Connie was sitting on the couch beside her new friend Peggy Guggenheim, a woman who Connie had heard a lot about from her mother and had looked forward to meeting. They were guests at James Joyce's fifty-sixth birthday party in the home of Peggy's oldest friend, Helen Joyce. Mr. Joyce had just offered one hundred francs to anyone who could guess the real title of his Work-in-Progress.
Connie (shyly whispering to Peggy): Finnegan's Wake.
Samuel Beckett (sitting beside Connie): Finnegan's Wake!!
Joyce: That's it! You win, Sam! Congratulations.
Peggy stared in a slight state of horror at Connie as Connie winked at her.
1 comment:
I used to go contra-dancing with a woman named Susan Guggenheim in the DC suburbs (Glen Echo, actually, in Maryland). I gave her a ride home once after the dance. At the time I didn't know there was anything special about the name. She was actually sort of cute, but at the time I wasn't into dating anyone.
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