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of shiny golden hair that now fell wildly over his
smooth forehead. Despite his blond strands, he had a
dark complexion which only made his cerulean eyes
glimmer that much more in the glow of the street
lamp. Dressed in a tuxedo, his shoulders back, his
torso slim, he appeared before me like a prince--
gallant, elegant, strong, for the features of his
handsome face did seem carved out of some royal
heritage.
He had a strong and perfect mouth and a
Roman nose, perfectly straight, to go along with those
dazzling blue eyes. The lines of his jaw turned up
sharply, enhancing the impression that his face had
been etched out to duplicate the face of some movie
star idol. I was breathless for a moment, unable to
move under the radiance of his warm and attractive
smile, which quickly turned into a soft laugh. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"And what sort of costume is this? Are you playing
the poor girl or what?" he asked, stepping around me
as if judging me in some fashion contest.
"Pardon?"
My question threw him into a fit of hysterics.
He clutched his side and leaned back on the hood of
his sports car. "That's great," he said. "I love it.
/> Pardon?" he mimicked. "I don't think it's so funny," I
said indignantly, but that just made him laugh again. "I'd never expect you to choose anything like
this," he said, holding his graceful hand out toward
me, palm up. "And where did you get that bag, a thrift
shop? What's in it anyway, more rags?"
I pulled my bag against my stomach and
