Brianna

Brianna

Matt came into his department office after lunch. The department secretary said, “Hey, Matt. A woman was here to see you. She was quite a looker, too. Jet black hair, long legs, dressed to the nines.”

“”Nice tan, too, and 5' 6”, 120pounds?”

“How'd you know?”

“Brianna's back from the Rivera! It sounds like she did some shopping in Paris.” He smiled contentedly. “She's one of a kind. When she was born, they broke the mold.”

“She left a note I can't read on this card. Here. She said she'd be back at two.”

He read it and said in response, “It says 'I want to see you tonight. Love, Brianna.' I want to see you, too, Sweetheart.

“This is all a little too mysterious. Spill it!”

“Spill what?”

“How does a mug like you get involved with a elegant, gorgeous thing like her?”

“Okay, Ms. Smartie Pants. I met her in college at a friends pool party. It was easy to notice her. She had the finest tits and the smallest bikini there.”

“It figures tits were involved.”

“Hey, you know I'm not one dimensional!”

“I said involved not the only thing. Continue.”

“She approached me and we hit it off right away. We spent the rest of the day talking and swimming. We became close friends then and we've been on and off ever since. Mostly 'on' these days About six months a year.”

“It had the name on a doctor on the card. A Doctor Stewart, I think. Who's that?”

“That's her. That's Brianna. She has her doctorate in art from the Sorbonne in Paris and she's fluent in French. She's the brightest person I know.”

“Wow! Living and going to school in Paris.”

“Off and on since she was sixteen.”

“She must have gone to high school there, too, then?”

“The last two years. When she was 16, she rebelled in a way few have. For a long time. she wanted to study art in Paris and her parents said no but that only made her more determined to go. She stole her father's credit card and flew there and got a room with a French family when she started to receive an annuity from her grandfather's estate and lived there until she became Doctor Stewart. What else do you want to know?”

“There's more!?”

“Like the time we flew to London for bubble and squeak at her favorite breakfast restaurant or the week we had in Paris and the weekend in Rome. In her last email, she was talking about Copenhagen or Africa this summer.”

“She's got the body of goddess, looks like a fashion plate, has a PhD and she travels half the year. Whoever said life's not fair, sure was right! I still don't understand how you bagged her.”

“Some got it, some ain't!”

“Get over yourself!”

“Don't you want to hear the rest?”

“There's still more?”

“Sit down for this one. It may knock you off your pins.”

“I'm gonna hate saying this, but go ahead.”

“Her family's rich. When she inherits all that she stand to inherit all that she can, she'll be a millionairess. What do yo think of that?”

“I don't fucking believe it! All that and money too?”

Rosie walked away muttering “Not fair. Nope, not fair.”

In response to her ramblings, he said, “Be at my place at six Saturday and you can talk to her yourself.”