Macho Sluts (17 page)

“Oh, that's quite a long story!” Elise laughed. “You won't have time to hear all that before you leave for the train.”

“I'll eat two waffles, at least, and we will too have time, if you start now while everything's cooking. I must have a story, Elise, please, I was so good last night and they probably won't tell the little girls any stories at this dismal place you're shipping me off to.”

“You know perfectly well that Hightowers is a fine institution, the very best finishing school we could find for you, and you will hardly suffer any—”

“Elise,” wailed Clarissa, “pleeeease!”

“Well! Yes, if you promise not to interrupt.”

“Goody!” Clarissa wielded the silver strawberry huller with enthusiasm, making a small mountain of green tops, and plopped berry after berry into the colander. “Come on, tell me, tell me!”

“I'm pouring. Don't distract me.” Elise held the bowl over the hot waffle iron. She ladled batter onto the black teeth, then closed the lid and turned over her timer. The timer was a small sculpture: two women, one upside down, bound together by their hair. The sand ran down a crystal column, which they were also bound to by their long, flowing locks.

“Your grandmamma—my mother—was an opera singer,” she began. “We never stopped traveling, and we never knew what the next train stop would bring. Sometimes Mamma was a success, her role would be all the rage, she would be the most fashionable woman in town. Then we were well received. We would stay in expensive hotels and life would be a mad whirl, a series of gala events. Mysterious messengers would deliver letters, flowers, perfume, and even more exotic gifts. We would receive a constant stream of visitors—millionaires, society matrons, opium-eaters, pretty young men who would eye Mamma's paint-pots and costumes with thinly concealed longing. There were always conspiracies, music, candy, wine, new sights to see, a blooming passion or a plot to crush some enterprising social climber's hopes. I can't remember sleeping during any of Mamma's popular periods. I can't even remember lying down.”

“But, it wasn't always that way, was it?” prompted Clarissa.

“No,” Elise said, shaking her head. “Sometimes Mamma was out of voice. Then we would stay in cheap, dirty hotels or arrive uninvited at the homes of old friends. We would scrimp and scheme to save just one fine outfit apiece, to go calling on Mamma's old backers and composers and fellow singers. We would be cold and hungry, and Berenice would struggle to keep Mamma's spirits up so she would not begin to drink and lose her voice altogether, and all our hopes with it.

“It was an exciting, stormy life, and I could enjoy the ups and downs only because there was an eye in the storm: my older sister, Berenice. She was the one who packed my trunk, found my missing glove, somehow got me dinner if we arrived late and the hotel kitchen was closed, nursed me when I was ill, taught me my alphabet and my embroidery stitches, and petted my little cunny when I could not sleep. Mamma would often talk of hiring a governess, but our circumstances were too irregular to make it practical. We had sporadic lessons from a series of tutors, usually hired and fired by Berenice.

“In the beginning, Berenice would report me to Mamma when I was bad, and Mamma would punish me. Even as a child, I realized that Berenice would sometimes set traps for me and present false evidence of sins I had never committed. She would always arrange to be present when I was corrected. I could not understand why the sister I loved and trusted found pleasure in this sort of injustice. I was further confused because when Mamma heard that I had been misbehaving, her reactions were completely unpredictable. If a suitor were in the room, she might want to get rid of me as quickly as possible, so she would scold me a little, give me an indulgent kiss of forgiveness, and send me back to Berenice, who would be enraged and treat me coldly for days. If she had just read a sarcastic review or had lost a lover to a rival, she might come at me with her fan or a slipper and leave me devastated.

“I finally went to Berenice and implored her to spare me from this round of false accusations, cruel punishments for small faults, and undeserved forgiveness for grave errors. I pleaded that I was dependent upon her love and justice to make my life bearable, and that without her I would sink into despair. Then I burst into tears. She listened to me weep for a very long time before she raised me to my feet, dried my tears, and told me she had a solution to propose. I stammered that I would agree to anything, but she forbade me to agree before I heard her out. She put me on the hassock at her feet while she sat in a big, overstuffed chair, and she offered me the following terms. I listened raptly, staring at the high black boots she insisted on wearing regardless of the fashions of the moment.”

