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Re: <eyebeam><blast>





vitruvius has been reading, pondering, and giggling from time to time. 
Several of her admirers have pleaded for comment, a sign, some gesture 
from the chaise longue. Tell us what it all means, you're an artist, 
they say. But vitruvius is silent. She is in fact having a renaissance. 
Her recent season at the Gazebo was a sell-out, and left her feeling 
that comment would be superfluous. Returning to the dressing-room each 
night, vitruvius riffles through the faxes and telegrams, sorts out 
which bouquets she will keep, and which ones will go to charity. Her 
agent points forlornly at the computer terminal - another 20 messages 
from eyebeam. There might be money and engagements in this, he says in 
his offensive drawl. My life is the dance, vitruvius replies. I'm not a 
Spice Girl.


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