François De
Ripove
by Albert Russo
Ripov was tired of the city's
anonymity. He would change all that, at least
where he was concerned, and decided to play his
French card, for Ripov had a perfect grasp of
Rousseau's language and felt at home in the
Gallic civilization.
He designed himself a 'carte
de presse' in which he wrote, using exquisite
German print, 'Francois de Ripove, Grand Reporter
de la République.' That document gave him free
access to New York's most exclusive clubs and
societies and soon he received invitations to
cocktail parties and galas.
With 'le charme, mon cher,'
America lunged at his feet. François used it
with great discernment. Yet, not everything went
off as smoothly as he would have wished.
Husbands and lovers were
getting sick with jealousy. Some of these
insisted that he give them sex therapy sessions
and things became somewhat touchy.
Very quickly he was swamped
with orders and had to deliver the goods. The Gay
libbers demanded his collaboration, bestowing
upon him the title of 'Maître du Gai Savoir-Faire.'
Soon all this was literally
getting out of hand. Even the political parties
called on Ripov to redefine their campaign
slogans. (A Herculean task!) The advertisers
grabbed him, often without his knowledge, to sell
their products: in one television commercial,
Ripov appears asleep, arms outstretched, while on
the other half or the screen a blonde, beautiful
girl in a luxurious lace-trimmed dressing gown,
slowly wakes. “Ah,” she sighs, “it's
you, my darling, my François.”
Ripov's devastating
popularity ended by creating a national turmoil:
the country was on the brink of civil war, but
this time the French would step out of the game.
And step out Ripov did. Forgetting that he ever
had a notion of French, or English, or any human
language, Ripov flew, incognito, to Australia,
and joined a pack of kangaroos.
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