She is being a witch/fortuneteller, with a cotton bedsheet as a shawl, and dangling anatomies, fanfare of pubic area, making revelation at odds with the coyness, the necessary coyness, of her predictions.
At odds with the obscenity, as it would be, if exhibited to other than her lover.
A humid night, so that sleep was a while away (they’d found a hotel, which she would sleep in and he would leave, in due time).
—You and me, what are we?
She dresses as a Danish Lutheran priest with ruffle. As a cowboy, as a Mongolian horsebreeder, she’ll do anything to keep the show on the road,
Violins and a sea of tears in her entreaty.
She is no harem offering, she prides herself. And so it was lies she span on cocoon of silk,
—You are a smart man, that’s why I love you. Smart enough to ask me one thing and I’ll tell you.
He struggles to
—Woooo, she wails over him. Woooo! We know everything, we are the dark continent, woooo!
Suggestible? What a moron.
He went to consult a fortuneteller, and she told him he was going to die. The Hanged Man in the Tarot pack, which they always say isn’t Death, oh no. That had come up, prominently, or however it is they do it.
After that he went downhill. Auto-suggestion, it would have been.
—Why was he so stupid?
—Going to a fortune teller like that. If you have a fortune, best not go to a fortune-teller.
She likes being a fortune teller — having him straddled and in a firm fixity.
—There’s other aspects I’d like to ask about, but I know, you can’t tell me.
She was using her whiteness to send it darker again, Oh, you know how it is with the less principled members of my trade, suggesting he should be pleased to have encountered such a fair-minded woman. Because he wasn’t a complete push-over, in the sense of risking his marriage etc., etc., just for the first woman who came along, offering.
He used all his deductive reasoning to think why he had fallen for this woman,
Tall she was, just fuller than lanky. Her shoulders set square straight. To her skull formation a Chilean sense, but more rounded of eye, long face, accented and potent features. The Slavic shaded eye-sockets, Woodsmoke irises give a small component of deadpan among the normalcy
A neutrality injected to all transactions. Reservation. A complex.
About him: she liked his propensity to use words more ornate than the situation required.
—I certainly didn’t think we would’ve worked out so well together when we started out, everything was against it, but we have, haven’t we?
There had been that one time, when he had waited and waited,
Assuming that that was that.
But she had been delayed by the Great Film Explosion of ’88.