a real soundtrack for an imaginary spy film

Episode Thirty-One  - TANGO INCOGNITO (Twylyte Memories)

Copyright © 2002 - 2005 Arthur Jarvinen

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The Invisible Guy has gotten a hot tip that promises to lead to the acquisition of classified information of considerable relevance to his current line of investigation. His contact has arranged for him to meet a third party at Maure's Club Nostalgias after regular business hours, when the club is closed to the general public but still open for members and special guests, and during which time the real action goes down.

The Invisible Guy is none too anxious to return to Maure's anytime soon, having as he does a personal history with the establishment, memories of which could only serve to distract him from the work at hand. But, the arrangements having been made without any say on his part, he has reluctantly agreed to the rendezvous.

Given the setting, The Invisible Guy deems it only appropriate that he should don his best new Hong Kong suit on this occasion. "If only Twylyte could see me now – or, whatever…"

As per his instructions The Invisible Guy goes to the members' entrance and waits until someone comes out, deftly slipping inside just as the door closes again.

As he enters, the house band is just starting a brand new number they learned only that very afternoon. It being a tango, and seeing as The Guy has not yet made his presence known to his "host" (whom he sees across the room enjoying a cognac, alone at his private table) he can't resist deferring business - just for a little while - and indulging himself in the pleasure of the dance floor, if only with his memory of Twylyte for a partner.

The number over, The Invisible Guy suddenly snaps out of his reverie and glances over at his contact's table. Seeing only an empty snifter there he looks intently about the room, but the man is nowhere in sight. Thinking maybe he just went to take a leak The Invisible Guy waits around for nearly twenty minutes before finally giving up and leaving, disappointedly, the way he came in.

(His contact, having grown impatient of waiting and assuming The Invisible Guy was a no-show, decided to waste no further time and left to call upon a lady friend who works nearby.)

Claude shakes his head disapprovingly as he sips his Zima – a beverage he has never tasted before this evening and vows he never will again – then returns to his excogitation on an exegesis of fiber optics in a back issue of Scientific American.

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