Feb 022013
 

Jazz felt a strong, pulsing desire to play the Huntress.

Jazz steered her convertible towards the fashionable West End district of London .  Friday night drew large crowds to bars, clubs and theatre.  She glided around Hyde Park, headed past Marble Arch and down busy Oxford Street.

 

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On the crowded streets,tourists, shoppers and party-goers were side stepping one another.  They jostled each other to look at store windows, or enter restaurants.  Jazz took advantage of stop-and-go traffic to woman-watch. She enjoyed the steady parade of females in all levels of undress. This was her domain.  Life was good.

At a stop-light, a young Asian women stepped out in front of Jazz’s car.  They smiled at one another.  Jazz thought of her early years working with her older sister in their family’s Asian corner store.  She was Jasmine then, a name she quickly changed to Jazz when not in the company of family members.  When the store was not busy, Jazz and Nina looked through magazines Fashion, boys and celebrities fascinated Nina.  Jazz focused on cars, soccer and women.  When looking at- women, Jazz would add a fashion statement – just to throw Nina off the scent.

The Thapar parents instilled solid work ethics in both daughters.

“We came from India with just the clothes on our back.” This was her mother’s favourite expression.

Her father’s vague and intriguing expressions were challenging to Jazz’s young inquiring mind.

“Jasmine, you must take the tiger by the tail, or he will devour you!”

After serving a customer, he might add,  “Challenge the tiger or sit in the dust!”  One Christmas, Jazz received a soft, plush toy tiger.   Her father had written, “Live like a tiger!”

Jazz  smiled as she recalled these memories.  She was certainly on the prowl.  Why not call her  ‘South American panther’

She spoke to the self- dial phone.   “Paola-Renata, Carvalho-Mederios “

Paola body

A sleepy voice mumbled some unintelligible words.

“Paola, can you sneak out for a few hours?”  Jazz waited for the sultry Portuguese voice.

Paola yawned, “I just got back from a Rio shoot.”

“I missed you!”

“Liar.  She dumped you, yes?”

“Mutual dumping!”  Then, Jazz spoke in Portuguese.

“Sim, meu amiga!  Paola, I need my best friend!”

“Jazz, you are a ‘Gato de rua’.”

“That’s Cat something.   Cool cat?”

Paola let out a sigh of exasperation.

“No!  Gato de rua! means an alley cat that is always on the prowl.”

“Alley Cat?”  Jazz laughed.  “Can I come to your alley tonight?”

Jazz, “You treat me like a plaything!”

Jazz was familiar with this scenario.  Paola’s fiery latin nature was laced with a high dose of pride.  Like Jazz, Paola could choose any lesbian, but she had a soft spot for her ‘Gato de rue.’  The beautiful Brazilian woman was married to a rich real estate developer.  They had met in a gay bar in Stockholm.  It was a ‘Boston Marriage.’

Jazz certainly appreciated Paola’s beauty and fine appetite for sex.  But, they had tried a short co-habitation before Paola’s marriage and it had not worked.  Both were headstrong.  Both were unfaithful.  Both should not be together.

Jazz waited.

Paola was not finished.  “Did you hear me?  You treat me like a plaything!”

Jazz tried humour.

“I’d like to ‘play’ with your ‘thing!”

Paola exploded.

“You make fun of me.  I don’t want to go out with you!”

“Fine.  Stay in a bad mood.  I want the Paola that runs naked in fountains. If you’re not up for a night of fun, I’ll call you some other time!”

Jazz waited for the answer.

 

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