Venus DeNifera

Alas, I am sure all of you will share my heartache in learning the saga of my dear friend Chloe’s passionate romance has come to a most unfortunate, if inevitable, denouement. Her young paramour, you will recall, had a bit of a stipend from the family fortune “earned”, if such a word is applicable, in an enterprise whose despicability is not lessened by the revelation that it was, in fact, a fraud. Of course I refer to the notorious “Bonsai Kitten” venture which enabled this fellow’s progenitors to scam a considerable sum from what must have been a clientele unpleasant enough to have deserved such a bamboozle.
In any case, it happens that no less a policing entity than the FBI itself was on the trail of the handsome young grifter, and, incredibly, my posting in this forum of the story relating what I erroneously believed to be Chloe’s good fortune gave the Federales the lead they sought. Who knew the this blog was being monitored by such important personages as our federal boys (and women as well, I assume, although my own experience with the Bureau has never gone beyond viewing Efram Zimbalist, Jr. at work, as well as the X-Files, which of course had Ms. Scully at the helm) in blue? But then, we do live in the age of Gonzales & Co., and we are supposed to “watch what we say”.
But I digress.
Chloe came to realize her heart was to be broken when she went to her dearest’s apartment and found the place ransacked and her rooster having flown the coop, as it were. A query to a passing neighbor revealed that when word leaked out as to the nature of the gentleman’s transgressions, the entire apartment complex formed a torch and pitchfork posse, which stormed the apartment and threw the scalawag into the street! Word has it he immediately snatched the first available taxi and sped to JFK, boarding the next flight to France!
Not being one to take being duped in a prone position, Chloe contacted yours truly and inquired about acquiring the services of a graphic designer and a printing company, for she plans to distribute throughout France a deck of playing cards adorned with her collection of photographs, some of them quite compromising, I must say, even as a connoisseur of the erotic arts, of her outlaw inamorato, in hopes of having him located. Should that come to fruition I believe she plans to travel to that fair land and relieve the fellow of a cherished bit of his anatomy. This may be heart wrenched hyperbole on her part, however.
Regardless, we have already made plans to pay a visit to one of the area’s finer pawnshops and prodigalize the proceeds with an afternoon at Tavern on the Green!