Surprise

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 51 of 73 · 20 per page

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  “I’m Evelyn,” said the voice, “come and swim with me!” It was very tempting. Maria could easily take off her white dress and wear only her short white chemise. She looked everywhere. There was no one around. The sea was calm and speckled with moonlight. For the first time Maria understood the European love of midnight bathing. She took off her dress. She had long black hair, a pale face, slanted green eyes, greener than the sea. She was beautifully formed, with high breasts, long legs, a stylized body. She knew how to swim better than any other woman on the island. She slid into the water and began her long easy strokes towards Evelyn. Evelyn swam under the water, came up to her and gripped her legs. In the water they teased each other. The semidarkness and the bathing cap made it difficult to see the face clearly. American women had voices like boys. Evelyn wrestled with Maria, embraced her under the water. They came up for air, laughing, swimming nonchalantly away and back to each other. Maria’s chemise floated up around her shoulders and hampered her movements. Finally it came off altogether and she was left naked. Evelyn swam under and touched her playfully, wrestling and diving under and between her legs. Evelyn would part her legs so that her friend could dive between them and reappear on the other side. She floated and let her friend swim under her arched back. Maria saw that she was naked too. Then suddenly she felt Evelyn embracing her from behind, covering her whole body with hers. The water was lukewarm, like a luxuriant pillow, so salty that it bore them, helped them to float and swim without effort. “You’re beautiful, Maria,” said the deep voice, and Evelyn kept her arms around her. Maria wanted to float away, but she was held by the warmth of the water, the constant touch of her friend’s body. She let herself be embraced. She did not feel breasts on her friend, but, then, she knew young American women she had seen did not have breasts. Maria’s body was languid, and she wanted to close her eyes. Suddenly what she felt between her legs was not a hand but something else, something so unexpected, so disturbing that she screamed. This was no Evelyn but a young man, Evelyn’s younger brother, and he had slipped his erect penis between her legs. She screamed but no one heard, and her scream was only something she had been trained to expect of herself. In reality his embrace seemed to her as lulling and warming and caressing as the water. The water and the penis and the hands conspired to arouse her body. She tried to swim away. But the boy swam under her body, caressed her, gripped her legs, and then mounted her again from behind.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  His whiskers were dark and gleaming where he had wet them. It was his eye that I caught first. He gazed at me in sheer surprise, his hands lifted, the water running from them into his sleeves; then his face gave a kind of twitch, horrible to behold - and at the same time, from the corner of my eye, I saw Kitty twitch, too, beneath the bedclothes. Even then, I think, I didn’t quite understand. ‘What’s this?’ I said, and laughed a little, nervously. I looked at Kitty, waiting for her to join in my laughter - to say, ‘Oh, Nan! How funny this must look to you! It isn’t how it seems, at all.’ But she did not even smile. She gazed at me with fearful eyes, and pulled the blankets higher, as if to hide her nakedness from me. From me! It was Walter who spoke. ‘Nan,’ he said hesitantly - I had never heard his voice so dry and bare - ‘Nan, you have surprised us. We didn’t look for you until tonight.’ He took up a towel and rubbed at his face with it. Then he stepped very quickly to the chair, seized his jacket and pulled it on. His hands, I saw, were shaking. I had never seen him shake before. I said, ‘I caught an earlier train ...’ My mouth, like his, had dried; my voice, in consequence, sounded slow and thick. ‘Indeed, I thought it was still very early. How long, Walter, have you been here?’ He shook his head, as if the question pained him, and took a step towards me. Then he said rather urgently: ‘Nan, forgive me. This is not for your eyes. Will you come downstairs with me and let us talk ... ?’ His tone was strange; and hearing it, I knew for certain. ‘No!’ I folded my hands over my belly: there was a hot, sour churning in there, as if they had fed me poison. At my cry Kitty shivered and grew white. I turned to her. ‘It isn’t true!’ I said. ‘Oh tell me, tell me - say it ain’t true!’ She wouldn’t look at me, only placed her hands before her eyes and began to weep. Walter came closer and put his hand upon my arm. ‘Get away!’ I cried, and stepped free of him towards the bed. ‘Kitty? Kitty?’ I knelt beside her, took her hand from her face, and held it to my own lips. I kissed her fingers, her nails, her palm, her wrist; her knuckles, that were damp from her own weeping, were soon drenched with tears and slobber. Walter looked on, appalled, still trembling.