A Personal Casanova

A Story by Christine

Just a piece of a story I'm considering.

There he stood. Just there, before me, the beautiful Casanova smiled as one with many secrets that shall, and should, remain untold. And he was beautiful, with emphasis. Many men are handsome, quite good-looking, or even debonair; but a beautiful man possesses a certain quality of life that outmatches sheer pageantry on any given day. For attractiveness is a wanton trait given to the undeserving in their youth, and beauty is derived from the evident sophistication of those who have a true appreciation of their existence.

Though I had seen Casanova many times in my life, my extreme proximity to him on this particular occasion took my breath away. His beauty was sudden and intoxicating; and though I pride myself on sensibility, I could not seem to look away. He swirled the wine in his glass a few times as we took in the heavy air of the season.

“Daphne, how have you managed to stay hidden from the world so long?” he asked with ease. He smiled as if he knew his question would fluster me. But, though he had caught me off guard, I was determined to keep an air of nonchalance to match his own. I sipped my merlot thoughtfully and observed the boats making their way across Puget Sound for a moment, then answered:

“In the usual way I suppose”

“And pray tell, in which way might that be?” he questioned again.

“By reading of course”, I replied easily. He turned to me with a look of amusement that merely egged me on, “My dear Jason, the world does not appreciate a woman who reads”.

“You sound dreadfully like a feminist” he sighed and took another sip of wine.

“I would hope not, I loathe them most passionately. Society is full of women who believe they are intelligent simply because someone told them so. It’s quite disgusting actually” I countered, and then frowned as I realized my glass was empty.

“Ah”, he smiled jovially “I should know that better than anyone”. The double entendre was evident, and I tried to push the thought of the way Casanova “knew” these women out of my mind.

“Ah yes, I forgot your incredibly high standards” I teased. He passed me a look of mock incredulity and I smiled sweetly.

“I’ll have you know, Miss Wood, that I do have incredibly high standards! The likes of which a mere peasant, such as yourself, would never understand!” he stated grandly, brandishing his wine glass.

“You have my undivided attention, Sir Angelo” I smirked.

“Listen up commoner”, he began “there is an acute difference between a girl at a party and a girl that makes a man stop and take notice. The former, after a night, never evokes another thought from a man”, I winced inwardly as I knew all too well how many of those nights he had experienced. “But the latter is the type of woman for whom Shakespeare wrote sonnets, who invoked the genius mind of Picasso, and about whom love songs are written dangerously late at night.”

“So what qualifies such a woman to-“

“I wasn’t finished pauper!” he smiled and I choked on my laughter. “Such a woman must be notoriously beautiful”.

“As chic as Audrey Hepburn, but with a face that could launch a thousand ships?” I asked sardonically.

“Two thousand ships!” he roared. “She must be wonderfully educated!” I sneered; knowing his women often seemed to be the exact opposite.

“Educated by the world Master Jason, or by the classics?”

“By both, naturally. And she must have a devout appreciation of art.”

“Modern art or Classic art?” he gave me a look.

“True art, my lady.”

“But wouldn’t you say that the appreciation of true art is often considerately tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of genius artists?” I grinned.

“Miss Gray, I would say only that it heightens the interest considerably” he leaned closer. “Now this is the final, but most important piece”, he paused dramatically “She must have eyes that are so striking that with just a look, you know that she saw your very soul”. He stared at me for a moment.

Just a moment.

And that’s when I knew, Jason Angelo had far more to drink than I had.