Lovely Summer Smoke Deluged by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 20

The original Amber Hopschild, now Amber Collinaire, woke in her canopied Queen Anne bed and her first view was of the tear in its center. She thought that it was strange that she had never previously noticed it, but after some minimal mental machination, attributed it to the fact that she always slept on her belly and last night she had wound up on her back. She made a cerebral note to try replacing it, fully aware that stores did not carry the item and dismayed at the possibility of having to visit a Christian place of worship; dark, creepy and living as much as a tomb or an American museum.

She recalled being taken by her parents to a Catholic mausoleum for the purpose of confession and seeing the place dominated by poorly painted sculptures of the Stations of the Cross existing in dreadful stasis in window sized niches on the dark walls. She had thought; “These freaks really get off on suffering,” and decided that she would remain uncleansed of their concept of sin. She ran between the darkly stained, thick and heavy walnut pews, which imitated Empire design, and miserably failed to properly evoke the style, not only because of their over-simplicity, but also due to the maker’s predilection for using five times more walnut than required, perhaps a clergy relative charging by the pound. She luckily burst through the massive open door into a temporarily blinding

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sunlight only because it was opened by a well-dressed man who had just made a withdrawal from the poor box. Her parents showed mercy and never brought her back.

Amber resolved that if it was necessary to go to a church, she would handle it the same way the priests did. She went to the refrigerator and not being a wine aficionado, retrieved two tall cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. She sat on the edge of her bed and sipped them, casting occasional glances at her tear. She found that the more she drank the more natural it appeared. When through she no longer gave a damn about it, thinking that it added a beautiful “patina” which nothing can duplicate.

She gazed out the window and saw Mellow’s tall, dark, thin body in tight, well-worn blue jeans, squatting over a pile of yesterday’s trimmings and decided to get somewhat dressed. She removed the underwear she had slept in and viewed her body in the mirror over her toilette vanity cabinet.

She opted for a side view, first noticing her somewhat swollen stomach, seemingly sovereign and supreme over the flaxen Netherlands. She put her hand to it and took a deep breath, again “discovering” that breathing deeply was a worthwhile maneuver in areas other than aerobics. Content with the results of sucking it in her focus went to her ample breasts and she liked the view of the twin peaks, sagging the least bit and

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capped by pert nipples. She pinched them to accentuate the positive.

She glared at her short, meaty legs and cursed the god who must have thought he was making a munchkin, when a gazelle was the order of the day. She stood on her toes and decided that high heels were an adequate antidote. She could not stop her eyes from going to the hated and embarrassing scar on her left upper thigh. Two inches long, red and rutted like a week old surgical incision, there it drew attention to itself, the last

“gift” from her dead parents. She retrieved makeup from the cabinet and covered it. She cursorily brushed her long, honey blond hair, leaving it with the spirit of the “just got out of bed” look and then shook her head so wildly she heard one note played by a xylophone reverberate and reverberate in her ears.

On an empty stomach the two beers had made a provocative impression and Amber wanted to provoke Mellow Yellow NOW. She would have loved to have gone out au natural, but did not want Wellborn and Patricia (Hi and Bee) to bear witness to bawdy behavior, nor bear the subsequent recriminatory brunt of it. She considered the clothing subterfuge retarded, excepting the makeup and high heels as down home in Lexington, Kentucky girls her age (fifteen) were often already married for three years, and had covered the canvas with lots of paint and texture, but necessary in the “civilized” East.

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Still, her native instincts compelled her to err on the side of recklessness. She put on a flimsy yellow top, almost held up by thin shoulder straps, cut off blue jeans and heels and stormed out of the room. The gale slowed down to a sprinkle when she got to the stairs, but she forged ahead to the kitchen for more Pabst Blue Ribbon fortification.

As she entered she saw the backs of Posie and Kale scampering their way out the other door. Their hands were entwined, too preoccupied with themselves to take any notice of Amber on their way to the living room. Amber didn’t feel slighted, in fact thought that she was not seen (She was right.) and was turned on by their open display of mutual fascination.

She forgot about Mellow Yellow and drank two more cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon while contemplating the dualities of life, her only care not to cut her lips on the cold metal. She shook her head fiercely and heard the Hunchback of Notre Dame blast the chimes demanding sanctuary.

