There is very little that Sylvia is not up for. I do know she’s repulsed by a few things—old money, monogamy, and coffee (odd, considering she’s Italian).
She arrived at the humble 20,000-square foot country house on Taconic Road by helicopter with a group of people who seemed wealthy enough to buy seats on that one space shuttle that’d be out of town right before the meteor hit.
As always, she came with a plan. By ten o’clock, she’d replaced the high heels with a pair of sneakers and was taking Edmond Thomas Wellington (the 3rd, I believe) to school on the grass courts. This was the Greenwich, Connecticut, version of Billy Jean King and Bobby Riggs.
The dress looked equally at home holding a Gibson or atennis racket. I had the sneaking suspicion that Sylvia had read Wellington’s comments in the paper regarding male and female athletes.
After her resounding victory, I pointed out her chic and sporty “tennis” dress. Fitted but with a little stretch for movement. Sleeveless with extended shoulders, of course. This was not by coincidence.
“How’s your backhand these days?” I asked.
“You know me, Peterman. Still hitting like a girl.”
Sylvia’s Dress (No. 5584). Cotton sateen that’s 5% spandex. Fitted with alluring zip-up front. Stunning pastel floral print that is not placed so each dress is unique. Sleeveless with extended shoulder. V-neck is brought up around the sides and back to hug the neck for a statelier look. Slant pockets at high hip. Princess seams at front, fitted waist darts at back, upper-calf length, fully lined. Imported.