The Hedge Sisters: Lady Prisspot Hedge and the lovely Ivy Hedge
Taken just prior to the press conference in the Atrium Lounge
photo courtesy of Freeloading Ferret



Dear Mr. Pepe,


I'm sending you a quick note to let you know how our evening in New York went and to solicit your advice.

Understandably, and to say the very least, my sister was anxious and overwrought prior to our arrival in the city of New York. Every minor traffic delay and sprinkle of rain brought dear Sis closer and closer to the edge of a psychotic breakdown, and I feared that we would have to forego the press statement and simply remain sequestered in our suites. Even I was becoming mpatient with our driver.

As the designated hour approached, Lady Prisspott -- or Hyde, as known to me, -- stepped into the watercloset to freshen up and remained there for well over two hours. Upon exiting the loo, Hyde had become a completely different persona who stepped quickly to retrieve the Prisspott diamonds and diadem from the room safe. Sensing the time was very near and the statement would occur without delay, I quickly refilled my hip flask and we began our descent upon the muckrakers in Atrium Lounge of the Marriott Marquis.

The lounge was quite full, and still others looked upon us from upper balconies as we stood quietly by the barman who served me up a pint of courage. The dreary atmosphere quickly changed for the better as many hotel patrons confused the Hedge sisters as stage stars and came begging photo opportunities, buoying our dispositions. (Apparently, "La Cage au Faux" is being performed nearby.)

At last a timid mammalian representative of the letterboxing community approached us and gave us the name, Freeloading Ferret. She plied us with plush and did what she could to interrogate the Lady Prisspott, until at last the exchange became too much and my sister dumped the whole sordid truth upon the unwitting ears of innocent bystanders.

"Yes, I admit it. I have a problem. But you must understand, it was Bush that has done me in."

I was, of course, shocked to hear the admission. I believe in experimenting. Everyone has, I'm sure. But the admission of Lady Prisspott's affinity for bush was a bit much even for me.

Then at last, clarification.

It seems that Bush is a scorned lover with a former drinking problem and apparently the two of them were at one time -- one bad time -- an item. While at Harvard, Georgie plied a naive and innocent Hyde with cheap red wine in his repeated and vain attempts to penetrate my sister's unbending and formidable virtue. This has lead to a lifelong weakness which has now, sadly, become public domain. Ironically it was made public by the very person who first put the monkey on Hyde's back. It seems that hell hath no fury like a Bush scorned, and refusing admission of the twins to Prisspott's Finishing School may have simply pushed him over the edge. My sister is merely a drop in the ocean of lives excrementitiously tainted by Bush.

As for the string cheese, well, it was all that was left in the larder after the students had left for holiday. You see, Prisspott's Finishing School teaches a class in which the students (should they find themselves a guest of the owner of a doublewide), are taught how to graciously eat even the lowest of foods with elegance and style. Confirming Ms. Flatbush's assertion that her former teacher was blameless.

Hyde did have a bit of a break down and fled the lounge amid the whispers and shocked stares of the patrons and threw herself into the first limo she came upon and is, as I write this, still missing.

I, naturally, had remained in the lounge, to ease the whispers and quell what could have been a frightful scene. (And, of course, I'd not yet finished my beer.)

The only clues I have, or rather had, of Hyde's whereabouts were four rather odd squares of carved rubber. Polly-O, Black Swan, POW!, and Tuesday's Underwear. I found that on the back of each is the quarter portion of a larger carving that I believe may tell me where the elder Hedge sister has gone off to. But, before I could piece them together, that wily ferret had left with three of the pieces, asserting that the letterboxing community would know what they were. I still have just the one.

What can I do, Mr. Pepe? You have been such a dear friend of the Hedge family, following this entire scandal without judgement or scorn. How can we find the location of Lady Prisspott?


Your friend,

Ivy Hedge






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