Not an actual photo of Aggie, Mary, Arch, Diana, Adora, Lidia, Tim, Poppy, Dickie, Sally, Bertie, Hortense, Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich.
Wait...
V
"I can't believe we're here right now."
The two fringed navy blue and white striped beach umbrellas, planted as staunchly erect in the white sand as the Union Jack in the soil of many a subdued colony, casts a wide shadow over the eight clustered bathers lolling on beach towels or in chairs. Once eager to wade in the frothy surf of the Channel, most of them first inched in it up to their waists (with the exception of the still fully dressed Tim and Poppy, who simply stood within reach of the waves engulfing their feet), then as if of like mind, and seeing that the warm water seemed to them so much more densely peopled than the outer strand they miraculously attained a spot on, retreated under their umbrellas and soon broke up into small chatty groups.
"Meaning?" says Tim to Poppy, who offered the above remark. He reclines with eyes closed in his chair, his jacket draped over the back and his sleeves and trouser legs rolled up below his knees. Poppy, sprawled catlike upon her towel, nibbles on a toffee square and often tosses back her auburn bell of bobbed tresses as they catch the mild sea breezes.
"Meaning why are we here on this beach with them? What about meeting up with-"
"Oh, no, I meant to tell you I phoned the office from the cafe and informed them on what's what," Tim interjects."Their hour's not quite up yet, but they're still going to the station afterwards so we'll take our leave here soon and then meet them there straightaway."
"All right. Who did you talk to? Her? Him?"
"Him," he replies as he playfully snatches her toffee and steals a bite before Poppy wrests it back. "And he sounded a bit nervous when I mentioned who was here, but mostly when I dropped Miss Dove-Aggie's name."
"Christ, can you blame him?"
"Shh, mind your language, poppet. The charade, remember?"
"For what? It seemed quite fun in the beginning but my God, Society just really bores me now!"
"Me, too, I'll admit."
"And though I've quite enjoyed them in the past I'm actually glad I missed Mary's little, well, non-party I suppose is what it became today."
"Again, same. But please do just keep playing along for now."
"If I must. I don't even understand why I nearly had it out with Aggie today. Should've just kept quiet."
"Out of curiosity you really don't dislike her, do you?"
Poppy shakes her hair back and takes another bite. "No, not at all," she mumbles with her mouth full. "And not with any severe black hate in my heart, either. But I dislike what she did to him."
"Well, I really don't think she meant to embarrass him like that."
"Karma could have gotten her, in a way."
"How so?"
"Her nappy mess."
Tim winces. "Poppet, I really don't think-"
"I said 'could have', didn't I?" she interrupts hotly. "But no, she didn't deserve that. No one would've. You may not believe this,Tim, but I felt quite sorry for her when it did."
Tim inclines his body slightly. "Really?"
"Sorry, but still disgusted."
"Of course."
"But think of it, Tim - a lowly, pretty shop girl from Bethnal Green, not even a real flapper by the very definition, dares to bare nearly all in front her betters thrice in the same, um, costume, unintentionally makes a fool of herself in the end (no pun intended) and, well, survives! And there she is resting quietly in her chair. Rather admirable, I think. If she had gone full starkers and called herself 'Mother Eve' or something of that sort I'd still think the same. Points for originality. Damn it, I may even be a bit envious!" She laughs. "Only a wee bit though."
"Very good, poppet. And yes, she's quite tough. But-would you ever tell her that?"
"Oh, soon. But now, Tim, there's something else I need to discuss with you."
"And that is?"
She leans closer to him and with a wicked gleam in her eye pops the last small piece of her toffee square into her mouth. "The Seated Ball!" she declares while messily chewing.
Tim grins with the dirty glee of a satyr.
_________________________________________________
"Don't."
Adora lies prone on her towel alongside Diana reclining in her own beach chair. She leans on her elbows while poring over a small scarlet colored book she captures some of the waning western sunlight in. Diana sits quietly musing and puffing on another cigarette until she gazes down on Adora's bare shoulders and semicircle of unmottled white skin. With a slight smile she ever so slowly reaches down to touch the smooth nape of Adora's neck, but when her fingers alight there Adora shudders and protests. Diana ignores her and gently traces vertical lines on her back.
"I said don't!" Adora exclaims, shaking her off. "My God, what are you even doing? Some sort of massage?"
"A caress."
"Stick with the shower-bath, that's where you do it best," snorts Adora.
