Acte 8: Scarlette, Well Met
Scarlette is the name I am calling myself this evening.
I first noticed her as she slithered and swished about in the long, off one shoulder designer gown she wore so winningly along with her quite pretty, well-appointed figure.
The gown was the shade of fresh lavender, the satiny material shimmering and glistening like a reflection of rippling pooled water, as she walked in from the outside castle green.
She was holding a thin crystal goblet filled with the expensive blood-red burgundy they were serving to this evening’s guests...
I only noticed all this briefly, for once I had her properly in my sights, her jewels, pure diamonds, totally commanded any further attention by me.
I was so taken in by that vision, it forced me to smoothly end the conversation that I had been having with a rather severe lady and her diminutive look-a-like daughter. A youthfully silky blonde-haired debutante of sweet 16.
I had met her mother first.
Her mother was one of the high strung, high born, well-bred ladies, who knew how to present themselves. Too upper crust to pry conversation easily from. But I had invested almost 30 minutes of my time on the broad, because of the most provocative emerald jewelry she was wearing to highlight the deep green eyes, and matching green velvet gown she was wearing.
The stuck-up lady just could not be persuaded to fill in the obvious blanks on the open-ended questions I was asking in my attempts at making conversation, in order to discreetly look over her jewellery.
Then, thankfully, her daughter, Samantha, was called over.
Samantha was a different story altogether. Herself resplendently clad in a white taffeta gown and wearing some rather too gleaming pearls.
A rather tantalizing collection in and of themselves displayed along with her rather too perky person.
It took me all of 10 minutes of conversation to become my confidante as my eyes cheerfully appraised her pearls.
The rich young thing had chirpily fed to me enough about her family to have quite filled my desires of eyeballing her pearls. So that I was only treading water as far as our conversation had continued.
I was starting to look around for someone fresh, and that’s when I first spied the newcomer and her companions.
For she was not alone, this chick in lavender.
Alongside her was walking a shorter brown haired Lass with large glasses that gave her hazel eyes an owlish look. She was resplendent in a blue taffeta dress. She was also wearing jewels set with amazingly glittery diamonds.
Their male escort was a handsome young man, rather a young Rodger Moore look-alike, magnificently wearing a crisp black tux and gleaming white shirt. On his left wrist was a gleaming silver Rolex watch, and his silver cufflinks held diamond chips.
He was coming inside behind the pair, holding a highball glass with an amber colored liquor with ice.
Yet a third lady walked with him. An unmistakably Irish Lass wearing a floating gown of shimmery silver. She was sporting a pleasing ensemble of diamonds and sapphires.
Players, probably I mused, as I watched them sit down at a table by the entrance.
The ‘players’ were absorbed in their own sphere, not paying any attention to outside affairs going on around their table. I could also tell that they probably there as a group to themselves. No pesky parental units around to run interference.
As they were so occupied, I was able to maneuver in from behind to get a closer, delicious look at the sparklers the gabbing girls were so deliciously showcasing.
I had never myself
seen a million in notes, but I whispered to myself...
“Scarlette, you probably are looking at well over a million and a half in the jewels these three young pretties were sporting!