She also lost her balance and couldn’t understand how that stupid wall moved right in her path. Undeterred, she staggered toward the living room.

Posie and Kale were commencing their own tempestuous riot on the red-cushioned, rococo revival, reproduction divan.

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Hi and Bee sat naked in their locked bedroom adjacent to the living room. The original ornate Chippendale frame retained the four posts, but the canopy frame and covering disappeared long before anyone’s memory was capable of recalling. With the cover up to their waists, they leaned back on pillows and quietly read books held in their laps, leaving exposed only a bit of the serpentine, shell-carved headboard. The only sound in the room that of pages turning enabled them to “blindly”

estimate the nearby goings-on through resonance alone.

Hi marked his place in “The Catcher in the Rye,” and said;

“Kale and Posie are at it again.”

Bee’s eyes grinned as they shot to the ceiling. Her left hand found their place in Jung’s “Mysterium Coniunctionis,” and she said; “Ain’t it great when you think you’re doing something forbidden.” She smiled wistfully as the book filled her hand.

“You bet your sweet little rye patch.” He used three fingers to keep his spot.

“You think the kids do this?”

“Hell, yeah, and for some time I’m sure.”

Bee said; “They’re so fucking hot for it at that age.”

Hi slowly ran his fingers over his nose and lips. He said;

“And at our age?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry, baby.” She kissed his head. “It’s just so cute when it’s new.”

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“You wanna circle back to the beginning?”

“No, not at all.”

“Well, then, my great, spacious, aromatic pussy. Let’s kick it up another notch. Always keeps it fucking exciting.”

She slid down and said; “To infinity, honey lover.”

They lost all track of the kids.

Amber’s head was somewhere between the bold, warm, woozy, Pabst (not German GW of “Pandora’s Box,” or perhaps one should say Louise Brooks fame) buzz, summer’s accumulating torridness, her legs, a desire to express her preference for both sides of the coin in one liaison and a goal of proving to herself and the world that she was good enough to have sex with anyone. She lowered her shoulder to the closed living room door and pushed it open resulting in an off-balanced lurch into the room. Her totter made her titters pop out of the yellow, low-cut and flimsy top. She laughed as she pulled it over her head, threw it toward the couch and began moving her shoulders as if she was trying to remove a kink from her bare back. Kale caught it and seeing Amber’s consistent, cockeyed, attempted contact, with thunderous distaste he said; “Oh, shit,” and threw it back at her. He looked at the carpeted floor and thinking that he was admiring her legs she continued on. In her state of overly-confident mind she didn’t hear; “Oh, shit” as meaning; “I wish

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you’d go away;” she took it to mean; “Wow,” a problem with departures from the King’s English, if the listener can’t or won’t understand inflection.

She forced her ass between them and as she wiggled her way into comfort, Kale, with eyes still aimed down stood up and said; “Would you please get the fuck out of here. This is a private party.”

Amber was discouraged, thinking that Kale might be looking at her hated scar. But, she didn’t think she was through, as Posie remained silently in her seat. She saw this as an opportunity to make a split in the couple. She wanted to do both of them, but since one was being a mean prick, she could settle for half with a kicker. She put her hand between Posie’s legs and chuckled; “Some people are just uptight.”

Posie screamed; “Nobody wants you. Leave us the fuck alone.” She, too, stood and looked down as she shook her head from side to side. In a monotone she added; “Pathetic loser.”

Amber was doubly insulted as not only was she rejected and yelled at, they were staring at and were repulsed by her scar.

In actuality Kale and Posie were repulsed by the totality of Amber and didn’t reject her because of her scar or her aggressiveness. Despite this being Amber’s third unwanted and pitiful attempt to shove her ass in the middle of Kale and Posie’s private moments, they rejected her only because they

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were merely into each other and fantasy and didn’t feel obliged to advertise their clandestine understandings.

However, in the moment Amber hated everyone. She hated her biological parents for leaving her and leaving her with a scar.

