Today I’m opening up my home (because this place is very much like my home) and invitingĀ someone very special in. This is one of those guests you make a of fuss over. You break out the good wine and the best glasses. You light the candles and put on some funky new music because youĀ really want to impress her. You play it cool while trying not to jump up and down and squeal. So in my best casual voice, I’ll invite you to join us. Sit down, pull your feet up and get cozy because our favorite Dilettante, Helena Hann-Basquiat is here. And she has a story that will entertain and delight you. It will leave you wanting more, which is good since the next chapter is only a few days away and will be appearing on Samara’s blog. This is the second chapter so if you haven’t read the first, you must go over to Lizzie’s place and read the beginning. Enjoy my sweet friends and be sure to comment and tell Helena how much you adored her story…
***
āDo you think he could be the one?ā the Countess Penelope of Arcadia (which would appear to be a quiet little town where people frequently break into song) asked.
āWhat?ā I laughed. Iād been hearing the name Spenser in association with pretty much everything for the entire week after my brief encounter with the bartender who had been nice enough to find me ruby red grapefruit juice so that I could have a proper greyhound. (I actually had three, darlings, and loosened up nicely).
āYou know,ā Penny said. āThe one to break the curse so that you donāt have to remain a beast the rest of your days and I donāt have to be, um… hey Helena, if I were part of an enchanted castle, what kind of furniture do you think Iād be?ā
āA toilet,ā I said, rolling my eyes at her. āNow eat your pancakes, Lady Flushington, weāre going to be late for the train.ā
āYou know, Iām going to let that slide, Helena, because I love you so much,ā Penny said, frowning.Ā āAfter all, itās a castle, right, and as all of the humans have been enchanted, the only person who would need a toilet would be the beast ā thatād be you, by the way ā and so Iām sure youād have your own toilet. I would be a toilet in one of the guest bathrooms that never get used anyway. So if you want to shit on me, youāll have to find some other way.ā
I resisted the urge to change the subject into the dangerous messages for girls in that movie, or to suggest that the whole thing is akin to Stockholm Syndrome, and should have starred Patty Hearst as Belle.
Instead, I changed tactics.
āYou let him call you Penelope,ā I said.
āOh, I didnāt let him do anything,ā she replied with an eye roll of her own.
āYet,ā I winked, and Penny had no words. She just gaped at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally she laughed at me.
āWhatever,ā she said, and downed the rest of her coffee. āLetās go.ā
Penny knew already what I hadnāt even considered. Penny is far more attuned to whatās going on than I am ā I quite frequently have my head up my ass, and not in a good way.
Is there a good way to have your head up your ass, Helena?
I think there is in France, darlings.
But as for me, I thought that Penny had fallen for the handsome bartender ā the way she was going on about him, Iām sure you would have thought that, too.
So when Penny showed up with him that night, I was sure that my suspicions were confirmed.
Hereās where I confess to some of that bad behaviour I alluded to before, darlings. I donāt know whether I was jealous (and in retrospect, isnāt that a laugh and a half) or if I was just feeling maudlin and bitter, but rather than be my charming and entertaining self, I spent the evening complaining about men. In fact, I pulled out my stories, some of which youāve already heard, as case studies as to why men cannot be trusted, why men are dogs, and why the only good thing about a man is between his legs, and how thanks to modern technology, I could buy one of those at the store.
I got caught up in heartbreak, self-absorbed and full of poison, and talked all about old boyfriends, but most especially Robert, who Iād left my home for and moved all the way to California to be with. I reminisced about a time weād found ourselves drunk and naked on the private beach of some music producer in Malibu, and how we, as I so charmingly put it, re-enacted the zodiac symbol for Cancer in the moonlight, with the surf crashing on the beach behind us.
A hint for you, darlings ā it looks very much like the number that can be expressed by the mathematical equation 70 ā 1 = X.
Solve for X.
I got drunk, and railed about love. I was a complete and utter mess. I talked about wonderful things, and I talked about horrible things, and the underlying theme began to slowly come into focus, and that was:
āWhy am I alone? Whatās wrong with me?ā
Spenser looked shell-shocked, but then he did something that made me feel both silly and at the same time a little better.
