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Zelig Alexander

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Dear Diary, [19 Sep 2003|12:49pm]
The monster of ceremonies is itching to take his place, but for a few hours yet, I must be the gentleman. I feel iron, strong, ready to feed on empty love.

My beloved Luca is seething with unrest, her face calm and poised, beautiful as a statue (sincerely) but a touch of her skin by interpreters such as myself reveals her laboured system. The shadows are taxing her again. I'll swallow one with every kiss, I told her. But they have their stories to tell.

We chose red and white, I believe. A dash of black as is the fashion. Red and white like blood on new snow and what better metaphor for our union?

Luca has chosen a dress with simple lines in fine silk, the shining white lily in a pool of roses. I've chosen a Faustian series of decadent fabrics each more spiteful than the last. Contra-fashion for me, though I'll be brilliantly camoflauged against the decor of the room and the rest of the wedding party. I'll only stand out when by her side, and only in contrast to her. You don't know what this means to me.

I told her this morning that I love her enough to eat her, but I promise not to chew. She offered herself with no caveats.

When sculptors carve, the lesser artists seal their imperfections with wax to smooth the lines. But a master needs no such pretensions to present his work. These masters are able to sign their work "Sincere" at the bottom; free of pretense. It's the origin of the standard closing, yours sincerely. Free of pretense. I'm quite sure that's something of which I can never be accused. I cultivate pretense and don it proudly. I craft my lies carefully and delicately; nothing hurtles out of my mouth that isn't forged in my mind and cooled on my tongue. But for one solitary moment, let me tell you something important.

I will treasure her until my last breath. I will look after her. She will feel adored.

Yours sincerely,

Zelig.


PS - I'm getting married.
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Dear Diary, [12 Sep 2003|05:16pm]
Sadie tried to kill me last night.

"I think I'm in love."

I had to sit down immediately. I drained my drink and jittered a bit, my heart doing the Black Bottom Stomp.

"What unreasonable scoundrel has done this to you?!" I all but shrieked.

"Hugo London," she said, flashing her pearly whites.

My mood improved immediately. Call me mercenary, but I'm not losing a daughter. I'm gaining a regular. And regulars bring friends. And those friends have deep, deep pockets and the tendency to chatter about the next big thing. So the Orchid blooms out of love.

Of course I sound slightly more evil than I intend to on the matter. If you'd have seen her glow, dear diary, you'd have melted like butter on a hot plate too. Oh, that kid. She's off with the faeries now.

Love is still not a part of my life, but I'm willing to let it visit for an hour or two at a time. Sometimes even less. A young gent I didn't hire ended up leaving with a smile on his face and a sharp taste in his mouth and I was in a spectacular mood for the rest of the evening. Everyone noticed, a few even commented.

Because of it, I was slower to shout backstage last night, though shout I did when I found two chorus girls and a waiter gyrating their costumes to shreds. Those things don't come cheap (the costumes, not the chorus girls) and I told them all to hit the road. They'll be back tonight, as everyone is when I sack them the first time. I think someone must tell all the new hires to ignore the first few times they're fired. Just as well, or I'd never have any staff. That reminds me. I need a phrase to use when I'm really serious. FOR SOOTH!

Sometimes I think I should have carried on playing Hamlet instead of wearing papier mâchè costumes in surrealist plays for long enough to save pennies for this club. Let's be honest here. If it weren't for the extremely deft hip movements I employed with my auntie's friend Hildegard, I'd have come into everything but the money, god rest her soul.

Now give me the strength and mental dexterity to figure out how to finish influencing Eddie until he'll spend a few hours wrestling with me. I've already gotten the band to wear stage make up even when nobody's filming and he looks particularly good with a bloody red mouth. Time will tell.

Now that I've finished the first round of auditions, maybe I'll get time to talk to Luca. It's been too long and my confessions are piling up like winter wood. There are things I need to say that I daren't even write in here. The lock can be picked with a hairpin, don't think I don't know.


xxx,
Z.
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[06 Sep 2003|08:30am]
Dear Diary,

It's going well, this little venture. I've told you all of this before, but since this is a fresh, new book, I'm telling you again in case you forgot. Last night, I met a film star that said that our club is the toast of Europe and that she simply had to come and check it out for herself. I asked her to tell her friends and she said she would, for a small fee. My company for the evening.

I do so love this life.

Now that we're actively recruiting new talent so that we can open seven nights a week with something for everyone -haha, I mean something for everyone that'd come to the Orchid in the first place of course- I hope that we can ensure no empty tables. Our VIP lounge could use some fresh blood. We've heard each others' stories so many times that we can recite the punch lines together. Thankfully, we still all giggle, titter and guffaw accordingly. Dear me, how ridiculous. I'll say it again. I do so love this life.

XXX
Z.
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