An unfinished dialogue on the girl's portrait.

Imagine a girl: 5 feet 4, 108 pounds, European origin, except for the black curly hair suggesting distant Asian heritage...

Some kind of skinny girl. Is she a model of sorts?

No, she is 8 inches too short for a model, although delicate bones and long palms with unusually long fingers discourage the idea of her being a girl next door.

Is she a musician? Playing every other night in a jazz band somewhere in the Village?

No, not really. She had studied violin for six years, but, to her teacher's great disappointment, dumped the music carrier by taking advanced math in high school. From her musical past she kept a rather deep voice and a habit of singing everything in a jazzy manner. As of the night clubs, she neither sings nor plays music there, but rather dances; Latin and Gipsy being her favourites. Dancing all night around in a company of friends until the last buddy drops is her special know-how.

Sounds like an amusing girl: playing music, singing, dancing all night... But wait, you're kidding me, such a tiny girl ought to be too weak to dance around all night!

I told you she is skinny, why do you think she is weak? She works out in gyms a few times a week, all of it, including weightlifting for girls. She can run for hours... By the way, her favourite hobby is trekking somewhere in Himalaya or Andes and a rare guy can keep pace with her. No, she is rather fit: skinny and sporty.

Good for her, but you are still hiding something: we are supposed to be talking about the girl's picture, so show me one, I wanna see it myself! I have heard enough by now to recognize your girlfriend's photo on your Facebook wall.

You have got it all wrong, even twice. First of all, she is not my girlfriend and will never be. If you behave yourself, I'll later explain you why. Secondly, absence of a Facebook account is about all we have got in common.

So she's crazy! Only crazy girls can drop music for math and ignore modern world, including Facebook.

She dropped math as well and graduated high school with advanced French...
What a relief! She must have come to her senses by now.
.. first in her class and became incredibly fluent in French by now. Had she not been spending so much time in London, she would have felt more at home in Paris than most girls born in France.

All right, she is a self-made American beauty, queen of local discos flapdoodling with a bunch of admirers.

No, no, that's all wrong! Did I ever say she is an American? She is not. And where did you get the idea of a "local queen"? She travels a lot, mostly by business class, shopping like crazy in posh boutiques and attending rather upscale clubs. She has got no bunches of admirers, finding them boring and platitude-filled, but is open to genuine friendship. Last but not least, she prefers to listen, displaying incredible discretion for such a flashy girl.

I'll kill him, I'll kill him, I'll kill him!

Whom do you wish to kill, if I may ask?

Her rich boyfriend!!!

Oh, take pity on a human soul... But I would not report your case to the police, or, better say, to physiatrist, because even in such state of excitement you cannot harm someone nonexistent. All her extravagant travels, wild shopping and a stylish apartment in the best neighbourhood of one of the most expensive cities in the world are paid without any help from boyfriends or parents, just from her salary and impressive bonuses.

Jesus Christ! Is she a... a... a lawyer?!

Yeap, a yuppie lawyer. After high school she managed to manoeuvre the college admittance procedures, so that she was doing her regular degree and law school in parallel; that was the first and last year it was possible. She was perhaps the youngest lawyer admitted to the bar. No surprise the next morning after the graduation she found herself working for the finest and largest consultancy. Seven years of slaving away and look who is talking: the head of a legal department with 19 practicing lawyers (not counting support stuff), trusted adviser and dear friend to the firm's president (and to his wife), highly respected by judges and district attorneys. Business and professional magazines praise her as a guru in her field, so that her name appears in the press about every week. She got personally introduced to a good half of the country's billionaires, and they are happy to entrust her the trickiest cases...

How did you get to know her, where did you steal her business card?

It's a long story. Also, her business card doesn't really help, because her phone calls are routinely managed by her personal secretary. Even if you get her actual cell phone number, there is no chance to catch a minute with her by calling - she is always busy doing something important. Fortunately, she is not bitchy at all, and promptly returns calls to anyone who got promoted with her direct number.

And now my question to you, my impatient friend. I know her direct number, so I can ask for and get a call back from her. What should I say when I hear her voice that would make any immediate sense?

[Silence]

This is a fictional story. Any resemblance to any person, either living or not yet born, are purely coincident.

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Last modified
October 13, 2010

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