He shrugged, and then crossed his legs in the Lotus position, and lowered his hands, palms up, onto his knees.
āOm, llama llama llama,ā he deadpanned, and I confess I broke out laughing, and then excused myself. I locked myself in my room and cried into my pillow. I was embarrassed and angry with myself. I felt like Iād just vomited all over Spenser, and as, at that point, I was still pretty sure Penny was interested in him, I felt terrible. If I ruined it for her, Iād never forgive myself.
When I re-emerged, Spenser had left, which was the plan all along, and Penny was waiting for me on the couch, watching Sherlock and no doubt fantasizing about her beloved Cummerbund Bandersnatch.
āWell, that could have gone better,ā she said, and the fact that she hadnāt slipped into her trademark Dickensian street urchin voice told me that she was serious.
āIām sorry, Penny, I donāt know what came over me,ā I hung my head. āI hope I didnāt screw things up for the two of you.ā
āThe two of us?ā Penny laughed. āAre you blind. Excuse me ā are you fucking blind? Itās not me that heās taken with. God, Helena, you really are rusty. Youāre all he talks about ā whereās Helena? When are you going to bring Helena back around? Take me to your Helena… and so on.ā
āOh, please,ā I said, waving her away with the back of my hand.
āOh, please yourself,ā she snapped back, and then put a hand over her mouth. āOh, wait, is that what you were doing in your bedroom all this time?ā
āNot amused,ā I said.
āThatās my line,ā the Countess said, slipping gently into a posh, Windsor Castle-esque accent. āCheerio. Tut tut. Yes. Quite. Off with her head.ā
āHeās a child,ā I said, not meaning to be cruel, but Penny nonetheless was not amused.
āWe are not amused,ā she said. See ā I told you she wasnāt amused. āBesides, my good woman, heās not a child. Heās actually…ā
She mentioned an age that was almost, but not quite ten years younger than I. He was about mid-way between Penny and I, and to me, the logical choice would have been Penny. Pennyās pretty awesome, and donāt ever tell her I said so, but damn that girl is beautiful. Like, traffic stopping gorgeous. She doesnāt see it, and certainly, hers is an unconventional beauty (you may recall her black, sometimes pink, sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes orange hair, and her penchant for dressing like a gothic version of Alice in Wonderland) but for those with eyes to see, Penny is something to fantasize about.
āBut what does he want with me?ā I asked. At some point ā perhaps it was earlier in the evening when Iād spilled all my messy past all over the floor ā I seemed to have lost my self-esteem.
āWell, with the way he was looking at you, Iād say he wants…ā
Penny mentioned a few things that I wouldnāt find objectionable, and a few Iād never heard of.
āDo people really do that?ā I asked her, intrigued.
āWell, I may have made that last one up,ā she admitted. āBut doesnāt it kind of sound fun?ā
āIād be worried about getting toothpaste in sensitive areas,ā I said.
āYeah, but his breath would be minty fresh afterward.ā
āYouāve given this quite a bit of thought, havenāt you?ā
āI donāt know if youāve noticed, but I donāt exactly have a boyfriend,ā Penny explained.
āAnd I donāt know if Iām ready for one,ā I said, giving Penny an awkward grin.
āAnd yet, youāre curious,ā Penny said, brightening. āAdmit it. Youāre like that monkey that goes on an ether bender and bites the man in the yellow hat.ā
āI donāt think George ever bit the Man in the Yellow Hat, Penny.ā
āWell, not in the actual books, no. It was in one of the deleted scenes.ā
āI see,ā I indulged her. āWell, sure, Iām curious. Curious enough, I suppose.ā
āGreat,ā she said. āThen tomorrow night, you and I will be going out. Thereās this ā80s cover band called Duckieās Pompadour playing at a club downtown, and Spenser will be there.ā
āDuckieās Pompadour?ā I laughed. āJohn Hughes is spinning in his grave.ā
āNot at all,ā Penny said. āYouāll love it. They play pretty much every song from Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller, Sixteen Candles, you name it.ā
āOh, but Penny ā I made a fool of myself tonight,ā I said, shaking my head. āDonāt you think I scared him off?ā
Penny laughed. āI donāt think you get it ā heās positively enamoured with you. Itād take more than a little maudlin misandry to frighten him away. Just wait until he sees you in the midst of a depressive episode, or ā hey, you want to get some Chinese food? Huh? Get that all-important MSG headache experience out of the way for the poor guy?ā
āGee thanks, Penny. I donāt know about this. I donāt know if I can face him again after tonight.ā
āYeah, but you didnāt know. You had no idea he was here to see you.ā
āI donāt know,ā I repeated.
