Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Goes to the Dogs
by Tux Toledo
Page 2
"If
you don't know about field trials then you must not be a sportsman," he
continued.
I found his statement a trifle irritating. No one has ever
questioned my sporting nature.
"Well, now, I certainly appreciate sport, and I like to think that
there's a certain amount of sporting blood running through my veins," I
said.
He looked at me the way a breeder looks at horses. It may
have been my ascot, a fine, dark-blue silk foulard, that eventually won
him over. "Well, maybe," he said.
"I assume you are successful in these field trials." I said.
"Very." He then carefully looked around the room.
"Until recently, that is." His tanned skin suddenly looked
the way Chateauneuf du Pape would look if you poured water into it.
"Oh?" Now we were getting somewhere.
Nick looked down at his feet and became another person, molded instead
of sculpted, glued instead of sewn, shaken instead of
stirred. He was quiet for a moment. Quiet, but
restless. Nick Arthur did not wear humility well.
"Harry Avalon says you're a man who can be trusted," he said.
"Loyalty. Respect. That's what it's all about," I
answered.
"Come and see me this weekend," he snickered. He scribbled a
Woodside address on the back of a business card and handed it to
me. "You may be able to help."
© 2008 David Biagini