth to the outer reaches of
her face. It had been a while since I had seen her and I must say
that if she wasn't careful she was going to end up as portly as her
husband. Have you noticed how wealth has a way of ravaging the
body? Perhaps you have.
The man rose.
"Do you
know Tom Sledgeton?" Sarah asked, presenting her breakfast
partner. He was a tall man, also well on his way to becoming
portly. He wore an expensive suit that he had bought off the rack
without alteration. It's a crime to pay that much money and not
get bespoke or at least made-to-measure. Style, you either have
it or you don’t and if you have it, well, enough said about that.
Mr. Sledgeton did not have it.
"We may have met before," I said to him. "I'm Winston Churchill."
"How do you do?" he said. He looked me over the way an investor looks over stock quotations.
"Tom's a good friend of Rodney's," Sarah explained.
"And how is Rodney?" I asked.
"Fine.
He's out of town on business. He'll be back this afternoon.
We're having a dinner party Friday night. My horoscope said it
would be a good night for a party. Why don't you join us?"
"I'd love to."
"Good," she said. "Parties are always better when you're around. Something exciting always seems to happen."
"I'm sure she means that in a positive way," Sledgeton said.
"Of course I did," Sarah laughed.
"Thank you," I said.
"Well, it's been nice meeting you," Tom Sledgeton said, suddenly grabbing my hand.
I took the hint.
"Yes,
goodbye," I said. I kissed Sarah on the cheek and left the
deli. I continued toward the newsstand with renewed vigor.
The prospect of the Everton's party brightened my spirits.
The
Everton's were young money on a buying binge they hoped would secure
their place in established society. They lived in a small palace,
imaginatively called "Everton House", on Broadway, west of Van
Ness. Pretty ritzy territory. My Rolls Royce always looked
at home in their driveway.
I had known Sarah's husband, Rodney,
for quite some time. He was an impetuous man, relentless in his
pursuit of success. His conglomeration of businesses were
prosperous, his shotgun collection impressive, his parties predatory
and expensive. Friday evening promised to be eventful if nothing
else.
© 2008 David Biagini