"Julia! I told you not to leave the lights on."
Although his flat was constructed of drapes, carpets, carpentry and furniture of exceptional quality, it was cluttered and smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Passing piano and half empty mahogany bookcase, an expensive antique globe that still read "Rhodesia," Hoosier cabinet, television and standing mirror, we came upon the half open door of the lighted room about which Spike was scolding his daughter.
"Now, it's not as if we have complete security, despite the electronics. Now, I'm really not supposed to say, but..."
When he pushed the door of his parlor open completely, our olfactory nerves were instantly assailed by the scent of powerful and fresh tobacco smoke. Into my view came perhaps the most ravishing women I've ever in my life seen in person. She was stretched languidly on his burgundy davenport, smoking what appeared to be one of many cigarettes that night and smiling at us seductively.
"Ah, Faye," he said nonchalantly, "how did you get in?"
"Julia. I, ah... haven't interrupted, have I?"
"Oh, this is just my brother. You can help me welcome him to Manchester, you see, he's newly arrived from Paris. Victor Pavelovich, Ms. Faye Valentine, Ms. Valentine, my brother Victor."
She shook my hand strongly and I settled into a lounge chair, taking in and digesting the view of her cream skin and long, stockinged legs. She sported a short, black evening dress of silk with a scarf of red chiffon around her neck. Her nails and lips were ruby red and her mascara meticulously applied. I'd never known such beautiful women existed outside of Brazil.
"You're Parisian, then? You don't speak like your brother," she said accusingly through viridian eyes.
"No, no. My name is Dzerzhinsky."
"Polish?"
"Close enough."
"Russian, Faye, Russian. Dumb broad. Cigarette?"
"You know I don't smoke," I told him over this gorgeous Faye's loud declarations of offense. "You'll give your girl cancer, you know."
I would later learn many things about Ms. Faye Valentine, but perhaps I should start with the basics of her general circumstances. She was the daughter of two wealthy Spanish aristocrats- one a natural gas entrepreneur and the other a fashionable, half-Singaporean Madrid sex icon and minor celebrity. Her father took her to London at age three and over the duration of our acquaintance, I never heard her speak a word of her native language. After a stormy dispute with, and subsequent estrangement from, her father, she went off to Manchester to make her own way (plus supplemental allowance from Daddy Valentine, despite the parental altercation) at Deutsche Bank. The exact official title of her position, I don't recall, but I believe it went something along the lines of: "Assistant to the Vice President of Clientele Services." What exactly this distinct capacity entailed was more clear than any other title that could possibly be given to her. Deutsche Bank, Manchester's finest international clients included, but were not limited to: large private investors, (sums up to 100,000 USD or more, multiple accounts) multinational contracting firms accepting loans, World Bank delegates, celebrities or royalty seeking patronage or consultation, plus the occasional federal inspector. It was Faye's job to accompany her boss (VP, Clientele Services) on extra-contract excursions to upscale bars, private dinners, burlesque houses and, on occasion, karaoke rooms. I was assured by Spike that Ms. Faye never engaged in sexual affairs with these important clients, and I believe him. She was a woman of considerable passion, but extremely selective and private- certainly not conservative in dress, but in practice, and that should be commended. She was, however, impetuous and fitful as well as insecure and spoiled, and her faults amounted nearly to the level of her beauty.