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Miro hacia arriba, viendo a tres mujeres de pie en la puerta y notando a unas más afuera. No veo a otro hombre. Mis ojos caen a sus atuendos, y comparado con éstas, la ropa de mi hermana en The Hook parecen prudentes. Cabello, maquillaje, tacones… Lanzo la mirada al chico y lo veo parpadear larga y pesadamente, viéndose ofendido. Levanta los menús de papel que están en la pared y toma algunos de diferentes lugares. —¿Estos restaurantes hacen entregas? —pregunta, bajándolos y sacando billetes de su cartera. —Sí, todos. Levanta los menús con el dinero, y una de las chicas entra y le quita todo de las manos. —Quiero facturas y el cambio —ordena sin mirarla. Ella le hace un gesto a su espalda y desaparece junto a las demás. Me siento obligada a advertirle. Este lugar tiene un código no oficial de conducta, y Danni es bastante estricta sobre no obedecer. Han estado aquí por mucho tiempo, pero el pueblo está buscando comprar la propiedad y no quiere darles ninguna excusa para que quieran desaparecer este lugar. —Este es un lugar familiar y muy silencioso —le digo, escribiendo lentamente su nombre y dirección—. No están permitidas las fiestas, solo para que lo sepa… Me mira, sus ojos marrones oscuros casi divertidos. —Son mis hermanas —dice. Reprimo una sonrisa e intento concentrarme una vez más en mi trabajo. Seguro. Si esas son sus hermanas, entonces yo soy la mamá. Pero ciertamente parecía bastante fastidiado como un hermano lo estaría, supongo. Coloco las llaves sobre el mostrador, con los antiguos llaveros en forma de diamantes, e imprimo el contrato para que lo firme. —La alberca cierra a las diez —le digo—. El hielo y las máquinas expendedoras están entre los dos edificios, y tenemos una lavandería cruzando el camino ahí. — Lo miro y señalo detrás de él, afuera—. El mostrador está abierto las veinticuatro horas. Háganos saber si necesita algo. Y serían doscientos ochenta dólares y cuarenta centavos, por favor. Pero mientras coloco la pluma sobre el contrato y espero su respuesta, veo que ni siquiera me había estado escuchando. Está mirando al letrero con las luces de neón en la pared a su derecha y la frase escrita en cursiva. Bueno, no se parecen en nada a Billy y yo… Su expresión severa se transforma en una pequeña sonrisa mientras mira la señal, tiene una expresión mezclada entre sorpresa y confusión en su rostro, como si un recuerdo estuviera cruzando su cabeza. Vuelvo a mirar al letrero, la obsesión de Danni con la música de los 90 es la cruz de mi verano. Es una frase de una canción de Sheryl Crow, y nunca le pregunté si significaba algo, porque luego pone la canción, y yo sufro. —¿Señor? —digo. Parpadea, girando hacia mí, todavía desorientado por un momento. —¿Está bien? Mueve la cabeza y abre de nuevo su billetera. —¿Cuánto es? —Doscientos ochenta, y cuarenta y dos —le digo.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —¿Estás bien? —pregunta el tipo de la luz del teléfono cuando no me muevo— . Prometo que no me propasaré. Eres muy vieja para mí. Le disparo una mirada, olvidándome de Jay y la chica por un momento. ¿Demasiado vieja para él? Observo su más de metro ochenta, la silueta de los músculos a través de su camiseta, y su abultado brazo derecho con una manga completa de tatuajes desapareciendo bajo su camiseta. He visto muchos tipos en el bar, y no se ve como ninguno de diecinueve años que haya conocido. Tiene que tener al menos, ¿qué? ¿Treinta? Resopla. —Estoy bromeando —señala, su boca se extiende en una amplia sonrisa que hace que mi rostro caiga un poco—. Si no quieres ver la película sola, eres bienvenida a sentarte. Es lo único que quise decir. Muevo mi mirada a Jay y a quien sea que está con él, pero luego un grupo de chicos de repente entra por las puertas dobles, haciendo mucho ruido mientras ingresan al teatro. Veo a Jay apartar la vista de la chica y mirar la conmoción, y me dejo caer en el asiento al lado del tipo por instinto, sin querer que Jay me viera. —Gracias —le digo al tipo a mi lado. Siento la presencia de mi ex en el teatro, y los viejos recuerdos regresan, recordando lo impotente que le permití hacerme sentir en un momento. Solo quiero una noche en la que no esté pensando en todo. Me echo hacia atrás y me relajo, pero entonces miro de reojo, la cercana proximidad de un tipo que no conozco sentado a mi lado de repente es como una ardiente hoguera e imposible de ignorar. Giro la cabeza, mirándolo con aprensión. —No eres un asesino en serie, ¿verdad? Frunce su ceño y me mira. —¿Tú lo eres? —Por lo general son hombres caucásicos y antisociales. ¿Un hombre apuesto aquí solo? Mmm... Arquea una gruesa ceja. —Y se ven como una persona normal —añade, con sospecha en su voz mientras me mira de arriba abajo. La luz de los avances en la pantalla se refleja en sus ojos, ninguno de los dos se mueve, pero no puedo soportarlo más. Suelta una suave risa.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Bottles were on the floor, along with glasses and chipped cups. A ladder led to a balcony where Brown kept his paintings. A thin curtain concealed the washstand and a little gas stove. At the front of the room was an erotic painting of a woman being possessed by two men. She was in a state of convulsion, her body arched, her eyes showing the whites. The men were covering her, one with his penis inside of her and the other with his penis in her mouth. It was a life-size painting and very bestial. Everyone was looking at it, admiring it. I was fascinated. It was the first picture of the sort I had seen, and it gave me a tremendous shock of mixed feelings. Next to it stood another which was even more striking. It showed a poorly furnished room, filled by a big iron bed. Sitting on this bed was a man of about forty or so, in old clothes, with an unshaved face, a slobbering mouth, loose eyelids, loose jaws, a completely degenerate expression. He had taken his pants down halfway, and on his bare knees sat a little girl with very short skirts, to whom he was feeding a bar of candy. Her little bare legs rested on his bare hairy ones. What I felt after seeing these two paintings was what one feels when drinking, a sudden dizziness of the head, a warmth