Good Writing

by Diana Pollin

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

Danny asked to see her historical stuff which she kept hidden under the desk as her father had no conception of privacy. The box was a tightly folded carton containing paperback biographies of Cleopatra, Jezebel, Messalina and Lucretia Borgia. Each book held loose pages blackened with handwriting. “What is this all about?”

Debra rose from her chair. “I guess you would say it is my real self. My beautiful alabaster skin, my hair which runs in blue black silken waves, like ripples on the ocean at night, the feline grace in each of my movements. I show the cunning of a fox when I speak to my admirers and my plotting ministers.

“Stately and solemn, I walk to the foot of the eternal and mysterious sphinx and I worship Isis at sunrise. I raise my hand and Cesar and Anthony drop to their knees, I drop a pearl into a chalice and it dissolves in a hiss, I know that I am the object of court intrigues, but I am wily and shrewd and ruthless, I have spies everywhere, and counter-spies, and I know who is trying to poison me! I choose to die at the serpent’s sweet bite. I am Cleopatra the unvanquished!”

“Great! Just great!” Danny clapped and laughed.” You know, you could be a marvelous actress. Have you done any acting?”

Actress? Her? Actresses were pretty, petite, always on display. “No, I... er... I guess not.”

“Well, if you ever want to be an actress, I think you’d be a great one. Or a writer. Maybe they are not so different. Can I ask you what these stories deal with?” Danny had sat on the floor, leaning his back against the bed, taking a notebook.

Debra returned to her swiveling desk chair. “I take up where history and Shakespeare leave off. I pretend Cleopatra staged her own death and ran off in search of a kingdom where she could rule and be safe. She meets all sorts of historical and mythical figures on the way, like Aeneas and Romulus and Hannibal and they become lovers, and she influences their future conquests.”

“That sounds really great! And you do the same with Jezebel and..”

“Yes, although with the others it is harder because they were really wicked women. Cleopatra at least had some good points. But I find these evil women fascinating. Even Jezebel... Did you know...”

But before Debra could finish, Danny had risen to his feet, and a photo had fallen from his shirt pocket. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he said in a soft voice, showing it to Debra. Wavy ash blond hair in a loose chignon, finely chiseled nose, high prominent cheekbones, black eyes, pale skin.

“Yes. Is she your girlfriend?”

“She certainly is! Hannah Abelman. We’ve been dating for three years. She skipped a year, like you!” Danny looked intently at his cousin. “She’s got early admission to Barnard, but does not know if she’ll go there or the Fashion Institute. Perhaps will do both. Tremendous talent. Wants to be a designer.”

“How tall is she?”

“Huh? Five three, five four. Does it matter? Not everybody is fortunate to be tall like you!”

* * *

The guests had left. Alma called Debra into the kitchen while Barton disappeared into his study. They had finished the dishes when Alma in a soft serious voice told Debra that “Father wants us in the office.”

Barton was at his desk with his back to the door. A finely chiseled tulip shaped brandy glass, filled to the brim, stood above an ocean of papers. A telephone and special lighting had been installed; Barton had weak eyes and was accustomed to working late on his scholarly books and articles.

Alma took a seat beside her husband, who had turned his chair around and motioned Debra to a stool. Debra said she preferred to stand, to which he replied, “As you please.” He turned to the brandy and sipped it parsimoniously, perhaps as a demonstration of how to drink a cordial. “You may stand, but please, do not give me the spectacle of your infernal slouching! Spare me that, if nothing else!” Debra took the stool.

“Bart, Debra’s tired. Why not tell her why you asked us in, dear?” Alma inquired, trying out an innocent tone of voice.

Barton pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow, another slow sip of brandy. He had all the time in the world. “There are two reasons why I asked you both to come in tonight. The first, and I think Mother will agree fully with me on this, is that it is indecent and unfitting to receive a young man in your room behind closed doors.

