the schoolroom. Kelly was very tall, very slender and red-haired. Stu shivered if she accidentally brushed him in passing; Darin hoped one day Stu would pull an Adam on her. She sat primly on her high stool with her notebook on her knee, unaware of the change that came over Stu during school hours, or, if aware, uncaring. Darin wondered if she was really a Barbie doll fully programmed to perform laboratory duties, and nothing else.
He thought of the Finishing School for Barbies where long-legged, high-breasted, stomachless girls went to get shaved clean, get their toenails painted pink, their nipples removed, and all body openings sewn shut, except for their mouths, which curved in perpetual smiles and led nowhere.
The class consisted of six black spider-monkeys who had not been fed yet. They had to do six tasks in order: 1) pull a rope; 2) cross the cage and get a stick that was released by the rope; 3) pull the rope again; 4) get the second stick that would fit into the first; 5) join the sticks together; 6) using the lengthened stick, pull a bunch of bananas close enough to the bars of the cage to reach them and take them inside where they could eat them. At five the monkeys were returned to Kelly, who wheeled them away one by one back to the stockroom. None of them had performed all the tasks, although two had gone through part of them before the time ran out.
Waiting for the last of the monkeys to be taken back to its quarters, Stu asked, “What did you do to that bunch of idiots this morning? By the time I got them, they all acted dazed.”
Darin told him about Adam’s performance; they were both laughing when Kelly returned. Stu’s laugh turned to something that sounded almost like a sob. Darin wanted to tell him about the school Kelly must have attended, thought better of it, and walked away instead.
His drive home was through the darkening forests of interior Florida for sixteen miles on a narrow straight road.
“Of course, I don’t mind living here,” Lea had said once, nine years ago when the Florida appointment had come through. And she didn’t mind. The house was air-conditioned; the family car, Lea’s car, was air-conditioned; the back yard had a swimming pool big enough to float the Queen Mary. A frightened, large-eyed Florida girl did the housework, and Lea gained weight and painted sporadically, wrote sporadically—poetry—and entertained faculty wives regularly. Darin suspected that sometimes she entertained faculty husbands also.
“Oh, Professor Dimples, one hour this evening? That will be fifteen dollars, you know.” He jotted down the appointment and turned to Lea. “Just two more today and you will have your car payment. How about that!” She twined slinky arms about his neck, pressing tight high breasts hard against him. She had to tilt her head slightly for his kiss. “Then your turn, darling. For free.” He tried to kiss her; something stopped his tongue, and he realized that the smile was on the outside only, that the opening didn’t really exist at all.
He parked next to an MG, not Lea’s, and went inside the house where the martinis were always snapping cold.
“Darling, you remember Greta, don’t you? She is going to give me lessons twice a week. Isn’t that exciting?”
“But you already graduated.” Darin murmured. Greta was not tall and not long-legged. She was a little bit of a thing. He thought probably he did remember her from somewhere or other, vaguely. Her hand was cool in his.
“Greta has moved in; she is going to lecture on modern art for the spring semester. I asked her for private lessons and she said yes.”
“Greta Farrel,” Darin said, still holding her small hand. They moved away from Lea and wandered through the open windows to the patio where the scent of orange blossoms was heavy in the air.
“Greta thinks it must be heavenly to be married to a psychologist.” Lea’s voice followed them. “Where are you two?”
“What makes you say a
He thought of the Finishing School for Barbies where long-legged, high-breasted, stomachless girls went to get shaved clean, get their toenails painted pink, their nipples removed, and all body openings sewn shut, except for their mouths, which curved in perpetual smiles and led nowhere.
The class consisted of six black spider-monkeys who had not been fed yet. They had to do six tasks in order: 1) pull a rope; 2) cross the cage and get a stick that was released by the rope; 3) pull the rope again; 4) get the second stick that would fit into the first; 5) join the sticks together; 6) using the lengthened stick, pull a bunch of bananas close enough to the bars of the cage to reach them and take them inside where they could eat them. At five the monkeys were returned to Kelly, who wheeled them away one by one back to the stockroom. None of them had performed all the tasks, although two had gone through part of them before the time ran out.
Waiting for the last of the monkeys to be taken back to its quarters, Stu asked, “What did you do to that bunch of idiots this morning? By the time I got them, they all acted dazed.”
Darin told him about Adam’s performance; they were both laughing when Kelly returned. Stu’s laugh turned to something that sounded almost like a sob. Darin wanted to tell him about the school Kelly must have attended, thought better of it, and walked away instead.
His drive home was through the darkening forests of interior Florida for sixteen miles on a narrow straight road.
“Of course, I don’t mind living here,” Lea had said once, nine years ago when the Florida appointment had come through. And she didn’t mind. The house was air-conditioned; the family car, Lea’s car, was air-conditioned; the back yard had a swimming pool big enough to float the Queen Mary. A frightened, large-eyed Florida girl did the housework, and Lea gained weight and painted sporadically, wrote sporadically—poetry—and entertained faculty wives regularly. Darin suspected that sometimes she entertained faculty husbands also.
“Oh, Professor Dimples, one hour this evening? That will be fifteen dollars, you know.” He jotted down the appointment and turned to Lea. “Just two more today and you will have your car payment. How about that!” She twined slinky arms about his neck, pressing tight high breasts hard against him. She had to tilt her head slightly for his kiss. “Then your turn, darling. For free.” He tried to kiss her; something stopped his tongue, and he realized that the smile was on the outside only, that the opening didn’t really exist at all.
He parked next to an MG, not Lea’s, and went inside the house where the martinis were always snapping cold.
“Darling, you remember Greta, don’t you? She is going to give me lessons twice a week. Isn’t that exciting?”
“But you already graduated.” Darin murmured. Greta was not tall and not long-legged. She was a little bit of a thing. He thought probably he did remember her from somewhere or other, vaguely. Her hand was cool in his.
“Greta has moved in; she is going to lecture on modern art for the spring semester. I asked her for private lessons and she said yes.”
“Greta Farrel,” Darin said, still holding her small hand. They moved away from Lea and wandered through the open windows to the patio where the scent of orange blossoms was heavy in the air.
“Greta thinks it must be heavenly to be married to a psychologist.” Lea’s voice followed them. “Where are you two?”
“What makes you say a
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