As the Connecticut dusk rolled over Skiff Mountain down toward Kent’s lovely Housatonic River, I sat with my old friend Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain. The old man and I sat on the grand veranda of the Golden Flacon Inn, reminiscing the high points of our glorious day spent fishing. “I still can’t believe it, Robert,” he exclaimed, “how did you manage to hook twice the number of trout that I did today?” “What can I say, Sam,” I answered in jest. “I guess I’m just better at reeling them in-“ We shared a good laugh at the camaraderie the day had brought, but I stopped quite abruptly when I noticed the most devastatingly attractive woman I’d ever laid eyes on- one helluva hot tomato to be sure- and aptly, wearing a vermillion colored dress. As the evening blue enveloped this ripe young thing, I couldn’t help but notice that the combination of the twilight and the tomato was truly stunning. “I say Robert,” said Clemens, “I do believe that beautiful woman recognizes me- she’s looking right this way.” However, as she approached us, it proved Old Sam was not the focus of her compelling gaze after all. “Excuse me sir,” this delectable damsel addressed me, the words cascading elegantly off her tongue, “but wherever did you get that beautiful blue shirt- why, it’s the color of evening- of this very twilight. I must get one for my father.” Could she have given a more appropriate compliment? Asked a more apt question? And I knew, fom that very moment, this Lady was at once as bold as a tomato and as demure as the twilight- two colors that legends are made of. Was it possible that this divine creature would become my Lady Redd?