My Dearest Gwendolyn

by Jenean McBrearty ~ Danville, Kentucky, USA

I hope you’re enjoying Brighton with the children and Pablo – tell him I’ve found someone to clean the pool. Yesterday began dismally. I lost my wallet in Piccadilly Square (it must have fallen out of my pocket) but I ran into our American friend, Hough Belmont, and we had a pint at a pub called the Ram’s Head. It’s an odd place. Not a woman to be seen, but they were certainly heard. So much gossip about Oscar and Bosie Douglas, who are long since dead. One young man wore an interesting plaid fedora. Hough spent most of the afternoon talking to him about it.

I left around sixish, and took the Clatham Omnibus home. And that’s when it happened! I fell in love with Daisy, a pert little tart atop the head of a plump woman in a blue dress. (Taffeta, I think it was.) Neat as you please, with a bow of white and yellow polka dots. I knew I must have her.

The bus stopped at 32nd Street, and I followed the woman three tedious blocks because she walked so slowly, and finally up the stairs to her flat. Dash it all, Gwendolyn, I had to rescue Daisy from that bovine! I was filled with the yearnings of youth, felt like a stag after a doe, relentlessly pursuing the object of my desire as I once pursued your pearl-embellished cloche.

The woman let me in, as it turned out she was an old whore and quite used to be being followed. She said I could have my Daisy for two pounds tuppence. After a minor disagreement in which her head collided with an axe I found hanging next to the fire box in the hallway, she brought the price down considerably. Kismet, I call it as I had no idea how I was going to carry off my love, who rested on a small table next to the sofa.

I confess, so overcome with lust for her was I, I had my way with her right there in front of the telly watching a rerun of Masterpiece Theater. How sweet to caress her straw brim and fondle her polka dot bow; I was giddy and goose-pimply. Yesterday’s beret can’t compare to Daisy, and that beige boater on the closet shelf is, as they say, old hat.

I paid the woman, too, for her services, of course. Without their yammering tongues, women can be reasonable. The woman’s head fit perfectly in Daisy’s box, with room for my sweetheart, but the torso was too big for a trash bag. I went home and returned with the bomb Rashid made before he was arrested. After making love to Daisy again – you know what a romantic I am – I dispatched the torso. Do you remember our favorite Dave Clark Five song, Bits and Pieces? Well, the whole of Charington Lane was humming the melody.

Kiss the children for me and tell Pablo I’ll keep my promise not to woo his sombrero until he returns.


Sinclair ■