The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail
Is Life Existential? You Decide.
by ' Colorado ' Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...
Chapter 29
Treasure of the
Sea Aura Mod Dress
La Parte Uno
The trio came across each other in a Peet's coffee shop far (a whole block) from their usual haunt, the Starbuck's carved into the base of Trump Tower. Funny thing is, the three women were so immersed in Starbuck's culture (this week featuring the "Plus Mocha Triple Carmella-ccino-licious Grande") they barely could read the Peet's menu. . .What's an "Espresso"?. . .much less understand the clientele gibbering away in the background. It was lots like people from one country, say the United States, being in an entirely different country, say Mexico. Irregardless, the three were drawn together to the same comfy couch in this foreign spot by the natural force of cultural gravitation. It also helped that they already were acquainted.
In fact the prettiest of the three, Ginger Mullins -- whom we all know well and perhaps too well for her preference (I haven't even mentioned her latest fav. dream where she, Jon Stewart and Jim Cramer are a heaving knot of tangled arms and legs in the backseat of her BMW) -- long had dated the stupefyingly inadequate son of the oldest; Mrs. Howard, the mature (to Gin's eye. . .elderly) wife of a big time Wall St. Broker/Trader. Rounding out the band was Fredericka C. Dobbs, a former middle-school chum of Ginny's and, like all Gin's old schoolmates, seemingly decent enough but below the surface a certifiable sociopath looney with decks awash in tidal waves of paranoia.
As the compatriots sat, chatted and sipped something tasting strangely of coffee, they found each was far from home (a ten minute taxi ride at least) on the same quest. . .pursuit of treasure buried deep in the inventory of the trendiest boutique in town, the Sea Aura Mod Dress, located in the isolated hinterlands of the Upper West Side, an inhospitably arid and mountainous region of Manhattan.
The Sea Aura Mod Dress shop is owned and operated by two transplanted Southern-California-hardbody chicks who are best friends and occasional fuck-buddies. Years ago they got their start in the business working for the dress shop's original owner when it was located at Venice Beach, west of L.A. No explanation ever was given for the name -- Sea Aura Mod Dress -- other than it opened off a beach in the sixties selling the horrifying "Mod-ish" fashions of the time, like the stuff featured so chillingly in "Rosemary's Baby." Oddly, customers local to the region claimed the shop's name was vaguely familiar, but no one could put a finger on it. Anyways, the pair sorta inherited the place when the owner, a longtime devotee of the Maharishi, suddenly walked away (some say floated) from the shop into the ocean without looking back. Ultimately tiring of Southern Californian lawlessness, the two relocated their shop to Manhattan's West Side, where they found essentially the same lawlessness. . .plus SNOW.
But the place is a raving success among the Cultural Elite (that is. . .the rich) of the Upper East Side. The females of that social stratum count coup more voraciously than American-Indian warriors, and the ultimate coup is to find treasure in the Sea Aura Mod Dress; to find couture gold marked down to a rock-bottom low, low price. Multitudes of Junior League types and their ilk listen to the stories of treasure awaiting discovery in the Sea Aura Mod Dress. Some brave the wilds of that corner of town to find it. Most return dripping disappointment like sweat. A few never return -- maddened, they turn up in The Village or, worse, New Rochelle.
Rehashing all this and knowing the challenge, the three women at the coffee bar threw in together, promising to share both tribulation and reward as equal partners. The fact they wore the same sizes helped cement the deal; what fit one would fit all when the loot was divvied.
So they loaded up on essential supplies (three Biscotti each, with Dobbs financing this grubstake) and hit the dusty trail -- actually it was more smoggy than dusty -- in search of fashion fortune. It is written that the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. . .only this was Manhattan, so they were only going a few dozen blocks and they took the subway train (as Rich Manhattan Foxes are wont to do when slumming). The subway ride was pretty uneventful -- that is. . .as strange as it may seem. . . except for the Bandits attacking the train. At such times Ginger always wished her fav. gun, a smooth-triggered Smith&Wesson stainless-steel Model 686 .357 Magnum revolver with 6-inch barrel (picture what Dirty Harry packed only a teeny bit smaller) was compact enough to carry but, in the event, she managed to pop a couple Bandit dudes at close range with the tiny .22 magnum derringer thingy she keeps up her knickers. In fact all three ladies bagged one or two, and the Bandits were driven off. At the end of the line, which in Manhattanese is called a "Subway Station", the partners left the train and hoofed it for the Sea Aura Mod Dress.
Dobbs, who was particularly whiny (and had been since the first grade), kept saying they should have gotten donkeys for this leg of the trip but no one paid her any heed because she didn't make any sense -- it's not like they were prospectors trudging through jungle and desert bound for a mountainous goldfield. Even Ginny, who was wearing rather too much heel for so much walking, eventually got a little pissy (an extreme rarity). But Howard's resolve and wile got the party to it's destination, just like Walter Huston (director John Huston's pop) did in a movie I saw once.
In the Sea Aura Mod Dress the old-timer, Howard, found the first nugget; her long life experience again besting her young companions. You see she knew of the old trick where store clerks secret the best deals behind restroom toilet tanks, kinda like that time in 'The Godfather', for later retrieval to either buy for themselves or offer to favored customers. When the trio walked into the boutique, Howard beelined for the powder room. As she excused herself, Ginny smiled and told her to hurry back. Dobbs only radiated suspicion.
