Reaching My Zenith III
Mrs. Olivier calls... at my home... over the weekend.
Whatever did Mr G. do or say to prompt her to respond to my quest? I suspect some jewelry has been procured... lavish.
“Thank you for calling, Mrs. Olivier. Did you get my note and package?”
“Yes,” her inflection questioning, as if to ask... is this so important?
“I was just curious if you have noticed anything... different. Has the scent offered the hominess that we intend?”
“Well Douglas has been spending time... well that’s irrelevant. It’s a nice freshener around the kitchen area. Visitor’s actually think I’ve baked or cooked something.”
“Have you given your bedroom a little spritz?” suppressing laughter.
“No... what’s this about?” she becomes suspicious.
“I think we need to meet... and talk... about how your Douglas,” my tone lugubrious, Mrs. Olivier the only person to use that moniker, “is indeed spending his time. A quiet meeting... only you and I need to know about it.”
“What has that old goat been up to?” Mrs. Olivier sensing inappropriate behavior.
“Nothing we cannot bring under control, Mrs. Olivier. Why not stop in at my apartment? Perhaps brunch sometime Saturday or Sunday... while you’re in the City shopping.”
“Next Saturday would be fine. I have tickets to a show.”
Yes, of course you do, Mrs. Olivier, I think to myself. First balcony I am sure, unless there are more pretentious seats available.
“It’s a date. Say 12:30 p.m.”
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