Chapter 14: Absolution

It should come as no surprise to regular readers of this Chronicle, that Froggy Attenborough and I have rigorous intellectual discussions even when The McGovern isn’t around.

Back in our salad days of yore, Trish was usually an hour or so late for our after-school Mouseketeer meetings. Piano lessons, she was always doing extra stuff — chess, debate, like that.

But this was earlier on, when she’d just explained the facts of life and boobs and stuff. I remember that particular afternoon because Wandy had provided satsumas — a house fave — for Froggy and me.

“Save some for Trish.”

“We will.”

As Froggy and I stood to troop down to our basement Lair, Wandy, winking, said, “Just do whatever Trish allows.”

Those of the female persuasion can be a bit bossy, can’t they?

“We will.”

Froggy and I, as was our custom, quickly stripped and raced each other to completion. That accomplished, we didn’t do what kids all over KC were doing — playing video games. No, we settled in on the couch to play Director; the two of us being seasoned movie buffs.

Taking turns, one names a movie and the other must ID the Director — not an exercise for any but the most knowledgeable. We kept score too — Trish always checked our homework.

Toward the end, Froggy thought he had me, “Acropolis Now.”

“Steven Steelburg!”

“Damn, you are good, Brewster.”

About that time, two ... um, lower heads had raised and it was time to take matters into our own hands, so to speak. Well, it would have been time, but Trish limits us to one turn when she’s not around. He and I have debated endlessly how she would know if we had a second go at it.

But we never did; The McGovern is one of those girls who just ... knows. She just knows.

Speaking of which, here she came skipping down the stairs, nibbling a slice of satsuma. “Hi boys, are those pistols in your laps or are you just glad to see me?”

She says the oddest things.

Ms. Sloane is, in the Department of Brains, well endowed. But the Sloane wonders do not cease there. The young lady has poise. I looked around the Unicorn dining room. Glanced quickly away from the Club manager, Lucy Cuthbert; she can be stern when the joyfulness level ascends too high as the evening wears on.

I’d been demonished by her, more than one time; the last incidence for bar-singing “When it’s Apple-Blossom Time in Orange New Jersey” a little too audibly. Mrs. Cuthbert hadn’t — to my startledness — 86ed me. I had been in good voice, so far as memory serves, so maybe that’s why she forgave me.

I said, “What’s that French jargon you said the other day ... something about understanding?”

Ms. Sloane said, “Tout comprendre c’est tout pardonner.”

“That’s the one. And it means... ?”

“If you understand all, you can forgive all. Why?”

Sometimes a casual suavity sets just the right tone and I explained apples and oranges and Lucy Cuthbert in rather sophisticated terms.

She smiled, “Mrs. Cuthbert seems a perceptive woman. Now what’s good here?”

“Seafood.” Nailed it.

The saucy Unicorn waitress, Bess Cuthbert — no relation to Lucy except for being her daughter — delivered appetizers. By no relation, I meant night and day personalities.

Bess hugged me from behind, wriggling a little to nipple my neck. She winked at Ms. Sloane, “Have you seen the Streetcar Video?”

Ms. Sloane grinned, “I have.”

“Well, help yourself, Birdie’s worth a test drive.”

“He’s engaged to be engaged.”

“Oh, Trish will toss him back into the pond.”

Fine, talk about me like I’m not here.

As we waited for the Gullah vittles, I impishly pointed to Uni, the Club mascot. Or symbol. Or something. Emblem. “One of our founding members designed it. Designed him.”

Uni, in full prance, has a throbbingly engorged penis. Ms. Sloane may be from New York, but I doubt she’d seen anything like that.

She said, “I was just admiring Uni. I like how his cock and horn are perfectly symmetrical.”

Froggy and I discussed it, au pair, with some excitement. This was several moons ago, right after The McGovern had first shown us anal sex on a new porn sight she discovered. She routinely removed any parental blockades on the Internet. We will not be denied, the Smart Set.

He and I agreed, sophisticates that we are, to breech the subject with Trish. I was elected spokesman.

“Trish, we’d like to try that anal sex stuff.”

She nodded, not looking surprised in the least. “Roll over on your tummy, Froggy.”

Huh?

“No! Not that way!”

“Okay, lie face down, Birdie.”

Well, the poor girl was obviously confused, so Froggy and I moved on to other subjects. More comfortable ones.