Elise opened the waffle iron, removed the crisp, brown square, and popped it onto the plate Clarissa held out. The greedy girl smacked her lips. “You start eating now,” Elise said. “I'll have one myself, then make you another. The whipped cream is in the icebox.”

“More story,” Clarissa insisted, her mouth full.

“Yes, more story. Well, Berenice told me that nothing pleased her more than caring for me, seeing to my education, and setting standards for my behavior. She confessed that she could not help tricking Mamma into punishing me, because it gave her such pleasure to see me wriggle and cry and struggle when I was slapped on the face or spanked with a hairbrush. She said it troubled her conscience somewhat, but not excessively, since I often got off scot-free when I had been a regular little hellion. She asked me if I remembered how quickly she took possession of my body as soon as we were alone. I replied that these passionate moments surprised and flattered me, but I had not realized her excitement was caused by my suffering. She said she regretted the injustice of this treatment, and begged my pardon. I freely forgave her. I added that I did not mind being punished if I had in fact done something wrong, and that until I was properly punished for a misdeed, my conscience gave me no rest. Berenice then said she would cease to bring any complaints at all to Mamma, who was erratic and ineffectual, if I would agree to submit to her discipline. She promised to be fair as well as strict, and to act with my best welfare in mind. By this means, she hoped to make us both happier. She promised to release me from this contract at any point if that was my wish.”

Elise took her own waffle from the iron and spread strawberries and cream on it. She told the next installment of the story between bites. “I agreed at once, even though the idea was a novel one. I adored my mother—we both did—but she treated us more like a permanent audience than a family. Berenice already had all the responsibility for mothering me. It seemed fair that she should have power and authority as well. So Berenice kissed me on the forehead, gave me a bonbon, then put me on the sofa with my sewing box and a glove that needed mending. After she left the room, I fell into a reverie. I was exhausted by my tears and without meaning to, I fell sound asleep. I was awakened by Berenice calling me to dress for dinner. When she saw I had not completed the sewing, she was not angry, but said calmly that it looked as if I needed a demonstration of the terms of our agreement.

“We went to dinner with Mamma and a railroad magnate who was trying to get her to star in a light musical comedy written by his oldest son. That very evening, Berenice tied me to our bed and spanked me with her own hand, on my bare bottom! I was terribly humiliated. I had never been tied up before, and certainly never been struck on my naked flesh. After she untied me, she insisted on being thanked and ordered me to kiss her all over. Instead of refusing or performing a perfunctory job, I found myself crying out passionately, fondling myself while I knelt and suckled, pleading with her to possess me completely. ‘That is just what I intend to do,' she told me. ‘I don't know exactly how yet, but I will learn. I will learn from you how to keep you under my dominance and make you love me, and we will never be parted, dear sister. You will always belong to me.'”

Elise stopped to pour another waffle for Clarissa and refill their mugs with hot coffee. Clarissa jiggled impatiently in her chair until Elise was settled once more at the table and ready to resume her tale. “Hurry,” she urged. “I don't want Aunt Jennifer to come and spoil the story.”

Elise smiled. “I'll try to finish. But I told you it was long. Let me see. Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, in the days that followed, I tried to please her in the smallest thing. But when the mood was on her to see me cry out and struggle, she could always detect some fault that required correction. Gradually, we began to play the game of discipline for its own sake. I fell more and more in love with Berenice, and would endure the most ingenious and barbaric tortures for the sake of her kiss and smile. Mamma was very pleased with the change in us. We no longer bothered her with our petty quarrels, and everyone could tell how fond we were of each other.

“The idyll continued until I was eighteen. Mamma came home early from the theater one evening and caught Berenice in the act of whipping me with a handful of long-stemmed roses. This could have been passed off as bizarre but well-intentioned corporal punishment, and Berenice would have received no more than a scolding for being too severe. But she had stuffed a peeled persimmon up me before beginning the flagellation, and I was so frightened when I saw Mamma that it tumbled out, rolled across the floor, and came to rest at her feet.