Hurt, Diana clumsily retracts her arm and sinks back into her chair. "Still cross, I see."
Adora sighs. "No, no, not as much as I was before, Di, believe me. But I'm not-I'm not quite in a calmer mood yet."
"Ah." After a pause Diana asks, "What are you reading?"
Adora holds her book up to Diana's eye level and she scans the title "My Blear Angels and Other Poems" set in gilt Coventry Garden font, with "By Emily Greene Slocombe" printed a few spaces beneath it. In between both, in the same color with just a tinge of white added, was a small graphic of a carnation.
"Remembrance," murmurs Diana, then asks sarcastically, "Is that the only copy left in the entire kingdom?"
Adora shrugs. "This really is quite a rare find, though. I'd recently visited some other second-hand bookshops in the West End to oh-so discreetly as I could inquire of Miss Slocombe's infamous photography portfolios."
Diana sits bolt upright. "And?"
"What do you think, Di? If I'd have gotten any you'd have seen them already. But for all I know they could have had some copies saved in their back rooms." She shudders slightly. "The looks I'd gotten..."
"Which poem are you on?"
"'Amor Vincit Nihil.'" She pauses. "I'm at the gate room part."
"Oh, my God," Diana whispers. "Could-could you read it aloud, Addie? Aloud yet not...aloud. You understand?"
Adora nods solemnly, clears her throat and reads:
"At last! At last!
And truly it was if as they stood mere inches away
From the magnificent Gates of Paradise
But in the center of the massive and forbidding Mons Maximus.
So much struggle and privation had ensued this moment
That the dirty, tattered and tired Drusilla and Flavia
With glad eyes could only stand agape at the threshold
And behold finally the eternal and awesome Cathedral,
Stand 'neath the sprawling marble arch
Where they felt a measure of security,
But were yet too daunted to enter this sacred ground.
They stretched their gaze up and up, ever aloft,
Mile after mile at the double doors
Smoothly crafted of fine unadorned alabaster,
The doors they thought they might never see -
The Gates of Marital Felicity!
At last! At last!
Taller and taller they rose
Until they disappeared in murky shadows
With only dim outer light seeping
From a tiny aperture in the Mons' zenith
Barely illuminating even the lintel.
No matter, for there was early evening sunshine enow
Streaming onto the Gates' lower portions
From thousands of honeycomb apertures
All high up in the rocky walls
And glowing brilliantly in woven colors of ochre and scarlet.
And between them and the Gates a wide and low arching bridge lay
Over a translucent lake, through the surface of which
The girls could see different...somethings,
Many vague somethings suspended far beneath.
But they very quickly became heedless of these
As they sprinted airily hand in hand, laughing ecstatically,
The Gates dizzily looming as they closed in.
Even as the girls' hearts were buoyant with hope,
The Gates, so swathed in light and abounding of promise,
May also, they knew, repulse their mutual desires.
But the attempt needed to be made, they believed.
They had heard oft of this mountain, these Gates,
But only in gauzy childhood fables,
With scant details of coupling successes
After performing what was necessary for ingress.
But now-even now!-they stand in breathless disbelief
In front of the necessary 'doorknobs' near their feet,
The shallow, oval yoni on the left hand side
And the polished, horizontal lingam on the right.
The girls giggled in their recognition of these symbols
But quickly decided the order of performance
With the high flip of a silver denarius.
The winner gentle Flavia writhed out of her chiton,
Her lissome nakedness thrilling Drusilla
Who watched as she knelt down
And reversed her body into the lingam
But ceased edging too far in.
Drusilla, though feeling a bit envious of Flavia,
Matched her actions with her beloved's
Whilst grasping at Flavia's damp fingers
And nervously cupped her precious labia against the yoni.
At last! At last!
But as soon as they were so crouched
Jagged bolts of white lightning crisscrossed down
From the aperture and violently blasted the girls,
Hurled them into opposite sides of the lake
And incinerated their dresses entirely,
Following which there boomed an awful thunderclap
That seemed to shake the entire mountain.
As they writhed in their death throes,
Squinting through the scalding liquid
To glean one final glimpse of one another
They each to her horror could finally see
The 'many vague somethings'
They could not before discern - skeletons.
Hundreds of skeletons set horribly twisted
In the depths of the gelatinous water,
They the many dead and damned,
Of those who like them before tried and failed
To ever pry ope' the vast Gates,
Those who like them who verily believed
That Love's sweet blindness, even in marital bliss
Could ever be their boon and prize,
Could ever surmount their uniform sex.
