“The bloke is perfect, a dead ringer.  The girl is too short, work on the height of her heels and she’ll pass muster.”

The dresser obeyed and the couple was sent down, through the Ritz’s foyer, to the waiting car.

Mohamed Al-Fayed lifted the phone; “It’s time” were the only words he uttered.

All eyes in the room were glued to the images on the CCVT screen.  They watched the car pull away from the hotel, saw it enter the Pont de l’Alma road tunnel and observed the close proximity of the camera man on his motor cycle.

The motor cyclist overtook the car.  With that first flash and the ensuing bang of the car against the stone wall, the audience in the hotel room gave a collective gasp.  Diana heaved and was given a glass of water.

“Can we go now, Papi?” asked Dodi.

Mohamed embraced his son and kissed the woman who would never legally become his daughter in law.

“Go in peace, my children.  There is a tunnel at the end of the corridor.  A car will be waiting outside; I have asked James Dean to fetch you.”

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  1. Oh my…what an interesting story you’ve posited…how I wish it would be true in some ways…but now it’s bedtime and lord knows I need my beauty rest. 🙂 An excellent bit of writing and quite creative…good night my friend.

  2. Good one, Cin.

    I’m torn, though, between wanting more of the story, and a desire for you to let it rest in the established format. Hyper-short fiction has always been a favorite.

    Presenting something so short that cultural knowledge steps up and fills in the details is a wonderful exercise.

  3. Nice! I like it better than the ‘true’ story… but what about her kids – are they in on it? Oh wait… sorry, I guess I’m somewhat attached to the fairy tale – maybe there were no kids? Absolutely love the James Dean touch in the end.

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