Drinking With Thine Enemies
Beginning somewhere in the early 1990's and continuing - well, to the present (although much more infrequent and random nowadays), a close knit group of us challenged our writing selves to recap social events and scene gossip by translating it into Dangerous Liaisons-style letters. I have pulled a few from one such series of letters that were sent back and forth a while ago. These letters first appeared in our online e-zine, "Suffering is Hip." I read over these and performed some editing and pruning - focusing on the scandal and bitchy, gossipy parts. And really, I'm being unabashedly self-indulgent in posting these - but oh well! The Comtesse M is me. The others are, well - mum's zee word. A little blurb below from the e-zine acts as a sort of introduction.
"Drinking With Thine Enemies" is an exercise in reliving the ancient art of letter writing. The style takes its inspiration from heady classics such as "les Liaisons Dangereuses", "Clarissa", and "Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure", though the content and events described therein are wholly modern. Any resemblance to persons living or undead is purely coincidental ... we think. As a matter of fact, the question was put to the enigmatic Comtesse M, and on this subject she remains pointedly silent.
I still cannot get the cut tag to work - WTF? I give up on it now.
(Excerpts from Random Correspondence, circa 1990's)
Comtesse M to Dauphine K
Dearest beguiling Dauphine,
I had a conversation with the Comtesse Nyquolytt last evening. She informed me (quite breathlessly) that there were numerous letters awaiting perusal upon her return, including one from the re-emerged Mlle. R___! I wonder how the Mlle. arrived at the idea to pen a letter to the Comtesse, or had she already accomplished this feat before the impromptu tete a tete on Friday? The web weaves tighter, my fabulous K, and more intricate than ever! What next?
I implore you again to bedeck our presence with your attendance at La Club du T___. I seem to recollect that the Duke of W___ mentioned he may attend this particular night. And of course the Comtesse Nyquolytt and Mlle. R___ should both be in attendance as well. This could prove a scintillating or dreadful adventure! Ah the sheer uncertainty of things, sweetie! Mayhaps she and the Comtesse wish to further their prospects for intrigue as well? Well, shall work together to provide each other with social entertainment, such as polite society should do.
Comtesse M
Dauphine K to the Comtesse M
I will not shilly-shally. There is no other point to this note than to elaborate upon the occurrences of this past evening. The Club du T___ my dear, was everything you had promised, and a good deal more. What an exhilarating evening. It is not so much that I have learned the particulars of the intrigue, but rather the manifestations of such. The covert glances, the words spoken without explanation, and the sentences un-spoken all served to pique my interests to a most alarming degree. I tell you when all this began I had not a clue what to expect. This, as is my most oft spoken sentence of the week, is very interesting.
Later in the evening, as we basked in the light of the moon, I beckoned to the Mlle. R___. As you had noticed earlier too, she pranced right past me (you see how important it is to her not to make the first overture), so, when I managed to catch her eye later, I called her to me to sit by my side and be my companion for awhile. We conversed upon things of little import.
Her comments on the Salon were less than appreciative as it seems her sordid past haunts her there. Whereas I, who has no sordid past, experienced only the joys of reunion with those I have gone years without seeing. She is able to find only fault, as past acquaintances remind her of her own.
A short time passed as we were conversing animatedly, when suddenly that old fire I am so familiar with came to her eyes. Looking in the direction of Mlle. R___'s gaze, I glimpsed a figure leaving the scene hurriedly. Mlle. R. exclaimed quietly, "Mon Dieu!", and then rather loudly, "That Whore!" And off she went in a flurry of emotion, after the fast retreating anonymous figure.
She returned not more than a minute later with, I was soon to learn, Monsieur M., her most recent dalliance, pensively in tow. No doubt she chastised the "whore" for some impropriety unknown to myself. I was astounded by all this of course, and thinking of you my M, I made a timid inquiry as to the cause of this outburst. Alas, she would not say. I made the formal introduction of Mssr. M., and for a moment the situation became quite awkward as it seems there was something unpleasant between these two. In either case I dispelled the moment with more idle chat until the Comtesse Nyquolytt arrived at our little group. In retrospect it has occurred to me that the Comtesse was not altogether glad to make my acquaintance.
