Queen City and Other Dimensions. E.C. WellsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Drusilla,” said Piggy to Pudgy.
“I will, O Zeus, my brother,” swooned a pensive Pudgy to Piggy.
Then they were gone, down the hall and well out of earshot by the time V finished refilling Lily’s replacement teacup; a black mug imprinted with I’VE BEEN TO THE ZOO in gold lettering.
“You gave away the basement?” Lily sounded perplexed, puzzled and careworn.
“Only for a week or two, Lil. Then they will trade it in for something else. The attic maybe. By the way, Zeus I know, but I seem to have forgotten who Drusilla was?”
“Caligula’s sister.”
“Yes, of course,” said a weary V, rolling her eyes while pouring herself another cup of Earl Grey from her Dresden china teapot cracked here and cracked there and covered with the tea cozy Lily crocheted the time she came down with a foot infection; a reaction to a bite or sting from a source unknown. To this day Lily still suspects it was from one of the spiders that were given sanctuary in the house ever since V had declared that any attempt at killing them was verboten. Or, it may have been one of the black centipedes that are occasionally seen scurrying across the parlor floor, racing between the legs of V and Lily as the “little fuckers”headed to their den hidden somewhere within the walls.
"They could be poisonous! I better Google," Lily told herself.
“Which reminds me,” continued V, “next Saturday is our FEA field trip, is it not?”
“It is,” Lily confirmed, remembering something. “That is, unless Carlotta Bean forgets to take her meds and pulls another one of her stunts.”
“I don’t think so, Lily. Her last one was less than two weeks ago and, knowing her, she wouldn’t chance another scene quite so soon; especially after taking in that new boarder. She’s a stickler for making a good first impression, particularly for new conquests, after that she doesn’t give a rat’s ass. Le Bean certainly made a mess of things; insulting Mercy Pence’s buffet before dropping her emerald ring into the punch bowl, polluting the poor thing’s Georgian Ambrosia punch with the heavy scent and bile taste of Gardenia Bold. Made by some French faggot, according to Carlotta. Anyway, as she fished about in the peach-colored brine, its tide rose midway to her elbows before she nearly drowned herself in shock from seeing the disturbingly distorted faces of everyone there. As you know, all that cleaning-up after her vile tantrum left me exhausted. And poor raving Billy Butts! Will he never learn to shut the fuck up long enough to take a breath? I guess it was her attempt to strangle him with her peach-tinted hands that brought the evening’s festivities to an abrupt conclusion.” V paused to sip tea while waiting for the right words.
She didn’t need to wait very long before, “Nope, not so soon as Saturday, Lily. She keeps her new boarder in the Paisley Room; the room that nice fellow papered for her. You know, the one you always liked with the mysterious eyebrows you thought Arabesque. I detected his eyebrows were carefully plucked and that he didn’t align the paisleys quite right. Carlotta has always been quite practical in utilizing her inamoratos. I wonder whatever happened to him? Billy Butts certainly couldn’t restrain his lust, but I think Mister Arabesque was all one way about that sort of thing. With him——the inamorato——when the time came to choose, the choice came down to Carlotta with all her prurient interests and a seemingly endless amount of money, or Billy with matching interests, but less money, Carlotta won, if not hands-down, certainly by a nose.
“Anyway, this newest boarder had been a tourist guide in Athens. Apparently, he has all the attributes which make for success: tall, tan, piercing black eyes, wide infectious smile, perfectly even white teeth, and not an original thought in his lovely head. He doesn’t speak a lick of English, but Carlotta said he is willing to help her learn Greek in exchange for room and board, and whatever else. Although, the idea of teaching one without a lick of English by one without a lick of Greek does sound intriguing.” Sometimes, V’s breezy, affected manner can get so protracted one would need a surveyor’s level to measure its boundaries. This is one of those times. For someone whose life is riddled with untaken opportunities, V always held tightly to hope. “I keep feeling I am here for something. Something good. Something better. Something. But what?”
V was an avid collector of objets d’artand, unless eclecticism is a specialty uniquely to itself, V had no especial field of interest other than her splendid collection of erotic artifacts that she had gathered at one time or another, one place or another. “Something from just about every period in art history——nay, Human history,” V assured doubters in what must have been a case of inflated exaggeration, a little white lie with shades of gray. “I do not lie——I hyperbolate!”Easy to mistake the difference.
“The Queen City Art Museum refused my donation. For free! For fucking free! No interest in the history of sex toys dating back to the Roman Empire, maybe one or two of them were up an Emperor’s ass. Imagine that? Back before that cult of one-godders brought down the Roman Empire. Shows what they knew.”
“Who knew? The Romans or the one-godders?” Lily asked with no real interest.
“I don’t remember.”
“Get out the bong and take a few good tokes, V. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“Suppose I do not want to feel better?”
“Hmm. I think there’s some kind of existential thing going on here, V.”
As regards the subject of Art, V’s only requisite was that she be “moved" by it and would continue being moved long after she brought her precious piece of Art home; provided the price was right. What more should one ask of Art?
V holds strong opinions, not only about Art, but pretty much about everything. She is careful about what she puts into her brain. For example: V reads only books considered intellectual, some of which she had no idea what she was reading, but she knew that one day the wisdom contained in those books would surface with clarity, engendering a positive shift in her point of view. She could not say how she knew she knew, though she knew with unwavering certitude that she simply knew, period. Ergo, damn the empirical. Full speed ahead!
“A matter of maturation and saturation, Lily.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. Who wants reality anymore anyway? Do you really want what’s outside that window——needs cleaning by the way. Do you really want what is out there?” V asked with all sincerity. By the by, the next day V might extoll, with all the same sincerity again, an opposing point of view.
“It sucks, V, but you can’t remain inside forever.”
Easygoing Lily prefers listening while leaving V to do pretty much all the talking. Lily did not want to interrupt and spoil the elation V enjoys from hearing the sound of her own whisky voice.
Lily shares many of V’s qualities, although Lily is more relaxed, more confident, and not bipolar. Lily does suffer a fear of death, but only for short durations and they are always from the same source; just before her entrance——stage right, left, or upstage——when she’s certain that she has forgotten every one of her lines, when she wants to run, when her heart gets stuck in her throat; yet, she goes on without missing a beat, without dropping a word; reborn onstage and with an audience.
The long list of characters that Lily had performed, were all prequel to her arrival in Queen City. Since then, little of note.
THREE
jesus and the devil walk into a bar
What in blue blazes are you doing Maxfield the future is out of sync you were warned about folding spacetime with dough gum I know you know I just thought if I tried new things untested things to save the planet it’s too late you don’t listen you don’t use your best judgement too many bad choices how do you plan to correct this mess I don’t stop messing with universal spacetime I’m sorry but no but you’ve been messing around for centuries what will help what to do you tell me nope