Indian Girl
" Of course," the girl smiled. "I understand she's with Kurt?" Yes," Wolfgang nodded. "She is, uh ... Where did you get that wonderful accent?" Hmmm?" Veronique laughed lightly. "I've been trying to hide it. My father was a diplomat. I spent many years in Paris. Come, I'll show you to your room." Is your mother French?" Wolfgang asked as they walked together through the mansion."No, her family was from Tehran originally," she replied. "They immigrated to Cologne before the revolution."The woman stopped, putting a hand on one deftly rounded hip and giving Wolfgang what he suspected to be a pout. Veronique was very attractive and as they stood there he could smell her perfume, very faint, but very pleasant as well, like a tease for the senses and Wolfgang found himself leaning into it."And so my blood is Persian," she said softly. "Don't tell me you that you can't tell." My second guess," Wolfgang said with a smile. "What is it that you do here?" You mean, am I a secretary?" Veronique. The message said simply. “Be over for lessons at 1 p.m. Saturday. Will bring a surprise.” It was 1:10 when Roddy finally arrived. It was a crisp November day, sunny and crisp. I had been up early to work on a paper and walk into town for a newspaper and some chips. And vanity of vanities, a new cologne I picked up at the shops, something to please my young paramour. This time, Roddy made no effort to impress me with his take on contemporary American costume. He wore a workout, velour top and matching pants, trainers, as they say in England and a t-shirt underneath (a jersey, so to say.) He slung his backpack on my bed and pulled out a tattered Math book and a folder to follow. “Here” he said casually,” Is my assignment for this weekend. Also, I tucked in my first test. Abysmal, I’m afraid. But the material will be on the midterm at the end of December. I really want to do better. But let me pop into the bathroom for a second,” he said. “Sure,” I replied, sitting.
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