And in the final drowning moments
Of Drusilla and Flavia's fragile, youthful existence
The echoing thunder faded
From the soaring chamber
And dusk's glad light succumbed
To the lowering weight of gloomy night.
Thus the girls passed, bare of everything,
Apart yet together, in good company,
Eternally damned, eternally in love.
At last! At last!
At last."
Adora shuts the book and gently wipes her eyes, while Diana does the same and heaves a weary sigh. After a moment's silence between them Diana asks tentatively, "Addie, may I explain about earlier this afternoon?"
Adora looks up at her. "What?"
"About my announcing giving up on 'Neo-Fauvism' in front of our friends."
"Oh. Well actually, Di, about that, I really do want to apologize for being so snippy about it all day."
"No, don't. I understand. But you ought to know that was the first I'd thought of it."
"Really?"
"I've been a bit unhappy with it lately. I realize it pays for our flat, food, clothes and paints and all that, and painting with you is always, always bliss."
"Thank you, darling. But?"
"But none of it will appear in the British Museum, will it? Or the Tate. Or even the V&A!"
Adora makes a face. "You want it to?"
"No, I suppose not. Our works are probably more suited for all the boho clubs anyway."
"Then why-"
"I'm bored, Addie. In a rut. There! I should've just begun with that."
"What! You are?"
"Aren't you?"
"I've actually been quite concerned with the rising water bills from all our lovely showers afterwards. But bored? No, I'm not there yet."
"All right, but it's not just boredom, Addie. I'm a bit tired of England too."
Adora slowly sits up. "Really?"
"I mean, I do love it. Love good ol' Blighty! Never doubt that. But lately I've felt a kind of wanderlust."
"Oh, so you want to leave?"
Diana considers her answer for a moment. "Yes, but perhaps just for a short time. Half a year at most. Then back to the pea soup fog and cricket and the class struggles and all those heavenly British things."
"I see." Adora lays down her book and smiles knowingly. "I know where this is going, don't I?"
"No. Going where?"
Adora pivots to her knees and folds her arms on Diana's unoccupied armrest. "Bend down closer and I'll whisper it, though I'll wager you already know what it is."
"Fine." She leans down though a bit awkwardly. "What?"
"Novus Naxos," Adora whispers eagerly. "In the Cyclades."
Diana pulls back in mild surprise. "Ah ha, so you've spoken to Lady Chatwin too, eh?"
"Yes! And it's her island! All absolutely private. Except for whoever she invites, of course."
"Her family's island. Didn't they almost disown her for her suffragette, for lack of a better word, 'works'?"
"Yes, but that was before she did her bit for the War effort, remember? Then it was debts forgiven, crimes paid and all that. But that was years ago, and so now she's set up an artist's colony for us-"
"'Us' meaning 'sisters of Sappho'?" Diana retorts snidely.
"Yes, mostly. There may be hetero women, too. Perhaps even some men, in time. But I'm sure the sum'll be many more than, say, Van Gogh and Gauguin at Arles. But just imagine being able to see that-" she points up to the sun "-every day, and feel the blessed warmth of it on your face and all over your body, instead of drizzly rain from ponderous grey clouds and peering through London streets for taxis in that dreadful pea soup fog you mentioned before."
"I feel it now, and it's rather hot. But quite true, Addie. Oh, and don't forget the autumn chill and heavy snows."
"Noted. So let's go there. Novus Naxos."
"Why's it called that anyway? Isn't Naxos that island in Greek mythology where that awful Theseus abandoned the woman who aided him - Ariadne, was it?"
"Yes, it is, but this is Novus Naxos - New Naxos - just off the northeast coast of Naxos proper, where women can absolutely abandon themselves to their own art, their bodies, souls and minds...even to other 'sisters of Sappho' if you get my-"
"Yes, yes. You do make it sound like a bloody brochure, don't you? Alright, when would we go?"
"Early autumn at the most."
"Hmm."
"Yes, yes! And the best part is we can do and create anything we want!"
"What, like piss Pointillism? Shit sculpture? A new sort of menstrual Fauvism?"
"Christ, Diana! So vulgar! Perhaps. But you also know about Lady Chatwin's plans to recreate the Greek Olympic Games, right?"
"Yes, she mentioned it."
"The original Greek Olympic Games?"