through the body, a confusion of the senses. Something awakens in the body, foggy and dim, a new sensation, a new kind of hunger and restlessness. I looked at the other people in the room. But they had seen so much of this that it did not affect them. They laughed and commented. One model was talking about her experiences at an underwear shop: “I HAD ANSWERED an advertisement for a model to pose in underwear for sketches. I had done this many times before and was paid the normal price of a dollar an hour. Usually several artists sketched me at the same time, and there were many people around—secretaries, stenographers, errand boys. This time the place was empty. It was just an office with a desk, files and drawing materials. A man sat waiting for me in front of his drawing board. I was given a pile of underwear and found a screen placed where I could change. I began by wearing a slip. I posed for fifteen minutes at a time while he made sketches. “We worked quietly. When he gave the signal, I went behind the screen and changed. They were satin underthings of lovely designs, with lace tops and fine embroidery. I wore a brassiere and panties. The man smoked and sketched. At the bottom of the pile were panties and a brassiere made entirely of black lace. I had posed in the nude often and did not mind wearing these. They were quite beautiful.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  El silencio se hace más largo, la distancia más lejana, y finalmente levanta una mano, dándome una pequeña despedida antes de meter ambas manos en sus bolsillos traseros. Se despide. —Buenas noches —dice. Solo lo miro fijamente. Sí, buenas noches. Y luego me alejo, mi estómago se retuerce más apretadamente. Ni siquiera conseguí su nombre. Sería bueno decir “hola” si me encuentro con él de nuevo. Sin embargo, no tengo tiempo para lamentarme porque mi teléfono suena y lo saco del bolsillo, viendo el nombre de Cole en la pantalla. Me detengo en la acera y respondo: —Hola, ¿estás en Grounders? —pregunto—. Estoy casi allí. Sin embargo, no dice nada, y me detengo, llamándolo por su nombre. —¿Cole? ¿Hola, estás ahí? Nada. —¿Cole? —digo más fuerte. Pero la línea está muerta. Voy a llamarlo, pero escucho una voz detrás de mí. —¿Tu novio se llama Cole? —pregunta el hombre del teatro—. ¿Cole Lawson? Me giro para verlo caminar lentamente hacia mí. —Sí —contesto—. ¿Lo conoces? Duda por un momento, como si estuviera aceptando algo, y luego extiende su mano y finalmente se presenta. —Soy Pike. Pike Lawson. ¿Lawson? Se detiene un momento y luego agrega: —Su padre. Mis pulmones se vacían. —¿Qué? —Exhalo. ¿Su padre? Mi boca se abre, pero la cierro de nuevo, mirando a este hombre con nuevos ojos mientras la comprensión es asimilada. Cole ha hablado de su padre de pasada, sabía que vivía en el área, pero no son cercanos, por lo que sé. La impresión que tuve del padre de Cole, por las breves menciones de su hijo, no coincide con el hombre con el que hablé esta noche en el teatro. Es agradable. Y es fácil hablar con él. Y apenas parece lo suficientemente mayor como para tener un hijo de diecinueve años, por todos los cielos. —¿Su padre? —repito en voz alta. Me da una sonrisa cortante, y sé que este es un giro de los acontecimientos que tampoco esperaba. Después oigo su celular vibrar en su bolsillo, y lo saca, revisando la pantalla. —Y si me está llamando ahora, debe estar en problemas —dice, mirando el teléfono—. ¿Necesitas un aventón? —¿Un aventón adónde? —La estación de policía, supongo. —Suspira, contesta el teléfono y lidera el camino—. Vámonos.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Vix isn’t sure if Myles is his first name or last. “He’s retired navy,” Tawny says proudly. “With a good pension.” She shows Vix a photo of him in full uniform. “He was dashing, wasn’t he? Of course this was taken a while ago but you can still see it.” Vix knows it’s important for her to agree with Tawny. So she says, “Yes … I can still see it.” Myles spends his days tooling around in a small wooden boat. Tawny still works for the Countess, who lives a block away in a pink eyebrow house on Francis Street. She’s tethered to an oxygen tank. She can hardly take half a dozen steps without it. Tawny supervises the round-the-clock caregivers. The Countess is partial to handsome young men. And they adore her. Tawny tells Vix the Countess is leaving most of her money to animal rights, but there will be a small trust set up for her. “I won’t be rich but I don’t need much living down here and I intend to stay, even after the Countess … is no longer with us. This way your father can have his savings for himself and Frankie. So if all goes well, you won’t have to worry about taking care of us when we’re old. At least we can do that much for you.” Vix is stunned. She’d assumed Tawny had just written them off. TawnyTHERE, SHE’S DONE IT . She’s been practicing for a week and she’s finally told Victoria she’s a good daughter and deserves only the best. Well, maybe not in so many words but she’s sure Victoria got the message. Nice young man. She hopes they’ll be happy. Just don’t expect anything from her. She’s already given everything she has. [image file=Image00006.jpg] TAWNY LIKES GUS . Everybody does. Vix feels incredibly lucky. True, he can make her crazy sometimes but his sense of humor saves them every time. He knows just how to make her laugh. She feels comfortable, yet deliciously sexy with him. They’re not afraid to play. Once he suggested she straddle him in the bathtub. Bite my neck … he’d whispered, pull my hair … Another time, while they were driving on a country road, she’d smelled peonies and felt so horny she’d unzipped his fly and reached inside his pants. He’d pulled off the road and they’d made love in the car, with the passenger door thrown open and her head hanging down. When she’s nestled in his arms she knows the others were just practice. This is for real. There’s no way she’ll ever be bored with him. She won’t let him grow bored with her. When she takes him to meet the Countess they’re greeted by one old dog who sniffs Gus but doesn’t even bother with Vix. The Countess pats her bed and tells Gus, “Sit here and let me look at you.” He sits beside her. She holds his hands and gazes into his eyes.