…Jeffrey Bernard

“Her hair is very dark brown, almost black, and it looks like silk. Her eyes are like a summer sky and the whites of them are as clear as the sparkle of her teeth behind lips that beg kissing. Between those eyes and that mouth there is the incident of a nose. How God and genes can make perfection out of gristle is nothing short of a miracle. The more I look at her the more I become aware of my age, weight loss, pending hair loss, pallidness, scruffiness and general physical desintegration.

How can I tell her that the inside of the top of my skull is like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?

Bettina, for that is her name, will end up with a film-maker aged about 30 who drives a Ferrari coupé, one bronzed arm nonchalantly over the driving door, and who lives in a riverside penthouse with a Burmese cat, several gold medallions, a bottle of after-shave, an extremely expensive hi-fi set and no self-doubt whatsoever.

What shall I do about Bettina? I have nothing to offer except love, a half share in my current account, some vitamin C tablets and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot for breakfast.

Oh dear, how very, very much I want to save her from falling into the hands of a really nice man. I could give her blood, sweat and tears.”

Nenhum post relacionado.