“I know you and your cousin have done nothing blamable, but it is not suitable to distance yourself from a crowd with a boy your age. The consequences, you must realize, will fall on your family as gossip and wrongful supposition.”

“Don’t give a damn, now,” thought Debra, but Alma replied, “I think... dear, I think that it is all my fault. I wanted to get Debra away from Charles, and it was I who suggested that the young people go off and talk.”

“And that is exactly why you are here tonight, Alma!” He pointed a finger at his wife and spoke harshly. “I insist on putting an end to these family parties! I will no longer be the victim of your misplaced generosity and our daughter’s utter disregard for her and our reputation! No discussion, the end!” Alma muttered that she understood and that the parties would cease.

“May I go now, Father?” Debra said resignedly. “I’ve work to do.”

“You certainly may not. I have not finished.” He reached for the brandy, took a loud sip, followed by a loud gulp, followed by a tense minute of silence. “I trust you will not engage in that behavior anymore. But, if it were only that, I would not have called you in and have you interrupt my work. What I have to say to you will come as a surprise to your mother. I wonder how this disappointment will sit with her.”

Alma and Debra exchanged glances. Barton went on, “You know, Debra, that we as parents have been very generous with pocket money, supplemented, it is true, by your baby sitting, but you cannot say that we have refused you any worthwhile cultural or educational pastime. You agree with what I have just said?”

Oh no! There it was! Well, let it come! And,yes, she has the courage. Didn’t Danny say she was a good writer?

Barton cleared his throat, and lowered his chin. Another slow sip of the brandy. “Very well, then. If you agree that you have been privileged, and even far more privileged than most of your friends by everything your parents are doing for you, you can well understand my very profound disappointment at finding the rubbish you have been hiding under your desk!”

“You really had no right to explore the contents of my desk,” Debra said dispassionately, raising her eyebrows.

New development, this insidious placidity! What was his daughter up to? “Of course I had a right! It was my pocket money that was being spent in such a horrible and negligent way! What’s more, you are a liar and a thief, as that pocket money was very specifically set aside for museum trips, and books of fine literature! And when I asked you what you were reading, you answered Dickens! Well the Dickens you were! Liar!” Barton glared and growled and reached for the tulip.

Alma rose from her chair and pleaded, “Barton, I think the child is tired, and I don’t think it is so terrible, this adolescent liking for drugstore literature. Every child goes through it. I remember I...”

“No, Alma, not every child reads pornography...!”

“You hate me, Father, don’t you?” Debra said in a stony voice.

“Debra! How can you say that? Father and I only want the best for you!” Alma folded her daughter in her arms.

“No, Mother. Father hates me, and now, I know why he hates me,” Debra replied with a certain coldness.

“Debra dearest, we know you are not reading pornography. It just is... Well, how can I express it? It is as if someone gave you a beautiful Greek statue and you took a horrid crayon and began scribbling all over that beautiful statue and spoiling everything that was good and beautiful about it...”

“And oh yes, now that you mention Greek statues, Alma, our daughter does have a taste for classical literature. Do you know what terrible things she has been reading?”

“What terrible things has she been reading?” Debra mimicked, gently setting aside her mother’s arms.

“Quiet you! I am speaking to your mother! The so-called life of Cleopatra, four volumes of the most terrible rot.”

“Barton, enough of this!” Alma cried out loudly, removing a tissue from her pocket, “She is just curious!”

“Curious? Our daughter! No! She’s a liar and a thief!”

Another long slow sip of brandy. Silence for a moment. Was he selecting a form of punishment or had he finished the assault? “Do you, my dear Alma, really want to know what our daughter is like? Well, then, I will tell you.”

Barton set his voice into a mocking singsong. “Dearest Alma, our daughter is like Cleopatra... Serpent of the Nile, or she is like Jezebel...”

“Or,” said Debra, walking to the door and looking pointedly at her father, “she is like the girl with the red hair.”

to Challenge 389...