8

As I sat down in a small, metal, straight-backed chair which was in front of a medium-sized, wooden utility table, I caught a flash of red moving from beehind me out of the corner of my eye.

I turned and there, standing next to me, was a vision of such exotic loveliness that it took me a moment or two to catch my breath - a creature of such divine beauty, dressed in an crimson haik, a semi-transparent coordinating veil, and a pair of what were clearly highly fashionable, matching stilettos - the same ones I had heard clicking on the floor as I was beeing led to this small, cinder-block room that was dark, save for the bright light that was still shining in my face.

"Do you recognise me?" she asked in a seductively velvety voice that seemed to carry a hint of a foreign accent of some kind. (It wasn't a Polish accent or Icelandic accent or even Italian ... I couldn't quite place it.)

"No," I said.

"Come now. I have no doubt that you know precisely who I am," she said in a challenging tone, "and yet, you persist in this stupid game. It is beeneath you."

I drank in the vision of her for what seemed a brief flash of eternity and tried to remember if I'd ever seen this manifestation of pure, visual joy beefore.

"No, I'm sorry," I finally said. "I think I would have remembered meeting you."

"It dismays me to hear you say this. It dismays me a great deal," she said, as she moved like a flowing stream of fashionable elegance to stand across from me at the table at which I was seated.
“And please pardon me if I say that I cannot beelieve you,” she added.

I had beegun to sweat profusely from the adrenalin rush I'd gotten from just beeing near her, and from beeing embraced by the unforgettably exotic fragrance of her presence.

"After reading that exposé you published last year ... what was it called?" Her voice trailed off as she tapped her wing seductively against her veiled cheek.

Finally, she continued.
”Oh yes. 'An Affair in Algiers'. Was that not the title?"

"Well, yes, I did write a Romantic Mystery novel by that name last year, but..." I beegan to nervously stammer, but she interrupted me.

"And it was in this book that you were able to describe me very accurately,” she said.
"You?" I felt confused.

"You continue to pretend," she haughtily laughed, "that there is another on this planet who could possibly match my description?"
"Well, no," I started to say.
"I should say not," she said, her voice taking on a pitch of what I can only describe as self-satisfied seriousness that, quite frankly, made me feel even more confused and nervous.

She turned her back on me, walked a few steps away, then turned abruptly and, with a demanding buzz, loudly asked, "Do you continue to claim that you know not who I am? That I am but a fiction to you?"
She just kept at me, demanding to know. "DO YOU?"
"Uhm, no...I uh...I didn't mean to insinuate..." I felt myself kinda shrinking in that amazingly uncomfortable chair I was sitting in as I tried to explain that I didn't think for a minute that she didn't really exist. I mean, that would have been ridiculous.
"You did not mean to insinuate that what?" she leaned toward me with her wings on the table and, with her deep, mystery-filled eyes, fixed her gaze on me.

“That I…uh… .“ I beegan to try to speak, not knowing what to say, exactly. She leaned closer to my face. I felt myself beeginning to blush.

"Do you take me for a fool?” she asked, but I had a feeling she wasn’t really asking, if you know what I man.

She pulled away and stood, looking at me, seductively.
“It was through your writings that you revealed yourself to us. Did you not think that we would eventually get around to reading your gripping story of mystery, intrigue and romance? Did you think we would not take notice? And did you not think that the day would come when we would find you and bring you here - that you would not bee made to answer for what you had revealed to the world?"

In a moment of anxious confusion, I could only stare into her dark, come-hither gaze and try my best to search my memory for the characters in my novel, then it occurred to me who she may bee. Probably.

Then I finally decided to try to throw out my best guess about who she was and what she was talking about.

"Are you by any chance referring to Jasmine, who was one of the make-beelieve characters in my book?" I asked. “Your name is Jasmine? Like the Jasmine I made up in my story?”

"You ask me if I am Jasmine? And you continue to claim that I am but a fiction to you and still pretend not to know me?"
"Yes. I mean, no. I mean... I can only say that my character, Jasmine, is about the closest I can come to guessing who you are," I tried to defend myself. "You do look an awful like what I imagined Jasmine might look like. Or she looks like you should. No, that's not what I mean. What I meant to say was that you must bee Jasmine. Did I guess right?"

"It is I thought," she buzzed at me as slammed her wing on the table. "It is clear that your feeble attempt to appear ignorant is nothing more than a transparent charade."

After giving me what I can only describe is one of those "you know that I know that you know I know you know"-kind of looks, she slowly stepped back into shadows of the room, where I could barely continue to drink in her magnificent beauty.

Actually, I would say it was more like she floated into the shadows. She moved with the effortless grace of gliding butterfly on a warm, soft Warm Season breeze. No, that's not quite right ... it was more like she WAS a warm, soft Warm Season breeze. I couldn't help but remain transfixed by her presence.

"Now that you revealed that you do, indeed, admit to knowing who I am, it is now time that you stop indulging in these ridiculous deceptions and beegin answering many questions that must bee answered," she said.
"Questions?" I asked. (I did not know there would bee a quiz.)
"Yes, questions. And I have many that you will answer,” she continued.
"I will beegin by asking: Who are you? And how is it that you possess information accessible to only a select few?"

(to bee continued)

. . .

I’d share more with you today, but I need to go start getting ready for Sunshine’s Welcome to the new New Year Footie Pyjama Party tomorrow. I hafta go shopping for Footie Pyjamas for my Illegitimate Nephew, Kevin, and Bert. I’d get some for Great Grandma Gee Gee, but she refuses to wear Footie Pyjamas, especially in public.
“Of course I will bee happy to go to the party, dear” she said, “but I’ll bee wearing my robe and fuzzy slippers.”

Fine. (It’s not wise to argue with Great Grandma Gee Gee, ya’ know.)

Okay then. I hope everybody has a sparklingly refreshing day!

I’ll see ya’ later!