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"I've been cheated", Gisele huffed.

"Why's that, darling?"

"This Dappertuto guy, he promises but he just can't focking deliver, now can

he"

Judy Deutsch looks around -- it's the second interval at the Royal Opera,

and Judy'd like to keep her "youthful ward" Gisele Hoch from getting tossed,

even as they eat their second course in the Floral Hall. Judy teaches Gender

Studies at Bay State, but with her recent Macarthur grant, she's travelling

the world with her companion, German avant-garde performance artist, Gisele

Hoch.

"Gisele. . .what do you mean?"

--Well, he says "je varie mes plaisirs", right?

Judy nods.

"My pleasures change. . .well to focking what do they focking change? When

my pleasures change, I go from wanting someone to piss on me, to wanting to

piss on someone, right"

Judy nodded.

"Or I go from electric nipple stimulation to that time when you got your

whole fist up my ass. . .so what's changing here. What pleasure varies?"

Judy looks a little pale: "Well, he wants Hoffman's reflection, for one

thing. . ."

"Well, that's not much of focking anything, now is it? I mean, if he wanted

his balls, if he gave the whore the diamond so that she would cut off his

focking balls while they were in the gondola, now that would be a story
wouldn't it?

"Um, yes, but it wouldn't be this story. . ."

"That's right, it would be better."

There's a moment of awkward silence. Other diners are gaping . . . it not

just that the sight of six foot Valkyries is usually restricted to Wagner

evenings; its that Gisele's interpretation of evening dress involves rather

more leather is usually seen at any time. Combined with her outspoken

critical views of Offenbach (which some find "refreshing novel"), she's not

your everyday operagoer.

A waiter approaches . . .

"Excuse me," he gushes, "I'm a big fan of your work. . .could I have your

autograph"

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Well this puzzles the City crowd. Who is she, exactly? There's a murmur in

the crowd . . .she's the one who pissed on the newscaster, isn't she? The

South Bank show, the episode they couldn't air . . .

The waiter turns out to be named "Dennis" and proves to have a keen interest

in the ballet, and opera when Caballe is singing. Gisele turns to him.

"And what about the dwarf. . .maybe he's a dwarf because they cut off his

balls?"

Judy put her head in her hands.

"No, I don't think dwarfs work that way, you're thinking of eunuchs".

"OK, OK, so what comes next. . ."

The waiter cherishes the opportunity to be helpful.

"Well, you see, Antonia is the daughter of a famous opera singer who died of

consumption."

"What's that?"

"TB-- tuberculosis; and anyway, now she's got it too."

"So big deal"

"Well", the waiter brightens, "the problem is that if she sings, the TB get

worse, and she dies"

"So, don't sing"

"You'd think that, yes, but the evil Dr. Miracle appears and conjures up the

ghost of her dead mother who tells her to sing . . ."

Gisele looks puzzled. "So what happens: she sings herself to death?"

"Exactly, its very beautiful . . ."

"Could you tell me this: is there an opera where they get fucked to death?

That would be a good opera."

The waiter looks bemused.

"Tristan, sort of, in a musical way; but there is the ballet that you're

named after: Giselle . . .in that one the gentleman deserts Giselle, and she

kills herself, and then all the ghosts of all the girls who've killed

themselves over other gentlemen come back from the grave and dance him to

death".

"Yeah I know, but really, they should fuck him to death, shouldn't they-- I

mean its not like he was 'dancing around' on the girl is it? He was fucking

around, nicht war?

"I guess so"

Judy watched the situation deteriorate. Gisele was now offering the waiter

"his choice" of labia rings or pissing on his hand as a souvenir of his

encounter with fame.

"Come on dear, its time for you to go home. . .we have the Japanese tv
people coming tomorrow morning.

As they shuffle out the door. . .

"Japanese tv, are those the guys I'm supposed to piss on?"