It proceeded thusly: Mlle. R___ and I are engaged in intimate conversation, when the Comtesse Nyquolytt arrived like a rustling, haughty spectre. Neither a word or glance does she give to Mlle. R__. or myself, who were seated, though she is but a mere twelve inches from either of us.
When, at last, she graced my person with a glance, I took her hand and introduced myself. (I will not be ignored you know. I really am losing patience with these people trying to ignore me, I will not let them get away with it, if only because I know how superfluous their motives are. Gads!) In any case she smiled stiffly as Mlle. R___. said something to the Comtesse Nyquolytt that I did not catch, assumedly something by way of introduction. Well, the Comtesse Nyquolytt turned towards Mlle. R___. and, not even looking her in the eye, but rather the kneecap, spat venomously, "We know each other, thank you." And in a moment she was gone.
The entire exchange must have taken less than a minute and was over with so quickly that I could only remain a little stunned and very much perplexed. I would probably have dismissed the situation if Mlle. R___ had not hurriedly made an excuse for the strange exchange post haste, saying that these society events put the Comtesse in an evil humor.
Now of course this told me that the Comtesse WAS in an evil humor, but I think not from the environments. My only deducements, and I am sure you will be able to enlighten me in this regard, was that the Comtesse Nyquolytt. had actually had indulged herself in an episode of jealous pique regarding matters of which I am as yet uninformed. Mlle. R___ quite stoically detoured any alluding inquiries by me instead along a topic of conversation that centered around her own fabulousness! Mon dieu!
I find it endlessly amusing that they seem to take themselves altogether seriously.
Dauphine K
Marquise duM to Comtesse M
I have been busy positively vying for my trollop badge. I was obliged to placate the two gentlemen I inconvenienced on the night of my birthday. I am beginning to see the wisdom of being inconsistent as behaving inconsistently seems to present an obstacle they so do enjoy overcoming. Although I would never act truly unethically nor manipulatively, I am beginning to get over that ideal of the naiveté of my youth of always being nice. Nice does not inflame the psyche.
I smile amusedly to myself as it has been a long time, a very long time, since I have been shameless enough (or is it blessed enough?) to initiate such delights with two different men within such a short time frame. I think hardly twenty hours had passed before I succumbed once again.
And, may I tell you, your Marquise is exhausted.
I do not wish to graze my way through these men, consume them, and throw them aside. I want to keep them, at least partially. I have to find a way to do this in a manner that can keep all happy. I am experimenting with a dangerous philosophy, a philosophy I have taken up and attempted many times in my life, and failed. Will I fail again? Success and failure in this endeavor is hard to measure.
If I am addicted to anything, it is poignancy.
Marquise duM
Comtesse M to Dauphine K
Such is the passing of time! The evening at Salon du N___ was quite amusing. The Mssr. S___ arrived around 5:30 to join the table consisting of the Marquise and myself. Apparently he was engaged to meet the Comtesse Nyquolytt around this same time. However, two hours ticked by and as others arrived, there was no sign of the Comtesse.
Mssr. S___ eventually declared that he was famished and was wont to place an order with the chef. Yet in consternation he decided against such a move since he was supposed to wait for the Comtesse before dining. I playfully suggested he might send out a valet to ascertain what the delay could be, mentioning that he was hungry. I then quickly realized that the Comtesse's temperament was such that if her young beau were to express urgency to see her merely because of his need for dinner, she would be extremely peeved. I thus instructed him to say that he was hungry...but for her presence. This was met with quite raucous amusement on Mssr. S___'s part who was charming in his chortling. I then wondered aloud if perhaps she were having carriage problems to which the Mssr. S___ impulsively muttered "It is probably a problem with clothing that detains her."
(Methinks the bloom is off the rose, do you not concur?)
