The Little Duchess
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
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| Photograph - Alex Waterhouse-Hayward |
The little duchess sat on her aluminum throne at the dinner table, in the wondrous light of a candle. She had aged, certainly, and could have been puffed with cortisone, but she had on the same lipstick she wore at seven, the same red smear, when she was Scarlett O’Hara on her elocution class. He offered her the white rose.
“Carleton, “she said,
never bothering to shake his hand, ”that’s rather daring of you.” Her voice had
the same old fiddler’s ring. That sound fired up his loins. He was her prisoner
after a single sentence.
Lorelei from Jerome Charyn's Bitter Bronx - Thirteen Stories
The electric dark of the King Cole
The cat lady's kiss
Seducing a cockroach
The electric dark of the King Cole
The cat lady's kiss
Seducing a cockroach
