“investigated” the New Mexico Roswell site for alien presence. I was a freshman in high school at the time, and kids were merciless with their jokes.
My parents were the epitome of Henry David Thoreau’s contention that “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Quiet desperation. Providing for a family when you’d rather be onstage or on a dig. They were killed in a car accident soon after I graduated from college. I miss them both.
They nurtured me and loved me, but I always sensed in them a little disappointment about the road they took in life. I heard a song on an oldies radio station that reminded me of my parents’ attitudes: In Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?” each time the narrator experienced something new in life and when she had her first love affair she expressed her disappointment by asking if that was all there was to it, concluding, “If that’s all there is, my friends, then let’s keep dancing.”
The message I drew from the song was that the woman saw life fatalistically—that she had no control over the world. Instead, her role in the world around her was predestined by fate. And that was my parents’ attitudes: They wanted something different but took what the gods doled out… and ending up wishing they had taken a different path.
A driving force that I recognized in myself was a reaction to my parents’ fatalistic sense of defeat… a fear of ending up with a wish list on my deathbed. And that I had inherited the fear as a genetic defect.
That’s why I just kept dancing.
***
I wasn’t sure what time it was when I felt Neal’s lips nuzzling at my neck. His breath smelled of alcohol. He had a bottle of champagne and two glasses with him.
“Hey, wake up, sleepyhead.”
“I guess I dozed off. What time is it?”
“Late. Sorry. I saw an opportunity to drum up some business for the auction house and I couldn’t pass on it. Ben Raygun, the cable billionaire, died, you know. I was talking to the widow. She needs to unload some things. You know how it is. Forgive me?”
His job entailed not only bringing down the gavel at the auction house but also bringing in business. Finding ways to bring in collections for the auction house was always a challenge. It always came down to knowing the right people at the right time, both when they were alive… and especially when they died. Nothing warmed the cockles of an auctioneer’s heart more than a big estate sale of art to pay death taxes.
“Sure, I understand. Business first, pleasure later.”
“Let’s have a toast.” Neal filled our glasses with champagne. “Here’s to finding your masterpiece… and my making millions… so to speak.”
Neal downed his drink quickly.
“You looked pretty calm up there tonight,” I said.
“I actually felt good. It’s not easy looking cool and calm when you have to make the company’s payroll for the next few months in just a few minutes. Hey—for a moment there, I thought your friend Hamad was going to outbid you.”
“He’s not my friend,” I said with a testy voice.
“Oh, a little touchy, are we?”
“I don’t like that man.”
“He’s superrich.”
“Not interested.”
“Handsome.”
“Not interested. He confuses women with camels. What I am interested in is eating. Let’s go and talk about your making millions.”
I started to get up, but Neal put his hand over my breast. “How about a quick fuck before we eat? I’m horny as hell. Feel me.” He took my hand and put it on his hard crotch.
I wasn’t in the mood for a session of heavy sex, either. “I can fix that real quick.”
“That’s what I like about you. You know how to please a man.”
I unzipped his pants and started massaging his penis in a steady rhythm while I French-kissed him. It didn’t take him long to explode in my hands.
“Okay, let’s go now. I’m starving.”
Chapter 8
Hiram had planned a social gathering for the following evening to celebrate his newest
My parents were the epitome of Henry David Thoreau’s contention that “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Quiet desperation. Providing for a family when you’d rather be onstage or on a dig. They were killed in a car accident soon after I graduated from college. I miss them both.
They nurtured me and loved me, but I always sensed in them a little disappointment about the road they took in life. I heard a song on an oldies radio station that reminded me of my parents’ attitudes: In Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?” each time the narrator experienced something new in life and when she had her first love affair she expressed her disappointment by asking if that was all there was to it, concluding, “If that’s all there is, my friends, then let’s keep dancing.”
The message I drew from the song was that the woman saw life fatalistically—that she had no control over the world. Instead, her role in the world around her was predestined by fate. And that was my parents’ attitudes: They wanted something different but took what the gods doled out… and ending up wishing they had taken a different path.
A driving force that I recognized in myself was a reaction to my parents’ fatalistic sense of defeat… a fear of ending up with a wish list on my deathbed. And that I had inherited the fear as a genetic defect.
That’s why I just kept dancing.
***
I wasn’t sure what time it was when I felt Neal’s lips nuzzling at my neck. His breath smelled of alcohol. He had a bottle of champagne and two glasses with him.
“Hey, wake up, sleepyhead.”
“I guess I dozed off. What time is it?”
“Late. Sorry. I saw an opportunity to drum up some business for the auction house and I couldn’t pass on it. Ben Raygun, the cable billionaire, died, you know. I was talking to the widow. She needs to unload some things. You know how it is. Forgive me?”
His job entailed not only bringing down the gavel at the auction house but also bringing in business. Finding ways to bring in collections for the auction house was always a challenge. It always came down to knowing the right people at the right time, both when they were alive… and especially when they died. Nothing warmed the cockles of an auctioneer’s heart more than a big estate sale of art to pay death taxes.
“Sure, I understand. Business first, pleasure later.”
“Let’s have a toast.” Neal filled our glasses with champagne. “Here’s to finding your masterpiece… and my making millions… so to speak.”
Neal downed his drink quickly.
“You looked pretty calm up there tonight,” I said.
“I actually felt good. It’s not easy looking cool and calm when you have to make the company’s payroll for the next few months in just a few minutes. Hey—for a moment there, I thought your friend Hamad was going to outbid you.”
“He’s not my friend,” I said with a testy voice.
“Oh, a little touchy, are we?”
“I don’t like that man.”
“He’s superrich.”
“Not interested.”
“Handsome.”
“Not interested. He confuses women with camels. What I am interested in is eating. Let’s go and talk about your making millions.”
I started to get up, but Neal put his hand over my breast. “How about a quick fuck before we eat? I’m horny as hell. Feel me.” He took my hand and put it on his hard crotch.
I wasn’t in the mood for a session of heavy sex, either. “I can fix that real quick.”
“That’s what I like about you. You know how to please a man.”
I unzipped his pants and started massaging his penis in a steady rhythm while I French-kissed him. It didn’t take him long to explode in my hands.
“Okay, let’s go now. I’m starving.”
Chapter 8
Hiram had planned a social gathering for the following evening to celebrate his newest
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