She hated her step-parents for allowing the carryings-on in which she could not participate. She hated her step-siblings for rejecting her. She ran from the room as she pulled the flimsy top over her deranged head. Her beer induced clumsiness caused her to stumble and fall into an end table. Her embarrassment deepened as Kale and Posie stared at her without any expression.

Amber left and slammed the door behind her. She went to her room, put her face in the pillow and cried. When she got up she had a moment of clarity and simplicity. She now wanted only one thing; revenge. She thought of her real parents. They had already paid the ultimate price and were therefore invulnerable.

The best she could do was to go and piss on their graves, and they probably wouldn’t know or care and it wouldn’t make the least bit of difference. She thought; “I hope you burn in hell for eternity,” and then vowed never to again think of them.

Real revenge was reserved for the living. Kale and Posie were screwing as was Otis and Tory, while Hi and Bee looked the other way. (Ostensibly too difficult a task for most.) She saw that she could cause trouble for all of them if she got the authority, an overly zealous social worker, on their case. She

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knew that legally foster children were not allowed to live in the same house and have sex. Hi and Bee, if not complicit, were at the very least negligent in allowing it. Arthur was another matter. Since he didn’t do anything but evaluate everything, he was immune to any possible charges; UNLESS SHE LIED.

Amber dressed appropriately and drove the family car toward the Social Service Department where she would register her

“concern” with Mildred Martinet. As she slowly navigated the unobstructed roads she thought that she couldn’t be certain, and it didn’t matter as It didn’t have any effect on her intended modus operandi, but she suspected that it would be a secretly gleeful “duty” for the lower to middle income, under-sexed government employee to take down the high fallutin’ Collinaires.

Amber carefully parked between two yellow lines in the office lot and retained her clarity, plan, simplicity and goal as she slowly and purposefully climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, avoiding the push- button elevator.

As Mildred, Amber and four police officers approached the Collinaire front door, an uncomfortably strong northern wind blew in bulbous, black, thundering clouds and the season’s first deluge began. The menacing cacophony fulfilled its most dire promise as celestial waterfalls pummeled Long Valley. All ran the last few steps to avoid the drenching, soppy pellets, except

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Amber who dawdled and felt cleansed and avenged in an unholy way, like a black mass.

Bee answered the second knock, immediately recognized Mildred and invited the entourage in, saying; “Come on in. Get out of this downpour.” She looked skyward and added; “Surprised me.”

The group entered the center hall and Hi came out of the library, carrying the copy of “Sons and Lovers” he was reading.

Pleasantries were exchanged; then Hi ventured; “What brings you out on this miserable day. Is someone under arrest?” He and Bee chuckled, un-joined by the other stern faces. The response or lack thereof sobered the jovial couple. They eyed each other with questioning, raised eyebrows.

One officer, older than the others and apparently the spokesman for the group said; “Mind if we have a look around?”

Hi replied; “Yes, I do mind. Will you tell me what this is all about?”

Mildred said; “We have reason to believe that there is flagrant sexual activity among the children.”

Hi said; “And I suppose you expect to catch them in the act.”

The officer said; “Where are they now?”

Hi said; “I don’t know. They might be around here someplace.”

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Mildred said; “No supervision.” She extracted a form from her oversized bag and wrote on it.

Bee said; “They’re teenagers for god’s sake! Who on earth knows where their teenagers are at all times?”

Mildred said; “Good parents have their ways of maintaining some semblance of control.”

Hi countered with; “So, you’re saying we’re not good parents. I resent that. And further, if we’re not good parents why do you keep sending children here? Sounds like an admission of negligence.”

Mildred had to step back and regroup, but came up with;

“Such indignance coming from a man standing there holding a dirty book. Come on now.”

Hi almost laughed despite the troublesome situation. He dryly said; “I’m surprised you know anything of this book. It contains no pictures. It hasn’t been considered obscene for thirty years. Times are changing.”

Mildred said; “For the worse.”

The lead officer stepped in to say; “Okay, everybody. This banter could go on forever and frankly I have no interest. The bottom line is that we’d like to take a look around.” As Hi faintly shook his head “No,” the officer added; “We can come back with a warrant if necessary.”

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Hi scratched his head, looked at the floor and said; “Let’s get it over with. I don’t know what you expect to find.”

