WENDYO.: METAL NIGHTS
Clad in black leather, Wendy O. Williams slips behind the steering wheel of her 1972 white Cadillac convertible, guns the engine and we cruise off onto the highways of the night. In skull cap and opere cape, The Dauph sits huddled in the car's back seat, sipping anxiously from a gold flask of overproof rum.
WENDYO.: METAL NIGHTS
Edouard Dauphin
Clad in black leather, Wendy O. Williams slips behind the steering wheel of her 1972 white Cadillac convertible, guns the engine and we cruise off onto the highways of the night. In skull cap and opere cape, The Dauph sits huddled in the car's back seat, sipping anxiously from a gold flask of overproof rum. Soon we will be crossing a state line—always a source of apprehension for Edouard Le Poltron—but we won’t even make it to the Connecticut border if Wendy doesn’t stay in the automobile.
Reminded that the side door next to her is slightly ajar even though we’re now speeding along at nearly 70, Wendy merely laughs. “I know, but what if I want to get out?” No problem—we all have our own ways of getting to Connecticut.