Just like Micheal Corleone, Howard found what she sought behind the toilet; a darling Prada crocodile-skin clutch bag, pink with adjustable shoulder strap marked down from $8,889 to $2,499 ...it even had Gold-tone metal hardware. Howard returned to her companions, not to shoot them both dead at a table (this isn't that movie), but to share news of her find... (see Part 2)
In fact the prettiest of the three, Ginger Mullins -- whom we all know well and perhaps too well for her preference (I haven't even mentioned her latest fav. dream where she, Jon Stewart and Jim Cramer are a heaving knot of tangled arms and legs in the backseat of her BMW) -- long had dated the stupefyingly inadequate son of the oldest; Mrs. Howard, the mature (to Gin's eye. . .elderly) wife of a big time Wall St. Broker/Trader. Rounding out the band was Fredericka C. Dobbs, a former middle-school chum of Ginny's and, like all Gin's old schoolmates, seemingly decent enough but below the surface a certifiable sociopath looney with decks awash in tidal waves of paranoia.
As the compatriots sat, chatted and sipped something tasting strangely of coffee, they found each was far from home (a ten minute taxi ride at least) on the same quest. . .pursuit of treasure buried deep in the inventory of the trendiest boutique in town, the Sea Aura Mod Dress, located in the isolated hinterlands of the Upper West Side, an inhospitably arid and mountainous region of Manhattan.
The Sea Aura Mod Dress shop is owned and operated by two transplanted Southern-California-hardbody chicks who are best friends and occasional fuck-buddies. Years ago they got their start in the business working for the dress shop's original owner when it was located at Venice Beach, west of L.A. No explanation ever was given for the name -- Sea Aura Mod Dress -- other than it opened off a beach in the sixties selling the horrifying "Mod-ish" fashions of the time, like the stuff featured so chillingly in "Rosemary's Baby." Oddly, customers local to the region claimed the shop's name was vaguely familiar, but no one could put a finger on it. Anyways, the pair sorta inherited the place when the owner, a longtime devotee of the Maharishi, suddenly walked away (some say floated) from the shop into the ocean without looking back. Ultimately tiring of Southern Californian lawlessness, the two relocated their shop to Manhattan's West Side, where they found essentially the same lawlessness. . .plus SNOW.
But the place is a raving success among the Cultural Elite (that is. . .the rich) of the Upper East Side. The females of that social stratum count coup more voraciously than American-Indian warriors, and the ultimate coup is to find treasure in the Sea Aura Mod Dress; to find couture gold marked down to a rock-bottom low, low price. Multitudes of Junior League types and their ilk listen to the stories of treasure awaiting discovery in the Sea Aura Mod Dress. Some brave the wilds of that corner of town to find it. Most return dripping disappointment like sweat. A few never return -- maddened, they turn up in The Village or, worse, New Rochelle.
Rehashing all this and knowing the challenge, the three women at the coffee bar threw in together, promising to share both tribulation and reward as equal partners. The fact they wore the same sizes helped cement the deal; what fit one would fit all when the loot was divvied.
So they loaded up on essential supplies (three Biscotti each, with Dobbs financing this grubstake) and hit the dusty trail -- actually it was more smoggy than dusty -- in search of fashion fortune. It is written that the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. . .only this was Manhattan, so they were only going a few dozen blocks and they took the subway train (as Rich Manhattan Foxes are wont to do when slumming). The subway ride was pretty uneventful -- that is. . .as strange as it may seem. . . except for the Bandits attacking the train. At such times Ginger always wished her fav. gun, a smooth-triggered Smith&Wesson stainless-steel Model 686 .357 Magnum revolver with 6-inch barrel (picture what Dirty Harry packed only a teeny bit smaller) was compact enough to carry but, in the event, she managed to pop a couple Bandit dudes at close range with the tiny .22 magnum derringer thingy she keeps up her knickers. In fact all three ladies bagged one or two, and the Bandits were driven off. At the end of the line, which in Manhattanese is called a "Subway Station", the partners left the train and hoofed it for the Sea Aura Mod Dress.
Dobbs, who was particularly whiny (and had been since the first grade), kept saying they should have gotten donkeys for this leg of the trip but no one paid her any heed because she didn't make any sense -- it's not like they were prospectors trudging through jungle and desert bound for a mountainous goldfield. Even Ginny, who was wearing rather too much heel for so much walking, eventually got a little pissy (an extreme rarity). But Howard's resolve and wile got the party to it's destination, just like Walter Huston (director John Huston's pop) did in a movie I saw once.
In the Sea Aura Mod Dress the old-timer, Howard, found the first nugget; her long life experience again besting her young companions. You see she knew of the old trick where store clerks secret the best deals behind restroom toilet tanks, kinda like that time in 'The Godfather', for later retrieval to either buy for themselves or offer to favored customers. When the trio walked into the boutique, Howard beelined for the powder room. As she excused herself, Ginny smiled and told her to hurry back. Dobbs only radiated suspicion.
Just like Micheal Corleone, Howard found what she sought behind the toilet; a darling Prada crocodile-skin clutch bag, pink with adjustable shoulder strap marked down from $8,889 to $2,499 ...it even had Gold-tone metal hardware. Howard returned to her companions, not to shoot them both dead at a table (this isn't that movie), but to share news of her find... (see Part 2)
To Be Continued