Alas, just when I began to believe the Comtesse a no-show, who should come fluttering around the corner but the Mlle. R___, with a rather agitated and petulant looking Comtesse following close behind. With an alarming amount of haughty fanfare (the Comtesse) and coquettish greeting (the Mlle. R.) they joined our table.
After much pensive fussing about with clothing and hair, and ritualistic accessory adjustment, the Comtesse finally addressed the rest of us at the table (the Mssr. S___ having been on the immediate receiving end of her passionate attention).
Soon the Marquise Merlot took her leave and that left the Baron and I to entertain (or be entertained by) the other three. The Comtesse managed another of her mind-numbingly banal nostalgic excursions with the Baron whilst I drank my way through 4 Brandy Alexander's and conversed idly with the Mlle. R___. The Mssr. S___ read a book and alternately jumped at being groped by the Comtesse.
I do hope I have entertained you somewhat with my tale and I must say that I am positively delighted to be able to impart to you the incident via letter, although your presence at this uncanny event would have no doubt been quite an additional pleasure. As always I remain your devoted and sleep-charmed friend,
Comtesse M
Comtesse M to the Marquise duM
Ah my wanton Marquise,
I shall attempt to infuse this letter with at least a morsel of intrigue, extending a frivolous three hour event into a literary chronicle of alarming descriptiveness.
The Mlle. R___ had her birthday soiree at Salon du N___ this past Monday evening. It was commanded that each invitee appear in formal attire, and, the birthday gathering at du N___ looked quite lovely - velvet, satin and lace abounded. The Duke of W___ made his usual dapper appearance. The Dauphine K and I ordered a Brandy Alexander each, to stifle the yawns that hovered at the edges of our attention spans, and added nonchalant comments to the swirling fragments of conversation.
Comtesse Nyquolytt and her jaunty young escort, the Mssr. S___, arrived a good hour and a half post-reservation time. (The Mlle. R___ had explained earlier that the Comtesse was still feeling indisposed, and thus would need a longer amount of time with her toilette.) Predictably the Comtesse was decked quite elaborately -- this costume a theatrical 30s ensemble: fan, gloves, bracelets dangling and a large, ostentatious brooch clasped at the bosom of her wine velvet gown, ending with her hair cemented into some sort of bob. Of course we have seen this particular facade before at du N___ - Greta Garbo meets Camille meets Zelda Fitzgerald. Mon dieu.
The dashing Mssr. S___ sent a second Brandy Alexander to my end of the table. As I leaned down the table to thank him and perhaps engage in a bit of benign flirtation, the Comtesse embraced him and gazed torpidly at me remarking breathlessly "Is he not wonderful?" I felt this to be rather a competitive and possessive move, especially since the Mssr. was innocently acting the gentleman.
The second libation was welcome since unsightly yawns were escaping in spite of my valiant efforts to look pert and entertained.
Not surprising, the Comtesse's autocratic social nature soon prevailed over her fragile health and she became languidly animated (in that Greta/Camille/Zelda manner of hers).
She mentioned that she was hot and feverish. To which my current amour (and her former scandalous amour of distant past), the Baron V___, remarked in jest, "That is pretty unusual for someone so cold."
There was laughter. The Comtesse was a statue of contrived indifference. The Baron, realizing his delightful jest would be construed by the Comtesse as an insulting faux-pas, then complicated matters further by adding, "I meant unusual for one who is cold-blooded."
More laughter. A contemptuous stare from the Comtesse. The Baron finally finished by laughing,
"I meant unusual for a vampire."
The Comtesse rose in a wine-velvet huff and disappeared to the other end of the table, snapping her fan and giving the Baron the "you are so vulgar" glance of doom.
The yawns were triumphant. A bitter defeat for girl drinks. The Dauphine, the dapper Duke, the Baron and I bid our respective farewells and departed for home.
What next, my exceptional friend? We shall see. Alas, another pesky interruption. I must put my pen and ink away and concentrate on the mordant realities confronting me.
Until I see thee in the shadows of our Thursday refuge,
I remain your devoted friend and languorous spectre of momentary ennui,
Comtesse M
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