Rowena and her minions despite their concern for Bee are stunned, I could tell, by the resemblance.
Finally, coming upon Beeâs bedroom, I stand looking around, mesmerizedâ¦so this is where all that fucking takes place. Looking out through a window I see a spot of white moving far belowâan animal of some sort grazing in the valley. It starts moving and as it bounds away I perceive it to beâ¦a unicorn! Good godâthis slap gets to me more than anything thus far and I express my rage by messing up her bureau drawers, randomly fishing around, and, although I myself have dresses, linens, and garments exquisite as hers, I canât stop from lustingover charmeuse nightgowns trimmed with Valenciennes lace, silken thongs, handkerchiefs, brassieres (too large for my tiny breasts), livid to see not only embroidered on them, but embossed on everything, everywhere I lookâthe bee, the small but costly crown that drives me to madness. Itâs even on her goddamned gold toothbrush. Now that I am at last in her bedroom I allow myself to lie down for a rest on the bed where she and Talbot enjoy their fearful pleasures. Lying there considering my next move I have to admit I am hard put to come up with anything even remotely adequate to top the theatricality, the pandemonium my arrival has created. The whole scene has gone perfect to plan, but jealousy is exhausting me and I seethe with emotion imagining Talbot lyingexactly where I am now, fucking her and not me. What can I do to quell raging fires?
It might be effective to dress in one of her gowns and find my way back to the living room where I left herâprostrate, passed outâto flaunt my beauty which is at its peak right now after days at the spa. Yesâthat notion gives me energy to open a closet, but it is filled with white caftans too celibate for my mood. In others I recognize dresses of emerald-green, apricot, saffron, cinnamonâin styles and colors Talbot chose for me. There is not a dress in this closet that would not suit me to a tee, but I settle for a magenta chiffon and, taking off my dress, slip it over my head. When I stand to see how it looks in the mirrorâI see it is not me but Bee, fully recovered, standing in the doorway. But isit really? We look so alike, might it only be a reflection of myself in a mirror? Ideas like pellets of quicksilver pound my brain into migraine as I try to free one into action, but they only make me crazy.
Next morning I wake, fully remembering each delicious moment. What a sublime dream! I write it down instantly so as not to forget it. This one must be at hand, to read again and again.
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I CANâT STAND IT a moment longer. I have to see where Priscilla lives. A foray to New York is put in motion, although somewhat delayed by indecision as to what to wear. Hours are spent trying on one dress after another as Rowena sits silent except for nods ofapprovalâyes, or shakes of headâno. I am hard put to decide, as there is not one dress or suit in my wardrobe not selected by Talbot, each in perfect taste but sexy. Definitely. Rowena finally loses patience, and, sensing I am losing my audience of one, I hastily throw whatever is at hand into my suitcase and off I jet to New York to be met by limousine and chauffeured to Sutton Place.
I ring the doorbell and am shown into the living room by Phoebe, Priscillaâs housekeeper, startled by her astonishing eyes, opalescent as green grapes, which look me over as she pleasantly tells me, âMrs. Bingham has been expecting you.â Itâs a long wait as I sit on a sofa until finally I hear heels clickety-click down the staircase. Suddenly there she isâin personâthe hated Priscillaâwho sits herself down on an identical sofa opposite me. It isas if I sit on a sofa looking at myself in a mirror. We are both dressed in identical jackets of chartreuse jersey wool, navy skirts, navy hose, and spiky-heeled shoes. We even have
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