"Yes, Addie, I know. Athletic nudity and such. Truth be told I'd shy from it if I weren't so curious to know what customarily respectable and well-to-do women stink like in an odious mix of sweat and olive oil."
"So that's a 'yes' then?"
Diana gazes thoughtfully in the distance. "We ought to ask Lidia."
"Lidia?"
"The woman who's been stealing coy, curious glances in our direction for at least the past half hour."
"Well, yes, but...could she even go, considering the season begins quite soon?"
"What, prima donnas can't take long holidays once in a while? Besides I'd like to see her do a bit of Greco-Roman wrestling, if you catch my drift, Ag."
"I do. She might like that. So...wave her over?"
"No, peck me first."
"Really! Di, you never were one for-"
"Go it! Quickly! On the cheek!" Adora brusquely kisses Diana on the proffered spot and returns it in kind.
"Lovely."
"Forgive me?"
"Forgiven. Again, wave her over?"
"Do." And Adora does.
_______________________________________________
"Home, home on the range,"
Aggie croons softly as she gazes up through her tinted sunglasses into the bright ethereal blue.
"Where's Lidia going?" Arch asks Mary, both of whom, with Aggie in between them, lie supine on one large blanket.
"Looks like Di and Addie wanted her to join them. Wonder why."
"I hope she didn't think we were ignoring her."
"No, we chatted some, remember? She seemed cheery enough."
"Who'll have her chair, then?" asks Aggie.
"Not me," says Arch. "I'm quite happy down here with you ladies."
"Aww, and we're very pleased to be here with you, gentleman!" Mary replies sweetly.
"Hah! Suckers! It's mine at last!" Aggie leaps up and makes a dash for Lidia's vacated chair, only to return laughing to her spot on the blanket. "Naw."
"Cute," says Mary flatly.
"No, no, she might want it back, so perhaps just let it be."
"Doubt it, but alright."
"I say, Aggie, would you ever want to go to America someday?" Arch asks her as she resettles.
"Oh, yes!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I think I'd first want to go tour some of the big eastern cities - New York, Boston, Philadelphia - then inland to Cleveland, Chicago, St. Louis - but then, then it's me for the wild, open western spaces!"
"Well, that sounds romantic."
"Of course, but romance won't really figure into what I want to do there at least once."
"Which is?"
"Have a man make mad love to me on horseback - bare and riding bareback, as it were - as we both gallop through that one really beautiful area in Arizona, the one with the canyons I'd seen once in a sort of panoramic picture book of America in the British Library. The place has got a funny-looking name, though. Mary, what was-"
"Canyon de Chelly," answers Mary instantly. "You could pronounce it like 'jelly' but it's really 'shay' as in horse cart or 'chez' as in 'at the home of,' au francais. Remember?"
"Ah, that's it! Thank you, Mary."
"Of course."
"That's a very, very excellent idea, by the way. Superbly erotic!"
"Thanks. I can be quite a dirty girl sometimes. Or at least imagine like one."
"Well...Aggie, um, I hope you find the right man for the, um, job. Someday," Arch says sheepishly.
The women laugh. "So do I, Arch!" Aggie rejoins. "Perhaps you and Mary could join me."
"Yes, we could."
"As friends, though, and to share in the American Grand Tour," adds Mary. "But not for horse fucking."
"Mary!"
"Oh, hush, you know what I meant!"
"As friends," Arch echoes softly.
"Yes."
"Well, then-" Arch cranes his arm over Aggie's torso towards Mary "-it's a plan, isn't it?"
"Absolutely." As they vigorously shake hands and trade platonic smiles Aggie slaps one of hers on top of the fleshy compact. "Pals!" she vociferates giddily.
"Ow!" groan the other two.
"This calls for a song! 'Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam!'"
"'Where the deer and the antelope play!'" Mary and Arch continue harmoniously.
"Whoa! Wait!" Aggie exclaims. "You two know this song?!"
Suddenly Tim, Poppy, Lidia, Diana and Adora all happily chime in with "'where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day!'"
"Well, then - all together!"
"Home, home on the range,
Where the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day!"
"Oi, stuff it, Yanks!" a voice shouts from among the puzzled, spectating bathers, prompting the group to break into boisterous laughter.
DB/11.2016
I SAY IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!!
I'M GONNA HAVE A GOOD TIME!!!!!
I'M GLAD IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!!
🎈🎆🎊🎉♏😊
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
Aggie Dovecote and All Her Pals: Pt.2, Ch.5 ("The Beach Convos"))
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