Chapter Thirty-Four

THE LITERARY PARTY

"Aggressive white men
toxic with testosterone;
polar ice caps melt
like grilled cheese.
Laughing white male faces;
the bird tarries.
Vanilla ice cream cone
dripping onto the street.
The flavor escapes me."

The neutered poet concludes his short work to the ladies' applause. He's sweating at the exertion of having read. The facsimile of a man looks to Margo for approval.

The literary people sit on the veranda of a suburban mansion at pale orange tables with pastel green sun umbrellas, sipping from pink and green lemonade drinks.

Attractive Margo nods her head. The soft poet happily resumes his seat next to Mrs. Vanden Snot, a major patron. The exhausted poet melts in his seat. Mrs. Vanden Snot flaps air at him with a silk fan. The man is surrounded by fit women. A planetary visitor would peg him as the weaker sex.

The women resume their talk.

"Order or chaos."

"The Joker-- an apt metaphor."

"One gross crime after another."

"Dissent for the sake of dissent."

"Their crazy leader."

"Rank and not-to-be endured behavior."

"What of their class status?"

"Bosh! Our diversity speaks for itself."

An elegantly groomed blue lawn spreads before them.

The conversation circles around Margo, a powerful, mature woman with brown kinky hair. At the edge of the gathering, a pretty doctoral student named Maryann glides in, late.

She slinks behind a table to hide her tennis player legs. Margo takes notice.

"Why do you hide there, girl? You have a confused mix of colors today."

Maryann wears a skimpy red-and-black dress, bright yellow leotards, and white boots. The ensemble is mismatched.

"Oh!" she says, noticing her boots. Her eyes look up. She's a relative newcomer who's been adopted by the group.

"I was in a rush," Maryann explains. "A meeting. You know."

The yellow color puts the legs on display, which pauses the discussion. They're quite . . . athletic.

The male poet is choking on his lemonade. A petite Mexican waitress with red skin and black hair brings Maryann a tall glass of iced tea. The student flicks the girl away, then brushes strands of hair off her forehead.

The refined people discuss the destruction of the rebels, a disagreeable but necessary task. Best to be done offstage. They wish to avoid any mess.

While they talk, the new arrival plays with her dress.

"There is no place for them in our world," Margo announces. "Is there, Maryann?"

The distracted student is again the focus. Her dark blue eyes rise. They're very powerful.

"Oh. Er, ah, no."

The talk sweeps on.

"They have no reason, no cause," Mrs. Vanden Snot insists.

"Dinosaur white males," another adds, to much hilarity.

The pasty-faced poet laughs also.

Margo sums up the prevalent attitude, glancing first at the younger woman across the way, a gesture toward nascent, unused force-- the only potential competition for her in this group.

"We need no justification to destroy the rebels, other than they are the Other," Margo states as her shoulders shift and her eyes cast around for possible rebellion. "That's sufficient reason. There can be no outsiders other than ourselves, within the system. There's only the system."

"What of their ideas?"

"I refuse to acknowledge they have ideas!"

Everyone laughs.

(Next: THE CHASE.)