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  How queer, I thought, he must have come here yesterday, and forgotten it! - and soon, creeping up the darkened staircase, I forgot it myself. I reached Kitty’s door, and put my ear to it. I had expected silence, but there was a sound from beyond it - a kind of lapping sound, as of a kitten at a saucer of milk. I thought, Damn! She must be awake already and taking her tea; then I caught the creak of the bedstead, and was sure of it. Disappointed, but gay with the expectation of seeing her, I caught hold of the door-handle and entered the room. She was indeed awake. She sat in bed, propped up against a pillow, with the blankets raised as far as her armpits and her naked arms upon the counterpane. There was a lamp lit, and turned high; the room was not at all dark. At a little wash-hand stand at the foot of the bed there was another figure. Walter. He was jacketless, and collarless; his shirt was tucked roughly into his trousers, but his braces dangled, almost to his knees. He was bending over the bowl of water, bathing his face - that had been the lapping sound that I had heard. His whiskers were dark and gleaming where he had wet them. It was his eye that I caught first. He gazed at me in sheer surprise, his hands lifted, the water running from them into his sleeves; then his face gave a kind of twitch, horrible to behold - and at the same time, from the corner of my eye, I saw Kitty twitch, too, beneath the bedclothes. Even then, I think, I didn’t quite understand. ‘What’s this?’ I said, and laughed a little, nervously. I looked at Kitty, waiting for her to join in my laughter - to say, ‘Oh, Nan! How funny this must look to you! It isn’t how it seems, at all.’ But she did not even smile. She gazed at me with fearful eyes, and pulled the blankets higher, as if to hide her nakedness from me. From me! It was Walter who spoke. ‘Nan,’ he said hesitantly - I had never heard his voice so dry and bare - ‘Nan, you have surprised us. We didn’t look for you until tonight.’ He took up a towel and rubbed at his face with it. Then he stepped very quickly to the chair, seized his jacket and pulled it on. His hands, I saw, were shaking. I had never seen him shake before. I said, ‘I caught an earlier train ...’ My mouth, like his, had dried; my voice, in consequence, sounded slow and thick. ‘Indeed, I thought it was still very early. How long, Walter, have you been here?’ He shook his head, as if the question pained him, and took a step towards me. Then he said rather urgently: ‘Nan, forgive me. This is not for your eyes.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  The water spotted her dress, and dampened the fringe of her hair into dark little points. She had a purse swinging at her waist, and now she dipped her fingers into it and drew out a cigarette and a box of matches. She said, ‘I am sure your mother would disapprove, but I’m just about busting for a smoke.’ She lit the cigarette, and drew upon it heavily. We gazed at one another not speaking. Then, because we were weary and there was no where else for us to sit, we sat upon the bed, side by side, and quite close. It was terribly strange to be with her in the very room - on the very spot! - where I had spent so many hours dreaming of her, so immodestly. I said, ‘It ain’t half strange -’ But as I said it she also spoke; and we laughed. ‘You first,’ she said, and drew again upon her fag. ‘I was just going to say, how funny it is to have you here, like this.’ ‘And I,’ she said, ‘was going to say how funny it is to be here! And this is really your room, yours and Alice’s? And your bed?’ She looked about her, as if in wonder - as if I might have taken her to a stranger’s chamber, and be trying to pass it off as my own - and I nodded. She was silent again, then, and so was I; and yet I sensed that she had more to say, and was only working up to saying it. I thought, with a little thrill, that I knew what it was; but when she spoke again it wasn’t about the contract, but about my family - about how kind they were, and how much they loved me, and how lucky I was to have them. I remembered that she was an orphan, of sorts, and bit back my protests, and let her talk; but my silence seemed only to dampen her spirits the further. At last, when her cigarette was finished and thrown into the grate, she took a breath and said what I had been waiting for. ‘Nan, I have something to tell you - a piece of good news, and you must promise to be happy for me.’ I couldn’t help myself. I had been longing to smile about it all afternoon, and now I laughed and said, ‘Oh Kitty, I know your news already!’ She seemed to frown then, so I went on quickly, ‘You mustn’t be cross with Tony, but he told me - just today.’ ‘Told you what?’ ‘That Tricky wants you to stay on, at the Palace; that you will be here till Christmas at least!’ She looked at me rather strangely, then lowered her gaze and gave an awkward little laugh. ‘That’s not my news,’ she said. ‘And nobody knows it but me. Tricky does want me to stay on - but I’ve turned him down.’ ‘Turned him down?’

