In a dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born,
And said to her,
“Mother of beauty, mother of joy,
Why hast thou given to men
“This thing called love, like the ache of a wound
In beauty’s side,
To burn and throb and be quelled for an hour
And never wholly depart?”
‘Oh! Such a gentleman, thank you!’ Vesper flashed a demure smile as the server refilled her cup. Usually, once a customer ordered her tea, she was given the pot and all the related accoutrements to refill as she pleased. But the moment she’d sat down, her server had been most attentive to her needs, never letting the mound of cubes in her sugar bowl dip below the rim, hand selecting her pot cozy to match her
ensemble, and giving her the freshest batch of scones from the kitchen. Vesper was quick to note that no other table received such meticulous service, but she was never one to decline extra efforts of civility. She only hoped that the young man would read the room once her lunch date arrived.
Granted, it was a business meeting, but Vesper liked to call any meeting of potential a date. Meetings were dull, superficial affairs, meant to be quick as they were generally unbearable. But dates had a sense of fun and surprise, and she was definitely looking forward to having a bit of both with the man she was expecting. It was partly the reason why she avoided meeting him at his publishing house, because then it really would have been just a meeting. The other part was that she simply missed having tea here, and was glad this place was still around. Cities changed so often that it felt like a stone chameleon, shifting so subtly but so very different after a time.
Vesper had just finished the manuscript of her first memoir, which she’d tentatively titled
Vesper Van Horne: Always en Pointe. She’d already secured an American publisher, but she had to admit her connections overseas had diminished somewhat since she moved to Manhattan. She had thought about going to Paris and working with a publisher there, but that required more involvement in terms of translating her manuscript and re-adjusting to the French conception of work ethic. Plus, France at the moment was in a bit of an upheaval with all their anti-Ministry protests. England, in comparison, had far less drama to deal with, and Vesper would prefer to minimise as much unnecessary nonsense as possible.
She had sent several owls and chose what seemed the most promising leads out of her positive responses. After some back-and-forth regarding schedules, Vesper had arranged a few of these professional dates, hoping one of them would be her literary Prince Charming, coming to her with the perfect fitting deal for her new venture.
She had to admit her first few dates wound up becoming more like pumpkins than carriages, but that didn’t dampen her hopeful expectations this morning. Her correspondence with this William Dasher was very pleasant, and there was something in his replies—the cadence in which he wove his words, the warmth he laced in the tones of his letter—that hinted of his literary talents separate from his business acumen. There were plenty of talented publishers and editors who were dreadful writers, their talents laying in the polishing and refining of rough gems made by others. But it was always a welcome surprise to find someone who had it all.
Vesper took another sip of her tea, wondering if perhaps she was raising her expectations too high. And what if he were doing the same, holding her to his own standards that she may not meet? Vesper was a name to know, but only in certain circles. She hadn’t
quite reached the same echelons that warranted a big to-do with a huge publisher and marketing campaign. And that was all right with her. Her level of celebrity was much more manageable, and it afforded a more intimate connection with those that she supposed were her fans. But perhaps this publisher expected more, desiring a wider audience that would compensate for the effort involved in publishing a first-time memorialist.
Vesper thought she did as much as she could in making a name for herself in the industries she’d chosen. So as she began to reduce her number of performances, she figured it was time to venture in establishing herself more as a brand than simply a performer. She had a few ideas in the works, but writing seemed the most natural expansion. She’d already been published and established herself as respectable academic, but that again was rather niche. Trying her hand into creative writing was a different, but not so drastic segue in something a bit more mainstream.
Speaking of transitions, her thoughts of businesses gave way for a moment as her eyes fell on a man with the most amazing head of hair. Vesper had spent the better part of the morning with her locks pressed in large hot rollers to keep her curls coiffed. How lucky some were to simply wake up with enviable, natural waves! She thought they locked eyes for the briefest moment, and Vesper quickly looked down to sip her tea, quenching one type of thirst for another.
She smoothed the lines in her skirt and her fur stole, and looked again, realising he was approaching her! She rose from her seat, flipping the codes of chivalry in this instant. She held out one hand in greeting, smiling with just a bit of coyness.
‘Mister Dasher, I presume?’ Her voice was soft and coquettish. She hadn’t expected him to be so young, nor this attractive. ‘I’m so very pleased you’ve come to join me for tea. It’s icewine in the pot, and I’ve some scones here as well, though you’re very welcome to order as you like. Anything you like. I hope you're able to stay for a little while. Considering you’ve my manuscript and thus some details about me, it’d be lovely to know a bit more about you. But I understand if you are pressed for time, and we can jump right into bed--er, business! Right into business.’
Vesper cleared her throat and took another sip. She wasn’t quite sure if he were the type to be strictly about business. Vesper wasn’t the type to keep a man longer than he liked, so if he were, it would definitely be her loss.
And the daughter of Cyprus said to me,
“Child of the earth,
Behold, all things are born and attain,
But only as they desire,—
“The sun that is strong, the gods that are wise,
The loving heart,
Deeds and knowledge and beauty and joy,—
But before all else was desire.”
@William Dasher 
