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Re: <eyebeam><blast>
vitruvius has been reading, pondering, and giggling from time to time.
Several of her admirers have pleaded for comment, a sign, some gesture
from the chaise longue. Tell us what it all means, you're an artist,
they say. But vitruvius is silent. She is in fact having a renaissance.
Her recent season at the Gazebo was a sell-out, and left her feeling
that comment would be superfluous. Returning to the dressing-room each
night, vitruvius riffles through the faxes and telegrams, sorts out
which bouquets she will keep, and which ones will go to charity. Her
agent points forlornly at the computer terminal - another 20 messages
from eyebeam. There might be money and engagements in this, he says in
his offensive drawl. My life is the dance, vitruvius replies. I'm not a
Spice Girl.
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