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  “Gotcha,” Trisha said, pulling on her shirt. “It’s a nude beach,” Caitlin told Vix, “but you don’t have to take off your clothes. I never do.” Only then did Vix shade her eyes and look around. It was true! Most of the people on the beach were totally naked. Lamb stepped out of his jeans and for a second Vix held her breath because no way did she want to see his Package, but it was okay, he was wearing a tiny Speedo, the kind Mark Spitz wore at the Olympics when he won all those medals, when she was just in second grade. She could not believe the way they were all acting, as if a beach full of nudists was no big deal. “So, Vix ...” Lamb said, “what do you think?” “Think?” “Of the ocean.” “Oh, the ocean.” She tried to think of something interesting to say but the ocean wasn’t number one on her mind. When she didn’t respond, Lamb laughed. “Pretty overwhelming, huh, kiddo?” Then he and Trisha grabbed hands and headed for the waves. She imagined telling her mother that Lamb had taken her to a nude beach. Indecent, her mother would say. Lewd and indecent and I want you on the next boat out of there! Her parents did not walk around without their clothes. Her mother was, after all, a Lapsed Catholic.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Then she clapped her hands: ‘Presto!’ she said again; and this time, she did not smile, and her voice was rather thick. The room next door was smaller than the parlour, but quite as rich, and just as dim and hot. On one side there was a screen, with a commode behind it; on the other stood a japanned press, its surface hard and black and glossy, like a beetle’s back. At the bottom of the bed there was, as she had promised, a trunk: a handsome, antique chest made of some desiccated, perfumed wood - rosewood, I think - with four claw feet and corners of brass, and elaborate carvings on its sides and lid which the dull glow of the fire threw into exaggerated relief. I knelt before it, placed the key in the lock; and felt the shifting, as I turned it, of some deep interior spring. A movement in the corner of the room made me turn my head. There was a cheval-glass there, big as a door, and I saw myself reflected in it: pale and wide-eyed, breathless and curious, but for all that an unlikely Pandora, with my scarlet jacket and my saucy cap, my crop and my bare bare bum. In the room next door all was hushed and still. I turned to the trunk again, and lifted its lid. Inside was a jumble of bottles and scarves, of cords and packets and yellow-bound books. I didn’t pause to gaze upon these objects then, however; indeed, I hardly registered them at all. For on the top of the jumble, on a square of velvet, lay the queerest, lewdest thing I ever saw. It was a kind of harness, made of leather: belt-like, and yet not quite a belt, for though it had one wide strap with buckles on it, two narrower, shorter bands were fastened to this and they, too, were buckled. For one alarming moment I thought it might be a horse’s bridle; then I saw what the straps and the buckles supported. It was a cylinder of leather, rather longer than the length of my hand and about as fat, in width, as I could grip. One end was rounded and slightly enlarged, the other fixed firm to a flattened base; to this, by hoops of brass, the belt and the narrower bands were all also fastened. It was, in short, a dildo. I had never seen one before; I did not, at that time, know that such things existed and had names. For all I knew of it, this might be an original, that the lady had had fashioned to a pattern of her own. Perhaps Eve thought the same, when she saw her first apple.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Grandmother Somers looked elegant in her white linen pants suit and wide-brimmed straw hat. Her face was still beautiful and hardly wrinkled, even though she had to be really old. Caitlin said Grandmother had plastic surgery the way other people had their teeth cleaned. “She’s got staples in her scalp.” “Staples in her scalp?” “And maybe behind her ears, I’m not sure.” While Vix was contemplating having staples behind her ears Caitlin introduced her to Dorset, Lamb’s sister, who was tall and muscular, with long honey-colored hair held off her face with tortoiseshell combs. She’d been married three times and had been at Hazelden for rehab twice. At the moment she was living with Grandmother in the big house in Palm Beach. Caitlin said anyone who could live with Grandmother Somers deserved a medal. Dorset had a great tan. “No matter what Grandmother says,” Caitlin whispered, “don’t talk back.” “Me, talk back to somebody’s grandmother?” Vix had to laugh it was such an absurd idea. Besides, she was still in shock that the name, Regina Mayhew Somers, neatly printed in green ink inside all the hottest books in the house, belonged to somebody’s grandmother. “A grandmother read those books?” she’d asked Caitlin. “What are grandmothers supposed to read ... the Bible?” “I wouldn’t know,” Vix said. “I don’t have any grandparents.” Grandmother Somers was so polite, so refined, that Vix couldn’t believe it when she came inside and after a quick look around, said, “So this is what the Jew did to my house. Well, it’s quite something, isn’t it? Quite a statement.” Vix felt prickles down her spine but she remembered Caitlin’s warning. Don’t talk back. Lamb winced but didn’t say anything either. Vix was grateful Abby was in the kitchen and hadn’t heard Grandmother’s remark.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  The cigars, the brushes, the nail-clippers ...’ He gestured with his hand. ‘There is something so very masculine about a tobacconist’s shop - don’t you think?’ His voice, at the last, had dipped to little more than a murmur. Now he said in the same tone but very fast: ‘Are you up for it, Private?’ His words made me blink. ‘Pardon?’ He looked about him with an eye that was quick, practised, smooth as a well-oiled castor; then he glanced back to me. ‘Are you up for a lark? Have you a room we might go to?’ ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said - although, to be frank, I felt the stirrings of an idea. He, at least, must have thought that I was teasing. He smiled, and licked at his moustaches. ‘Don’t you, now. And I thought all you guardsmen fellows knew the game all right ...’ ‘Not me,’ I said primly. ‘I only joined up last week.’ He smiled again. ‘A raw recruit! And you’ve never done it with another lad, I suppose? A handsome fellow like you?’ I shook my head. ‘Well’ - he swallowed - ‘won’t you do it now, with me?’ ‘Do what?’ I said. Again there was that swift, well-lubricated glance. ‘Put your pretty arse-hole at my service - or your pretty lips, perhaps. Or simply your pretty white hand, through the slit in my breeches. Whatever, soldier, you prefer; only cease your teasing, I beg you. I’m as hard as a broom-handle, and aching for a spend.’ Through all this astonishing exchange our outward show of gazing into the tobacconist’s window had barely been disturbed. He had continued to murmur, and made all his lewd proposals in the same swift undertone, his moustaches hardly lifting to let the words out. Any stranger looking on, I thought, would think us two quite unconnected fellows, lost in our own worlds. The thought made me smile. In the same humouring tone as before, I said: ‘How much, then, will you give me for it?’ At that, his face took on a cynical expression, as if he had expected no better of me; but behind the hardness, too, I caught a flash of heat - as if he wouldn’t really have wanted me any other way. He said, ‘A sovereign, for a suck or for a Robert’ - he meant, of course, a Robert Browning. ‘Half a guinea for a dubbing.’ I made to shake my head - to tilt my cap to him and move away, with the joke quite finished. But in his impatience he half-turned, and I caught a gleam of something at his middle.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I was within about twenty yards of her, and had lifted a hand to remove my hat, when she turned, and seemed to raise her eyes to mine. Her gaze grew hard, sardonic and lustful all at once, just as I remembered it; and my heart twitched in my breast - in fright, I think! - as if a hook had caught it. But then she opened her mouth to speak; and what she said was: ‘Reggie! Reggie, here!’ That made me stumble. From somewhere close behind me came a gruffer answering cry — ‘All right’ - and I turned, and saw a boy picking his way across the grass, his eyes in a scowl and fixed on Diana’s, his hand bearing a sugared ice, which he held before him and sucked at very gingerly, for fear it would drip and spoil his trousers. The trousers were handsome, and bulged at the fork. The boy himself was tall and slight; his hair was dark, and cut very short. His face was a pretty one, his lips pink as a girl’s ... When he reached Diana she leaned and drew the handkerchief from his pocket, and began to dap with it at his thigh - it seemed, he had spilt his ice-cream after all. The other lady at the stall looked on, and smiled; then murmured something that made the pretty boy blush. I had stood and watched all this, in a kind of astonishment; but now I took a slow step backwards, and then another. Diana may have raised her face again, I cannot say: I didn’t stop to see it. Reggie had lifted his hand to lick at his ice, his cuff had moved back, and I had caught the flash of a wrist-watch beneath it ... I blinked my eyes, and shook my head, and ran back to the bush where Zena still stood peeping, and put my face against her shoulder. When I looked again at Diana, through the leaves, she had her arm in Reggie’s and their heads were close, and they were laughing. I turned to Zena, and she bit her lip. ‘It is only the devils what prosper in this world, I swear,’ she said. But then she bit her lip again; and then she tittered. I laughed, too, for a moment. Then I cast another bitter look towards the stall, and said: ‘Well, I hope she gets all she deserves!’ Zena cocked her head. ‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Diana, or — ?’ I pulled a face, and would not answer her. We wandered back to the speakers’ tent, then, and Zena said she had better try to find her Maud. ‘We’ll be friends, won’t we?’ I said as we shook hands.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Prologue Summer 1990 THE CITY IS BROILING in an early summer heat wave and for the third day in a row Victoria buys a salad from the Korean market around the corner and has lunch at her desk. Her roommate, Maia, tells her she’s risking her life eating from a salad bar. If the bacteria don’t get you, the preservatives will. Victoria considers this as she chomps on a carrot and scribbles notes to herself on an upcoming meeting with a client who’s looking for a PR firm with an edge. Everyone wants edge these days. You tell them it’s edgy, they love it. When the phone rings she grabs it, expecting a call from the segment producer at Regis and Kathie Lee. “This is Victoria Leonard,” she says, sounding solid and professional. “Vix?” She’s surprised to hear Caitlin’s voice on the other end and worries for a minute it’s bad news, because Caitlin calls only at night, usually late, often waking her from a deep sleep. Besides, it’s been a couple of months since they’ve talked at all. “You have to come up,” Caitlin says. She’s using her breathy princess voice, the one she’s picked up in Europe, halfway between Jackie O’s and Princess Di’s. “I’m getting married at Lamb’s house on the Vineyard.” “Married?” “Yes. And you have to be my Maid of Honor. It’s only appropriate, don’t you think?” “I guess that depends on who you’re marrying.” “Bru,” Caitlin answers, and suddenly she sounds like herself again. “I’m marrying Bru. I thought you knew.” Victoria forces herself to swallow, to breathe, but she feels clammy and weak anyway. She grabs the cold can of diet Coke from the corner of her desk and holds it against her forehead, then moves it to her neck,

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Christ, you could hear the guests hold their breath when she finished, until Lamb laughed. Laughed and kissed Caitlin, telling her no father could ask for a more loving and spirited daughter. Leave it to Lamb to get out of an uncomfortable situation. He’s got to hand it to him. The guy is never at a loss. He should be running for office. GusHE WOULD HAVE gone but he’s got a paper due Monday and on top of that his grandmother’s sick. It doesn’t look good. They’re keeping a bedside vigil. He can’t stand the idea of her suffering even though they keep telling him she’s not in pain. He and his grandmother have a special bond. He doesn’t want to lose his Baboo. And he knows how badly she wants to make it to his graduation. He calls during the party to wish Lamb a happy fiftieth. Just before they hang up he asks to speak to Vix. Hello , she says. Hey, Cough Drop … how’s it going? What? she says. There’s a lot of noise. I can’t hear you . Gus Kline , he shouts. Just wanted to say hello . Is this really Gus? He laughs. Because if it is … I can’t hear a thing . Never mind , he says. He’d like to see her again. He’s curious. [image file=Image00006.jpg] AFTER THE CHAMPAGNE and cake, the poems and songs and silly gifts, Vix went upstairs with Caitlin, to the room that had always been reserved for her visits. Like Caitlin’s room on the Vineyard, Abby hadn’t touched this one either. Caitlin