foxy lady

There was a vacant office down on the ground floor of the apartment block, where there used to be an insurance agency or something.....Sir Topper picked up a  six-month lease on the space, and we hired a guy to paint our logo on the door.  I shopped around and found an old wooden desk and a couple of chairs, and a beat up floral printed sofa.  We put some cheap prints on the walls, making sure some of them were hung crooked.  And we found a third-hand coffee maker that stank....and I found a place to buy cracked coffee mugs and jam-jar drinking glasses....you know, the kind with little stars around the lip.  So we got a bottle of bonded whiskey and stuck it in the tall desk drawer with the jam-jars, fired up the coffee pot....and waited for our first client.  Sir Topper liked to sit in the corner half in shadow, stroking the styrofoam brass knuckles he had found in a novelty shop....grinning just enough to let his long canines show....I learned how to sit with my feet on the desk without falling over backwards in my squeaky office chair.....and we waited.  And one day right after lunch, a tall blond elfin woman came through the door, in a nice outfit with some kind of fur stole over her shoulders, with a smoke in a long holder, and high heels, and legs that were so long that by the time I got to the knee I had to stop and ask for directions.....is that the line?  The sound-track started playing "Foxy Lady" by Jimi Hendrex....and she sized us both up with a look down her long aristocratic nose that seemed to consign us poor mortals to one of the outer rings of no-class Hades..... Carefully, I managed to get my feet off the desk without any disaster, and I stood up to say "Why hello, mam', can we be of service?"