Echoes of "The Blue Tango"

Everyone greeted me, and I thought I heard Naome sigh. She was a woman of about fifty, with flame red hair of medium length and green eyes. She had high cheekbones with a button nose and full, pouting lips. As most women do at her age, she had acquired some extra padding here and there, but she still possessed more than a remnant of her former beauty. Honey lived up to her name. Blonde, full of feature and proportion, though not to excess; she was a young woman of about thirty who was, without a doubt, put together quite well. She had the vigor of youth, still, and at times she absolutely bubbled, brimming over with an exuberance that affected those around her. She smiled continually, and the least little joke set her to giggling. I told myself that, if she was married, she was probably a most agreeable companion, for she seemed to be a very easy person to like. Nola, on the other hand, was a dark and mysterious lady. She was of thinner proportion than the others and had dark hair, which she wore in a bob, combed straight, with bangs. With her dark eyes and seductive eyelids, accentuated by the longest lashes, she could easily have been that ancient temptress, Cleopatra, herself. Her features were prominent, though not sharp, and her mouth, which wore the faintest smile, was neither too full nor too thin. She was by no means an abundant woman, resembling, with her slight but erect carriage, an athlete or, more exactly, a dancer. All during the meal, she sat straight in her chair, almost motionless, rather stiffly, and she said very little. I surmised that, with her regal manner and exotic looks, she very well might have been a descendant of that daughter of Ptolemy, and her stern demeanor suggested to me a coldness, worn, perhaps, as a defense against untoward suitors. Somehow, I couldn't help imagining her in her boudoir with a riding crop in one hand and a cat o’ nine in the other, dispensing a special brand of love.