She's a very foolish girl.

In the chair, deftly parrying questions, the conversation slips off course, off topic, circling around and around. It's a slippery interrogation.

Always these things, the elephant in the room.

She's evasive, holding her cards close to her chest. She has many admirers kept on hold, in the wings, at arms length, just far enough to keep their interest, the men in waiting. She loves to play the coquette, cherishes her scarlet reputation as the woman other women love to hate.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

She's beautiful, but it won't last forever, she knows this and the entourage that would pay homage to her favours needs to be fed on a light diet of hope and encouragement. There are no denials, only postponements. Today the phone will ring, tomorrow she will answer with some light excuse as to how busy she's been, busy today, but perhaps on the weekend....

We're equals, or so she thinks, because we're in this room together, she thinks that I want what everyone else has wanted from her, that I am somehow priviledged to be in her presence, fortunate to have been chosen when there are so many others.....

She's a very foolish girl.