The search got off to a speedy start as the officers went right to Kale and Posie’s books. The placement of the originals was revealed to Mildred by Amber. Their existence and placement was known by all the children of the house thanks to loquacious Arthur who had secretly written them over, with some editing he considered minor. He had hidden his impaired copies in a safe deposit box only known to him.

The head officer perused the books and said; “Very possibly obscene.” He took a plastic bag from his pants pocket. He said;

“This is evidence,” as he gingerly inserted them with two fingers, before handing them to another officer, both with facial expressions as if they were downwind from an open septic tank.

Kale and Posie screamed; “Illegal search and seizure!

Private! Private property!” They looked to Hi and Kale asked;

“Is this legal? Is this all right with you?”

Hi sadly shrugged and answered; “Maybe and no.”

Kale and Posie tried to break out, running in tandem into the torrent, only to be caught by the officers as they fumbled in the mud. They were handcuffed and each sat on one of the few chairs in the center hall with a police attendant.

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Kale looked to Posie and fervently said; “It’ll be all right. I know it.” He knew he was lying to her for the first time, but thought it was what she wanted to hear.

Posie looked into his eyes and started to cry. She shook her head quickly up and down as if to say; “I know.” She then stared at the floor.

The other officers then searched the entire house in an effort to find the books of Otis and Tory to no avail, as they were not writers. The couple stood quietly, ten feet apart and tried not to look at each other.

The commotion ended, Kale and Posie were escorted to separate police cars, the rain which pelted their faces masking the tears.

Mildred informed Hi and Bee that the young couple would be split up. “Each will be sent to a different part of the country, and neither they nor you will be made aware of the locations.

And your fitness as step-parents will be investigated.”

Hi and Bee silently glowered. Hi was sure of the source of the problem. He scrutinized Amber, who was obviously nervous, and said; “You will regret this day. I pity you.”

Amber opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

Hi then turned to Mildred and said; “MS. Martinet. Please consider this formal notice that we no longer want Amber

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Hopschild, this deformed and marked chubette, in our home. I hope other arrangements can be made expeditiously.”

Amber screamed; “I’m sorry,” but received no response.

Mildred speechlessly looked from Hi to Bee, appearing baffled.

Hi said; “Means quickly, stupid.” He put his arm around Bee’s shoulders and led her away. He stopped for a second, turned back and dryly said to Mildred; “I trust you will let yourself out without causing more damage.” They continued to the living room and shut the door behind them.

Later that evening Arthur removed his versions of Kale and Posie’s books from his safe deposit box and took them to the pre-arranged meeting he had with Ruben in Manhattan.

As they dined at a downtown restaurant, courtesy of Ruben, Arthur surveyed the potted plants lining the few windows in the brick-walled facility. He was doing a last minute review of his plan. He had considered saying that he was the author, which was minimally true, but feared that saying that would contradict things he had already said. He also feared being directly responsible if the books were ever found to be without redeeming social value. In a blasé manner, which he didn’t realize sounded ridiculous to the older gentleman he said; “Height of Manhattan chic these days?”

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Ruben wiped the ketchup residue left by the last hamburger bite from his face and said; “Referring to the restaurant?”

“Yes, of course. The boho dance in solids and semis.” He fed his curdled mouth shrimp scampi.

“This place is frequented by artists, so it’s more like the height of cheap.” He laughed just a tad derisively.

Arthur had no quick follow up as he had extremely limited experience in being corrected and couldn’t tolerate being mocked.

Ruben said; “So, show me what you got.”

Arthur handed him the books, saying; “Sexy. Today. Cutting edge. Out there. Authored anonymously. I’m the agent.”

Ruben said he found them interesting, but it will take him a lot of work to convert them to film. Arthur advised him that the conversion was his job. Ruben said some parts are a bit rough and might not be usable, to which Arthur countered that he was referring to the best parts, and that if Ruben didn’t get good reviews he was assured notoriety which is substantially as good, often financially better.

Veiled “artistically” centered haggling led to a deal.

Ruben got the books and Arthur went home with a check he would attempt to clear first thing in the morning. He knew he would be sleepless and helpless that night.

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