A pleasing proposition

'Let's put it this way,' said she. 'I'm someone who knows your situation. . .'

'Yes. . .'

'. . .and can do something about it.'

'Really?' said I. 'And what, exactly, would give you the power to remedy this predicament?'

Victoria ran a hand through her hair. 'You see, Alfie, my parents own this hotel.'

'Really? Well, I'm impressed. It's an excellent hotel. Four-star, well kept-up, nice jacuzzis--'

'And you're cute,' Victoria said. She grabbed a hold of the collar of my shirt and brought my face within an inch of hers.

I should have been used to this treatment. But no: my heart rate quickened; my veins dilated as usual; I felt a strong desire to increase our proximity still further. Outside, I said (with the glib air of a well-spoken board member in the midst of calm discourse):

'What solution, then, do you propose?'

Galaxies

I've said she looked like a twenty-something, this Victoria. Well, she did. This girl wore a hushed, majestic, worldly cloak of an attitude, though not flourishing it much. She also wore small, dark-framed glasses. They gave her the look of an old soul, who would perhaps venture far beyond her library if she didn't see all the traps. But she told me that, like me, she was only nineteen:

'I'm telling you, Alfie, I am really only nineteen.'

'But you wear,' said I, 'such a hushed, majestic, worldly cloak of an attitude (though y' don't flourish it much). And those glasses,' said I, 'impart to you the look of an old soul, who would perhaps venture years beyond her library if she didn't see--'

'If you could drop the poetry,' she said, 'maybe you might get somewhere in figuring out who I really am.'

I read this as code for 'getting me into bed'; but perhaps I am crass.

'All right, Victoria,' I said. 'The poetry's all down. I'm tucking it in my back pocket, along with my dignity and temperance. Now tell me'--this time with her hand on my arm--just who' (looking deep into her eyes, those shadowed galaxies) '. . .exactly' (so so beautiful) '. . .you are.'

Victoria II

I walked up to the desk. I also did not smile.

'Hello,' said the young woman. 'May I help you?'

I found her tone opaque. Her eyes, though, supplied what the former didn't. I said, 'Yes, my girlfriend's just left me.'

'Oh,' she said, eyes almost imperceptibly wider.

'--here,' I finished. 'Left me here,' I said.

'Oh. You must be feeling. . .um. . .forlorn.'

'Rather,' said I. 'Of course, as far as she's concerned, we're still an item. See, she wouldn't give up our adventures in the sack for. . .'

The young woman regarded me rather more rubicund than before.

'No,' I said. 'The question isn't whether she'll forgive me. It's whether I will forgive her. How do you call yourself?'

'Victoria,' she said. 'I am Victoria.'