sat on the edge of the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest. “I suppose you can tell I had an abortion.” Vix was stunned. “God, Caitlin, I had no idea! Why didn’t you tell me?” “Do you tell me everything?” Caitlin had her there. “When?” Vix asked. “Six weeks ago. It was a mistake. I’m still not sure how it happened. The condom broke, I think.” “Are you still seeing him?” “No. He’s married.” “The producer?” “What producer?” “The one who took you to the play in London?” “What play in London?” “You told me … when you called.” “I don’t remember.” “It wasn’t that long ago.” “Well … I’ve been busy. A lot of things happen. I don’t necessarily remember all of them.” How come Vix remembered if Caitlin didn’t? “Did you love him?” She didn’t know why she bothered to ask when she already knew the answer. “No, I didn’t love him. But I enjoyed his company, in and out of bed.” Could she say the same about Bru? They hadn’t spent that much time together out of bed, but in it … “I left the Sorbonne. I felt claustrophobic there. Everyone was so … French. It really got to me after a while. I’m better off in London, don’t you think?” Vix had no idea. Suddenly, Caitlin’s face lit up. “I’ve just had the most brilliant idea.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  “They have a great old house on a hill overlooking a beautiful river. They spent years restoring it.” MY LIFE WITH ERIC was calm and predictable. I liked it that way, and four years after I moved into his apartment, we got married. Shortly after the wedding, Mom’s brother, my uncle Jim, died in Arizona. Mom came to the apartment to give me the news and to ask a favor. “We need to buy Jim’s land,” she said. Mom and her brother had each inherited half of the West Texas land that had been owned by their father. The whole time we kids were growing up, Mom had been mysteriously vague about how big and how valuable this land was, but I had the impression that it was a few hundred acres of more or less uninhabitable desert, miles from any road. “We need to keep that land in the family,” Mom told me. “It’s important for sentimental reasons.” “Let’s see if we can buy it, then,” I said. “How much will it cost?” “You can borrow the money from Eric now that he’s your husband,” Mom said. “I’ve got a little money,” I said. “How much will it cost?” I’d read somewhere that off-road land in parched West Texas sold for as little as a hundred dollars an acre. “You can borrow from Eric,” Mom said again. “Well, how much?” “A million dollars.” “What?” “A million dollars.” “But Uncle Jim’s land is the same size as your land,” I said. I was speaking slowly, because I wanted to make sure I understood the implications of what Mom had just told me. “You each inherited half of Grandpa Smith’s land.” “More or less,” Mom said. “So if Uncle Jim’s land is worth a million dollars, that means your land is worth a million dollars.” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s the same size as his.” “I don’t know how much it’s worth, because I never had it appraised. I was never going to sell it. My father taught me you never sell land. That’s why we have to buy Uncle Jim’s land. We have to keep it in the family.” “You mean you own land worth a million dollars?” I was thunderstruck. All those years in Welch with no food, no coal, no plumbing, and Mom had been sitting on land worth a million dollars? Had all those years, as well as Mom and Dad’s time on the street—not to mention their current life in an abandoned tenement—been a caprice inflicted on us by Mom? Could she have solved our financial problems by selling this land she never even saw? But she avoided my questions, and it became clear that to Mom, holding on to land was not so much an investment strategy as it was an article of faith, a revealed truth as deeply felt and incontestable to her as Catholicism.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Vix said, “It’s okay … really.” When they were finally alone, her father said, “Big surprise, eh? Thought the old heart would just keep ticking, you know?” “Well, now it will.” “Till the next time.” “The next time won’t be for twenty years, at least.” “Twenty years. How old will you be then?” “Forty-four, almost forty-five.” She couldn’t imagine herself middle-aged. “Think you’ll be married by then, have some kids?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” “Or maybe you’re going to be one of those career women.” “Every woman’s a career woman these days, Dad.” She sat beside him, took his hand. “One of my roommates is in law school and the other one is climbing up the ABC ladder so fast she’ll probably be running the network by the time she hits thirty.” He smiled at her. “You’re a good girl, Vix. Always were. I told Frankie, ‘Vix is dependable. She’ll come if you need her.’ ” Vix swallowed hard. “How’s Caitlin? You see her lately?” She shook her head. “Not lately.” “Too bad. Got to keep in touch with your old friends. Old friends know you best.” She nodded. “You call Tawny?” “Yes.” “How’d she take it?” “She hopes you get better soon. She sends her love.” “Love, huh? That’s a good one.” He laughed. And Vix laughed with him. Vix was grocery shopping at Kaune’s, stocking up on heart healthy foods for him, when she wheeled her cart into the fresh produce aisle and found Phoebe, selecting avocados. “I’m thinking of a chicken and guacamole salad,” Phoebe said, as if she and Vix were in the middle of a conversation. “What do you think?” “High in cholesterol. Avocados, that is.” Vix tried to remember the last time she’d seen Phoebe, but couldn’t. Phoebe looked fantastic. She could have passed for Caitlin’s big sister. Vix wondered if she had staples in her scalp. “I suppose you know Caitlin’s on the Vineyard,” Phoebe said. Vix dropped the honeydew melon she was holding. It split open, spilling its runny guts all over the floor. Phoebe went right on talking, as if she hadn’t even noticed. “She says she needs to get back to basics. She’s going to raise sheep and spin wool and live a simple life. She thinks she’s Rumpelstiltskin,” Phoebe said. “Or maybe it’s Rapunzel. I always confuse the two.” “Rapunzel’s the one with the hair,” Vix heard herself saying, as a guy with a mop appeared and began to clean up the mess. Phoebe sniffed a box of strawberries. “Mmm … sweet. Want some?” “My father’s allergic to strawberries.” “Too bad. How’s he doing?” “Pretty well, considering.” “Send him my best.” “I will.” As she began to push her cart away Phoebe turned. “Vix … give Caitlin a call.” PhoebeSHE HADN’T MEANT to take Vix by surprise. That look on her face. The way she’d dropped the melon. Gads! She was sure Vix would have known. After all, the two of them were inseparable, weren’t they?

