And talk about charm! I’ll never forget how she’d raise her eyebrow ever so slightly and flash a hint of that very knowing, adult smile, which you could read all sorts of things into. The original Mona Lisa.
Except that she was blonde. In the evening, among palm trees on the moonlit beach, her hair shone ever so gloriously. We took many an evening stroll, Eve and I—she in her tastefully-appointed evening gown, me in my diamond-studded white shirt and tux. Gazing into each other’s starlit eyes, singing Italian arias, quoting portions of the Sonnets from the Portuguese. Sharing inmost thoughts. Comparing metaphysical speculations. Making plans for the future. Until that fateful day. But I’m getting ahead of myself.