May 4, 2013 |
After Obama got re-elected Vincenza began to realise that there was something missing in her life. She had fame. Wealth. Beauty and impeccable taste. But she couldn’t help but feel that the only thing that would complete her would be a head of state on her arm. So she set about doing her best to snare that Barack. Studying her favourite book, Jacqueline Susann’s Dolores, a thinly veiled account of the life of Jackie O post JFK, she deduced that if her plan were to work she needed a silk scarf. If tied elegantly around her head in the same way Jackie O used to wear hers, it would speak of elegance, mystery and vulnerability. What man would be able to resist? And so she hailed a cab and made her way to the nearest Salvatore Ferragamo boutique. The salesgirl had been very attentive. She had whisked Vincenza to a private room, where she was served champagne and shown every single scarf Ferragamo had to offer. Ferragamo, the girl had told her, use only the finest silks. Each scarf is hand painted, so in a way, buying one was more akin to buying a small work of art that you could wear. She chose 10. A rainbow of floral and gold-chain prints. She had wanted to take them all, but with Barack being an advocate of the poor she figured it would be in bad taste. Not that the scarf worked, though. When she met with him in the Oval Office he spurned her advances, mumbling something about Michelle and high-street silk before she was forcibly removed by security. Vincenza was horrified. How could the leader of the free world have suggested that she refrain from wearing Ferragamo and donate the money instead to charity? Didn’t he know she could afford to do both? Suggesting that she buy her scarves on the high street had been the final straw. “Those aren’t silk!” she had screamed. “They’re ACRYLIC. Do you know what that does to one’s hair? Why do you think I have impeccable hair after removing my scarf? Because it’s silk – 100% Ferragamo silk.” So maybe it hadn’t been her finest hour, but at least she’d seen the true colours of the man she had wanted to make part of her life. “I need someone with taste and an appreciation for the finer things in life,” she thought. “Maybe someone French. But that would require years of being a mistress before getting anywhere… Italy would be good. I like the food. I like the wine. I like the fashions. Goddammit, Ferragamo are Italian and I love them. And they’re run by a ladies’ man who I can seduce and then whip into shape. Italy it is.” And with that she screamed at Dimitri to book her the next flight to Rome.
by Natalie Dembinska
