Scene 1: June 1979 - A Connecticut Mansion

When their eyes met for the first time, their lives wound together. A weave made of the transparent, ineluctable thread of fate Arachne had woven with a mischievous fervor netted them. Every move they made, especially away from each other, tangled them further in the visually imperceptible threads. They felt the tangle. For the length of their lives together, the pull of the web caused extremes of feeling, intense pain and pleasure at the deepest of their core as human beings, their hearts and souls.

Her large sad eyes, dark brown and gorgeous, seemed to reflect his sadness. At least he hadn't disappointed his father. At the top of the senior class, he had been chosen to speak at commencement to the sons and daughters of fellow New England Brahmin. "Class" reverberated with meaning. He represented the highest level, the highest of the class of highest class. Though more subtle than the Indian caste system in which Brahmin had been borrowed, he stood as witness to its inexorable existence, and it made him sad and bitter. And those eyes, the eyes of the newest maid in his father's old money mansion, the eyes of the second lowest caste, only a bum, an untouchable would be lower, reflected his soul like no other ever had.

"This is Marisol, our new maid," rumbled his father, his voice echoing in the mansion's vast entrance chamber. "My son, Phillip."

"Congratulations," said Marisol, a soft, velvety voice, nearly a whisper with a charming Hispanic lilt. Though subtle, Phil noticed the slight cringe his father's deep bellow seemed to create in her face and body. She curtsied.

Being a little under five and a half feet tall, the Phillips family towered over the lovely Latina. Phil's blowsy mother neared six feet and his father stood six foot three. Phil added three inches to his father's height. And father and son spread out wide, weighing around 250 pounds. Both his parents, his mother more obviously since she had been a svelte model in her youth, had fattened in their middle age. Phil kept in shape. Muscle constituted most of his mass on his large frame.

Marisol looked even more petite in the presence of these bears. Her comfortable brown dress buttoning at the front, the bodice vest like, with a tan blouse covering the upper torso topped by a Peter Pan collar, allowed a suggestion of shape beneath the casual modesty. Her body pressed out at her chest distinctly but not prodigiously, her hips broadened the skirt from her narrow waist, and her butt had enough pert presence to shape the draping fabric, a sexy, intriguing whisper of firmness and substantiality.

Phil's quick study of the new maid ended at her face. All eyes and nose and lips, its narrowness drew attention to those features. Large eyes and a large mouth, lips just full enough to have presence, amplified her thoughts and feelings. Together they seemed to present a sensuous, entrancing welcome.

Phil lifted his hand. Marisol glanced at it, surprised, but put her small, calloused hand in it. His had gotten calloused, too, playing lacrosse, the captain of a school team that came within a goal of championship. That loss had disappointed his father.

Not just the wooden stick gave them callouses. He had done chores at the stables where his first and only girlfriend lived, and had loved the cute blonde tomboy and loved her family more than his own. Youth and differences in class prevented illusions of continuing the affair, though Phil embraced the illusions more than the girl did. She had given him everything but the totality of her heart. When the time came for parting, she forced him to admit the truth. Their last time together had been melancholy yet violently loving, as if admitting the truth at last freed them to communicate their love and lust for each other completely.

In all the time he loved his high school sweetheart, eye contact and the contact of rough flesh against rough flesh as his and Marisol's hands embraced with gentle firmness created a spark and a flutter in his heart beyond anything he had experienced with his first love. Her eyes widened and her face flushed. His did as well. Their hands broke, but not their eyes. When they finally did, she glanced down and saw the shape of his lengthy penis pressing out the fabric of his slacks along his right thigh. She blushed even more.

He discovered the truth later that night. Lying in bed, he couldn't get her out of his head. Finally he decided to find her room and talk to her. His large body, a body any football scout would salivate over as a lineman though he hated the game and preferred the chaos of rugby over the martial aspects of America's version, he covered in a long burgundy robe covering his light gray silk pajamas before he ventured down to the servants' wing.

"What are you doing down here, Master Phillip?" asked Oona, the oldest and wisest of the family's servants. Her door, first of the servants' rooms along the corridor, stood wide open. Oona sat at her vanity playing with her modest silver jewelry.

"Oona! I told you never to call me that when Father's not around!"

The cook nodded. Sounds of sex, a rattling bed and deep moans echoed in the hallway. "Come in and shut the door, son," the Swedish born cook insisted.

"Oh fuck, Marisol, you're so tight," roared down the hall. The sound of his father. Trembling, Phil couldn't move.

"Get in here!" rasped Oona with quiet command.

He did, shutting the door quietly behind him, and sat on Oona's bed when his knees threatened collapse.

"I was his first," muttered Oona. "Your grandfather insisted."

"You and grandfather..."

Oona nodded. "He was my first. Like father like son I guess. It's why I never married. These are the trinkets they gave me over the years. Mistress gifts you know, only less so I guess. I suppose I should have insisted on diamonds, but I like wearing silver." She held a heavy necklace of finely crafted curving silver moons of various shapes with a radiating sun as a medallion at the bottom. "Help me," she whispered. He attached the back hook.

"You're lovely," Phil whispered, kissing her aging neck.

Oona giggled youthfully, but her old throat made it rasp. "Like father like son."

"Don't say that!" grumbled Phil, bouncing back as if Oona had become electrical.

"I'm surprised he didn't invite you down here. Maybe the ... your father got horny. Or maybe it's because of that girl at school, the stable girl."

"Alisa. How did you know?"

"Other student's fathers of course. It's a good boy network."

"Of course. What did he think?"

"He was furious until your mom calmed him and reminded him it wouldn't amount to anything. She was right, wasn't she?"

"I loved her but ... Yeah. We had separate lives and were too young."

"And she's a stable girl."

"Oona!"

"Sshh. I know. I saw you beaming last Easter. And I know what a socialist you are."

They laughed. "I guess I'm a hypocrite," said Phil.

"We're all hypocrites in our way. Our values are much too pure to not be sullied by reality."

"You're daughter, Christa..."

"Yes, little Phil. At least your father draws the line with incest."

"I always kind of ogled her if you don't mind me saying."

"Good that you didn't do anything about it. She liked you too. She enjoyed babysitting you."

"How's she doing?"

"Okay I guess. Actually I'm not sure. I know she graduated from NYU and got married."

"You told her."

"Yes. I promised myself I would when she graduated high school. I hoped she'd forgive me, but figured she wouldn't. She didn't. At least it kept ... his hands off her."

"Yes. You know I hate him, now more than ever."

"I do too, my love."

"Then why... ?"

"I love you, Phil. And your mother needs me to cheer her up when she gets ... sullen."

Phil laughed. "She'd never live it down if anyone knew her cook keeps her sane."


Oona grinned sadly. "I suppose not. I guess graduating brings out the truth from me. I provided more than solace. While the newest maid fucked your dad, I'd join your mom in her bed. Sometimes ... I'd bring a young man along."

"Like Mike?" Phil referred to the chauffeur.

Oona chuckled. "You are a little blind my dear. Mike and James have been lovers for years."

"The chauffeur and the butler?"

"They're like an old married couple, quite cute sometimes in their domestic quarrels and making up can be quite noisy."

"More information than I need. I'm glad though. I never thought much about it, but they seemed more their roles than human beings. I'm glad they have a life together."

"Ssh," exhaled Oona. They heard heavy footfalls only his large father could create. They waited for the sound to disappear.