“Our mamma, who could pass the most loathsome beggers on the street without distress, was enraged and disgusted by the sight of our love-play. Because I was apparently the victim—tied and bleeding from the thorns—she did not blame me, but she flew at Berenice and tried to claw her eyes out, ignoring my screams for mercy and my shouts that it was all my fault, I could explain, please stop! Berenice seized her wrists and held her, weeping and cursing, at arms' length.

“Mamma vowed to disinherit her, turn her out with nothing but the clothes on her back. Luckily, it was near dawn, and a group of Mamma's friends who had been out all night drinking and singing in the cafés burst in on us and insisted we accompany them to breakfast. Mamma, surrounded by her drunk and rowdy friends, found it hard to enforce this harsh sentence immediately. Berenice stood in the doorway of our suite, pale and still. I ran into our room, rifled my jewelry and Mamma's purse, found a heavy cloak, stuffed extra underthings, a nightgown, and another dress in a small case, and brought these gifts to her. Mamma's face darkened when she saw me put the bag at Berenice's feet and slip the cloak around her shoulders, but she was simultaneously fending a hand away from her bodice and being told a really scandalous story about her deadliest enemy.

“‘Don't worry about me,' Berenice said, kissing my tear-stained cheeks. ‘Perhaps this should have happened earlier. You and I had gone as far as we could under her roof. I know someone in Paris who can get me started on my own. A woman who knows how to wield a whip won't have any trouble making her living in Paris. So come to me when you can, my love. I'll wait for you there.' And so we were parted.”

“This is so sad,” breathed Clarissa. “Isn't my waffle ready yet?”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it must be. Give me your plate. You'll have to eat this in a hurry, now.”

“I will, I will. Tell me how sad it was!”

“Well, I thought I would die. My whole world had been ruined. But despite my misery, I stayed with Mamma. Often I would chastise myself for not having Berenice's independent fire. But I had a premonition that my role was necessary and important, and that I would recover my long-lost love all in good time. Because there was nothing else to do, I waited on Mamma patiently. My devotion was not rewarded by anything like Berenice's fiery and thorough ministrations. Occasionally it became too much for me, and I would whip myself in front of my dressing glass.

“During those unhappy years, I learned to detest the men who followed Mamma about, fickle fools who were attracted by her dynamic personality but always attempted to quench her fire. They never stood by her when she was despondent or out of work. I began to take charge of Mamma's engagements and income, and invested everything I could. I became quite fussy and boring, obsessed with interest rates, real estate, and securities. I also obtained a reputation for being an indomitable virago when negotiating Mamma's contracts and appearances.

“We were in, of all cities, Paris, when Mamma had her greatest triumph. She sang her favorite role in
The Bird of Paradise
, Flavia, the girl who sells tropical birds on the wharf in Florence, who is impregnated by the heir-apparent of the Doge, and kills herself on the eve of his betrothal so she will not be tempted to disrupt his wedding, not knowing that it was not her lover in whom she confided the news of her conception, but his evil twin brother who was thought to be dead, who had returned to the city and trained all her birds to peck out the prince's eyes when they are released in one brilliant flock at his coronation, which is her deathbed request.

“Mamma sang as she had never sung before. But she caught influenza while two counts, one French and one Italian, were making love to her in an open carriage on her way back to our hotel. They were quite piqued because her fever made her delirious before she could tell them which of their countries had won her accolade for amative skill. She died before the week was up, leaving me with her estate.

“Would you believe that with all that money at my disposal, it took me a month to find Berenice? A month of harrowing anxiety and sickening fear. I could hardly see to the funeral. But my search finally bore fruit. I found my sister, your mother, in the grimmest section of the city. She was ill, carrying you, dear child, and in desperate need. She had been a minor light of the Parisian underworld, caning some of the most regal buttocks on the continent, but the police and her competitors combined to betray and undo her. She did not have the vicious character one needs to survive in such a sordid world; she was not a criminal. She could hardly believe I had come for her, and embraced me until I thought my ribs would crack. I took her away and found this home for us, a simple country estate with excellent drainage, adjoining tenant farms, and a high resale value, where we can practice our love as the fancy takes us and provide a home for you. And we will stay here forever and ever, or as long as it makes us happy.”