Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Meets His Match
by Tux Toledo
Page 2
It
was an unusually balmy winter evening in San Francisco. The
glitterati wore their fur coats out of fashion, not
necessity. It was also opera season, that dangerous time of
year when culture and sociality gang up on unsuspecting aspirants to
the beau monde. I've been told that it takes a man at least
six seasons to harden to the point where he can stomach the opera and
still maintain enthusiasm for the post-opera party. Many do
not have the mettle and they slide back into the bourgeoisie, fading
forever from the gossip columns.
It was Friday night and I was at a post-opera party in the home of a
flamboyant financier. I may at times miss the opera, but I
never miss the party. Unfortunately, the prima donna was also
attending the party. She was artificially demur, holding
court among a group of fawning admirers. I hoped none of them
would ask her to sing. It's not that I have anything against
good music, it's just that there's something about sopranos.
I think it's the remarkable similarity between their singing and the
banshee of love-starved cats. I crossed my fingers and hoped
for the best.
"Winston!" someone called.
I turned to face the voice. It was Sidney Felstein, dashingly
dressed in a stiff tuxedo with a champagne glass attached to the left
sleeve.
"Sidney, been to the opera, I see."
"Yes. Marvelous, simply marvelous."
The prima donna overheard our conversation and smiled.
"Don't encourage her," I muttered, pulling him aside. "So,
Sidney, how have you been?"
"Fine, fine. And you?" He was nervous.
Well, Sidney was always nervous. This time he was more
nervous than usual.
"Fine," I said.
"Fine. Listen, Winston, I've got something to talk to you
about." He spoke softly and looked around to see if anyone
else was listening.
"Fire away," I said.
© 2008 David Biagini