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  She enjoys helping people find happiness. But at the moment her plate is full. She’s taken over management of the Somers Foundation. And none too soon. She’s reorganizing from scratch. She never dreamed this was where life would take her. GusHE DECIDES AGAINST the job offer in Albuquerque. He likes being around water too much. Blame it on all those summers on the Vineyard. He’s lucky to get a second offer and jumps at the chance to write for the Oregonian . Aside from all that chauvinistic crap about keeping outsiders out, the people in Portland are friendly and the women are fresh, outdoorsy types. When he’s sent to Seattle in March to get a story on Microsoft he calls Caitlin and arranges to meet her for a drink. Abby’s sent him her phone number. She’s the chronicler of their lives. Caitlin arrives with two guys in tow. James and Donny. Can you believe I once tried to seduce this guy , she tells them, pressing her thigh up against his. She and James and Donny fall all over themselves laughing, as if the idea of her seducing him is a sick joke. He’s sorry he called. He doesn’t need this. So how’s the Cough Drop? he asks to change the subject. You mean you haven’t heard? Heard what? She eloped with Bru. Just last week . No way … Does that surprise you? Yeah, it surprised him. Only joking, darling Gus! she tells him, taking his hand. And she dissolves into laughter again. He gets out of there as soon as he can. Doesn’t tell anyone he saw her. 37ANOTHER PRESIDENTIAL election but this time Vix and Paisley were less than thrilled with the candidates. “At least Barbara will be better than Nancy,” Paisley said, as if the election were over and the votes counted. “She’s got a sense of humor. And she wears the same pearls as my grandmother.” Maia found their political discussions hilarious. “I don’t see how you can defend the Republican party after what happened to you,” Paisley told her. “Please,” Maia said, “if your guys had been in office we’d be in the middle of a serious depression.” When the phone rang Vix couldn’t find it. “Check in the bathroom,” Paisley called. “Next to the toilet.” It was Caitlin. “Vix … where are you?” “In the bathroom, actually.” “I mean where are you, as in, when are you coming? I’ve found the perfect place for us to live. It’s furnished in antique wicker and there’s a small garden. Roses, Vix … all year round. But you have to give me a date. They won’t hold it for long.” What was she talking about? “Vix …” “Wait a minute. I’m losing you.” She walked with the phone back to the kitchen. “I never said I was moving to Seattle … did I?” “No …” she began. “But you’d mentioned you were disappointed with your job, so I assumed …” She paused.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  Mom said it was a cathouse, but I never saw any cats there, only women wearing bathing suits or short dresses who sat or lay out on the porch, waving at the cars that drove by. There were Christmas lights over the door all year round, and Mom said that was how you could tell it was a cathouse. Cars would stop in front, and men would get out and duck inside. I couldn’t figure out what went on at the Green Lantern, and Mom refused to discuss it. She would say only that bad things happened there, which made the Green Lantern a place of irresistible mystery to us. Brian and I would hide behind the sagebrush across the highway, trying to peer inside the front door when someone went in or out, but we could never see what was going on. A couple of times we sneaked up close and tried to look in the windows, but they were painted black. Once a woman on the porch saw us in the brush and waved to us, and we ran away shrieking. One day when Brian and I were hiding in the sagebrush, spying, I double-dared him to go talk to the woman lying out on the porch. Brian was almost six by then, a year younger than me, and wasn’t afraid of anything. He hitched up his pants, handed me his half-eaten SweeTart for safekeeping, walked across the street, and went right up to the woman. She had long black hair, her eyes were outlined with black mascara thick as tar, and she wore a short blue dress printed with black flowers. She had been lying on her side on the porch floor, her head propped up on one arm, but when Brian walked up to her, she rolled over on her stomach and rested her chin on her hand. From my hiding place, I could see that Brian was talking with her, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then she reached out a hand to Brian. I held my breath to see what this woman who did bad things inside the Green Lantern was going to do to him. She put her hand on his head and ruffled his hair. Grown-up women always did that to Brian, because his hair was red and he had freckles. It annoyed him; he usually swatted their hands away. But not this time. Instead, he stayed and talked with the woman for a while. When he came back across the highway, he didn’t look scared at all. “What happened?” I asked. “Nothing much,” Brian said. “What did you talk about?” “I asked her what goes on inside the Green Lantern,” he said. “Really?” I was impressed. “What did she say?” “Nothing much,” he said. “She told me that men came in and the women there were nice to them.” “Oh,” I said. “Anything else?” “Naw,” Brian said.