The Tale of the Private "R"

A tropical story from Word Hero

This isn’t some rhetorical fantasy of mine. Okay, it is a rhetorical fantasy, but I wrote it for your edification. The passage comes packed with those make-believe devices we call tropes.  To find them, click on the highlighted words.

A sweet pair of gams sashayed into my office. Legs, I mean. The kind that go on forever.

“Mr. Heinrichs, I presume?” she said, leveling her baby blues at me.

The chair squeaked as I put my Guccis up on the desk and stared back. “Who’s asking?”

The dame gave a little snort, like a greyhound before it catches the mechanical rabbit. “Your name’s on the door. I’m told you help people with their persuasion problems. But you look like a private eye.”

“Not private eye, private are,” I said.

“‘R’ for ‘rhetorician.’ Hilarious.” She wasn’t laughing, though. “So are you available?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘available.’” I leered at the feat of gravity that lay beneath the unbuttoned top of her blouse.

“Keep your eyes to yourself. I’m married.” She sighed. “To a husband who won’t do any chores around the house.”

“A pig,” I nodded. “I got ways for dealing with his type.”

“I can pay.”

I grabbed a pint of rye from under the desk. “Care for a toot?” I was beginning to like this broad.