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Tomas remembered the old nights. He remembered the barges, opulent, river platforms, rowed by liveried watermen, progressing down the Thames from just west of The City to the noble enclosure of Wimbeldon. This was the first 'Main Line'... the first Tuxedo Park and the original Beverly hills. Peers mingled with merchant kings in a fine, country town filled with fresh, new manor houses and a resident Dowager Queen.
Vampirinos came to dance at the splendid balls and assemblies.... and vampirinas too. Such theatricality. Huge sparklers lined the paths from quay to porte cochere, where bewigged courtiers and would-be courtiers sailed into glittering halls, like ships of the line into Cadiz.
They called him 'the Spaniard,' second son to a royally connected hidalgo, from an old Andalusian dynasty predating The Reconquest. And Tomas obliged them with sensual couplets of poesia antigua and hot, little kisses.
But these nights were not for dining and his tid-bits all survived. Though he sometimes did some 'shopping' for a rump-roast, or a loin to be devoured later. Corruption flowered just as brightly then as it does now. And he did his best to cull the grossest weeds.
Francis did the same. Miranda was his 'beard.' For who'd suspect a gentleman allied to such as her of wanting more than all the others did? A seat on The East India Company? He could have it. A reception at Saint James? Why not?
Blood flowed free in those days. Money too. London was the best of all possible worlds, for the gentlemen of the day ... and the denizens of the night...
Tomas had digs in The West End, a new, classic townhouse. columned doorway, white stucco facade and all that. At least I think he did. He bought and sold them so often. But such was the fashion. Society was in flux. The modern age was born...
And it still has not come of age.....
But how goes it in the fabled township after all these years?....... Even better. Wimbeldon-the-fair... a town and country playground for the stylish and ever-young.
No barge conveyed them out this way on this cold winter night..... A Jaguar raced along the road, a coach devoid of light.
And somewhere in a manor house behind an ivy wall, a 'dead' girl, though still dancing, was the fairest corpse of all....
Tomorrow night 'it' happens.
Tomas relives the old 'days.'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thank you. please click this TICKET.... to a secret world. leave a COMMENT plus a link. we'd love to hear from you.
Vampirinos came to dance at the splendid balls and assemblies.... and vampirinas too. Such theatricality. Huge sparklers lined the paths from quay to porte cochere, where bewigged courtiers and would-be courtiers sailed into glittering halls, like ships of the line into Cadiz.
They called him 'the Spaniard,' second son to a royally connected hidalgo, from an old Andalusian dynasty predating The Reconquest. And Tomas obliged them with sensual couplets of poesia antigua and hot, little kisses.
But these nights were not for dining and his tid-bits all survived. Though he sometimes did some 'shopping' for a rump-roast, or a loin to be devoured later. Corruption flowered just as brightly then as it does now. And he did his best to cull the grossest weeds.
Francis did the same. Miranda was his 'beard.' For who'd suspect a gentleman allied to such as her of wanting more than all the others did? A seat on The East India Company? He could have it. A reception at Saint James? Why not?
Blood flowed free in those days. Money too. London was the best of all possible worlds, for the gentlemen of the day ... and the denizens of the night...
Tomas had digs in The West End, a new, classic townhouse. columned doorway, white stucco facade and all that. At least I think he did. He bought and sold them so often. But such was the fashion. Society was in flux. The modern age was born...
And it still has not come of age.....
But how goes it in the fabled township after all these years?....... Even better. Wimbeldon-the-fair... a town and country playground for the stylish and ever-young.
No barge conveyed them out this way on this cold winter night..... A Jaguar raced along the road, a coach devoid of light.
And somewhere in a manor house behind an ivy wall, a 'dead' girl, though still dancing, was the fairest corpse of all....
Tomorrow night 'it' happens.
Tomas relives the old 'days.'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thank you. please click this TICKET.... to a secret world. leave a COMMENT plus a link. we'd love to hear from you.
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