āAnd you wonāt know until you give it a chance,ā she said, staring at me with her big brown eyes. āPlease Helena? Say youāll come.ā
I didnāt want to, darlings. I tried to say no.
āI am disinclined to acquiesce…ā
āGreat, itās settled!ā Penny interrupted. āTomorrow night at nine!ā
The enigmatic Helena Hann-Basquiat dabbles in whatever she can get her hands into just to say that she has.Ā She’s written cookbooks, ten volumes of horrible poetry that she then bound herself in leather she tanned poorly from cows she raised herself and then slaughtered because she was bored with farming.Ā She has an entire portfolio of macaroni art that she’s never shown anyone, because she doesn’t think that the general populous or, “the great unwashed masses” as she calls them, would understand the statement she was trying to make with them.Ā Some people attribute her with inventing the Ampersand, but she has never made that claim herself.
Earlier this year, she published Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume One, and has finished Volume Two and is in the editing process.
Volume One is available HERE in e-book for Kindle or HERE in paperback.
Helena writes strange, dark fiction under the name Jessica B. Bell Find more of her writing at http://www.helenahb.com or connect with her via Twitter @HHBasquiat
19 Responses
I still wanna know if there’s actually a good way to have your head up your ass. If so, there’s hope for me yet.
Ohhhh SCRUMPTIOUS! Really looking forward to the next installment! š
(toothpaste? really?)
I wondered the same thing! Ouch!
One not to try, perhaps. That or pop-rocks…
The reading is exquisite, the waiting excruciating. Tell me, at least, that there are only three parts to this story. Please.
You want it to be done so quickly? Samara’s posting chapter 3 sometime this week, and Mandi’s got chapter 4 when I finish it. There might just be so many chapters I’ll get around to asking you to host one again.
Perhaps you’re right. It’s too much fun! Okay you win…..you keep writing and I’ll keep reading. And you know you are welcome at my place any time.
I’m mid way through writing about what might be the best date I’ve ever had – you just wait.
*Applauds* more pleeeeeeease! Nothing wrong with letting someone glimpse (?!) your maudlin side – or at least I hope not, I need the next installments to find out for sure! I only have a maudlin side at the moment, so here’s hoping!
Next chapter is tomorrow, and then another Friday.
Well said!
The Countess of Arcadia moonlighting as a matchmaker can only go right. And Duckie’s Pompadour sounds like a fabulous band.
You never heard so much synthesizer in one setlist.
Love love love! Duckie’s Pompadour? Classic! I am off to read part 3 now.
I’m enjoying reading this unfold, Helena, which reminds me, I never found the final installments of the music-producer-Malibu-party guy and the package of unopened letters. That’s because I’m either terrible or lazy at navigating and using search functions. Could I trouble you to link the whole series for me here?
No, you know what happened? Lizzi, who was hosting part two, moved her blog, so the links are dead. I’ll do you one better — I know you have an e-reader of some sort, so go here: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22028677-postcards-from-california and there’s the option to download the e-book (it’s epub). Then you’ll have it in a nice format, complete with a cover, etc.. If you like it, do post a review, darling, you know how it is — all the good press you can get, right?
Dying to read the next part!!!!
Trotting off to episode drei! (That’s three in German, jawohl!)
Trotting… Trotting… Trotting.
ein zwei drei. sprechen eine kleine deutsch. Actually, that’s probably the extent of it, and I only know Eine Kleine from Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.