SIMONE BUTTERFLY FABULOUS FREELANCE FASHION INVESTIGATOR®
It was Tuesday last and I was idling at a red light adjacent to CITY CENTER DC (premier shopping destination erected by Hines Development Co.). The sun was beaming and I was day dreaming about the Gucci boutique slated to open this year - when I heard a familiar voice cooing, "Yoo Hoo Darling!™"
I looked to my right and saw a jet black 2015 DODGE CHALLENGER with inky tinted windows stamped with a 007 decal. I blinked my eyes to avoid the glare from the Swarowski encrusted decals along the side panels.
"What the cupcake™?!", I said aloud.
Moments later the driver's side glass slowly slid down revealing 2 large eyes rimmed in COBALT LASH EXTENSIONS.
"Simone!," I gushed. "I haven't seen you since the APRIL taping of INGRID'S WORLD. Where have you been?"
"I've been resorting in West V.A. at the GREENBRIER," said Simone. "Didn't you get my text? THE VULCAN is back in town. So true to form, I took the high road and headed south west!"
"Surely DC is big enough for 2 Supers to co-exist?," I said dryly.
"Not really, Simone retorted. "You forget I'm armed and dangerous these days. Not only am I endowed with super 'get out of Dodge' speed thanks to my 2015 V8 CHALLE' but these BLUEBERRY LASHES are also quite magical."
"What do you mean?," I said.
"I mean, Simone said with a wink. "I can now ferret out the truth even when it's buried alive."
"And that makes you dangerous?," I asked.
"Only to Extra Terrestrials," Simone giggled.
HAVE HEMI WILL TRAVEL....
Sorting It All Out
A Faction (Fashion+Fiction) Episode Featuring Fashion Attorney Mariessa Terrell
In an effort to reduce the height of the mail tower that accumulates, as if by magic to the left of my front door, I decided to dedicate Friday between 12 and 2 am to sorting, shredding and filing. I’m up anyway pacing and strategizing on ways to infuse social justice into fashion law so it seems somehow fitting. Of course it’s still dark - but the lilluminated oversized “M” hanging proudly above my bed - bright, but not too bright, helps to lend a bit of party to an otherwise somber pre-dawn chore.
I’m dangerous, wielding an actual gold knife, part of an 8 piece Versace cutlery set gifted by my BFF, Simone Butterfly, Christmas 2015.
The knife, too beautiful for eating re-heated sides from DC’s finest carryouts makes the perfect gilded letter opener. The first envelope I slash bears a return address from Lori. Apparently she will buy Brookland homes for cash. “If had a nickel for every simulated letter- from a phantom homebuyer, I would not need to refinance,” I say a little too cynically to Paris Hilton Marie who is busy preening in front of the mirrored lingerie cabinet.
After about 20 minutes of ploughing through the pile, I begin to feel exasperated. My English breakfast tea was cold and the CLE that I was streaming on trademark licensing had ended.
I grabbed the last stack of mail intending to toss it into a box labeled “Someday is not a day of the week;" when to my amazement, the pile leaped out of my hand, scattering in a 180 degree radius just beyond the foot of my bed.
It’s 1 am now and the black tea has been replaced with coconut vodka from a black leather flask stashed next to the Armani Prive. That is when I saw it- a jubilant photo postcard of a magical stallion draped in daisies who refused to be bridled. I picked up the note and immediately laugh out loud.
Yoo Hoo Darling!
What ever you are doing right now…. S-T-O-P! I am sending you a plane ticket to Napa. Par Quoi? Because I’m celebrating what is left of summer and you need to sleep. Don't worry I won't mail the tickets. We both know that you will never find them in that mail tower near your front door.