Ward Fulton - The Forbidden Family Game

"In this astrakhan hat and sable coat I look- what would you say? Twenty? Look at those haggard lines around my eyes and the droop and petulance of my mouth. Would you go higher? Twenty-five, perhaps? Of course, you know how old I am. Sixteen. One of father's secretaries will have given you the facts in my case. Oh, father wouldn't have done it himself, I'm sure. In the first place, he wouldn't know the facts-unless he heard them from one of his attorneys.

"My father is much too busy being big daddy- ever so jolly with his cute kiddies program. I imagine that, next to Dr. Spock, he's supposed to know more about children than anyone else. At least, television viewers seem to think so. Father has to keep a pediatrician on his staff-with his secretary-just to answer letters like: 'Bobbie's a cute little rascal. Should we make him put out his cigar when nursie changes his diaper? He's only twenty-six.' Oh, maybe not quite that bad, but they do ask my father some of the most absurd questions. Real stupid, some of 'em.

"But then I think people who watch my father's show and think he's really a jolly, jolly big daddy to all those cute little darlings with their carefully rehearsed 'spontaneous' remarks are pretty stupid. He keeps a real motherly woman-actually she is, and ought to be out on stage instead of him-just to coach the cute kiddies. And stand by, with a microphone-and a speaker behind each chair-to remind them when to pipe up with those spontaneous howlers.

"Of course, it's good show business. Fabulous on the money end. And I don't suppose I'd be so bitter if he carried over being jolly big daddy at home. We kids could have used a little of the jolly big daddy. Mother is worse. She lectures, you know. On how to raise the little darlings. And talks about her four little lovelies until you'd think we were all six years old. And Ted is twenty-four. Alex is twenty-two. Phil would have been twenty-if he hadn't driven his car off the Coast Highway at ninety. An accident? You know the Coast Highway. Would any sane person drive it at more than forty? Unless he wanted to miss that curve at the top of Bent Elbow. He did that the day after I got picked up as a prostitute.

"He took the quick way out And left me to face the mess. Certainly, Phil was the one who started me off. Oh, just a little matter of incest, that's all.

"When did it start? When I was thirteen or so. But don't blame Phil for starting it I don't. I seduced him. Phil was weak, though. So when I got caught he couldn't face up to it, face his part in my 'delinquency'-in making me a call girl. He was afraid all that would come out. So-an accident!

"He didn't know my father very well. But then, how could he? We rarely saw him. But father couldn't let anything mar that beautiful, beautiful image of jolly big daddy. His sponsors might cancel. If his own kids go to hell in a handcart, well, cover up, quick. Like he had six lawyers down at court to sneak me out before I could say who I really was. They marched in like a centipede in pin-striped trousers. My father needn't have worried. I was using the name 'Mavis' in my-profession. 'Mavis T-.' With printed cards even.

"My father's shrewd. At least shrewd enough to recognize he's a phony and ready for any quick cover-up necessary-like my 'delinquency.' Hell, let's be frank. That's what I'm here for, isn't it? I'm a whore. A real, high-type call girl.

"Mother isn't smart. She's convinced herself she has a message for mothers of the world. And delivers it, regularly. For two thousand dollars a night. Plus travel expenses. She was furious with me-not because I was getting laid by half of Hollywood, the rich half-but because my being caught interfered with her lecture schedule. And what I got caught at might damage her 'image.' She's even convinced herself that the image is real and that she does have four little darlings. One is dead, one's a whore. And Ted and Alex, who escaped early. Ted's out on his own producing documentaries-honest ones. And Alex is doing social work. It seems rather fitting she elected to work for the blind-her own mother and father never could see her. Or didn't bother to.

"I didn't have any talents, except my cunt. Does that shock you? No, I suppose nothing much shocks a psychoanalyst. You must be a very good one. Or, at least, very expensive. My father wouldn't have anything but the best-or anyway most expensive.

"Have you seen our house? Mother always refers to it as 'our darling little bungalow' and father-on the air-calls it 'our cottage.' It has' thirty-six rooms. And an indoor-outdoor swimming pool. Last count we had eight maids. No butler, though. It would be difficult to refer off-handedly to our butler, but mother can smile sweetly and say, 'I just couldn't keep up my busy, busy routine and have any time for my four little darlings if I didn't have a maid.' With eight she still didn't have time for us.

"Sure I'm bitter. Left to wander around thirty-six rooms-fourteen with television sets, tuned to 'our' channel-I was bored. Even my governess was bored. I think she took it out with one of the chauffeurs. Or maybe each of 'em in turn. I needed a governess like I needed a third head. What I needed was somebody to hear my lessons, my homework, somebody interested, like a father or mother should have been.

"So I turned to Phil. He was seventeen or eighteen then and took things kind of serious. He even wore glasses, but I think they were plain glass-just for effect. Because he took them off if he really wanted to look at something. Like me. Naked.

"Oh, sure. I did a striptease for him. A la Salome. Incidentally, did you know she wasn't but twelve or thirteen when she did that dance for Herod? I read that somewhere. Well, I was just her age. Fairly well developed, too. Oh, we had the best of diets and exercise, so we all kept in pretty good shape. It wouldn't do for jolly big daddy's kids to be sickly. Might be bad publicity.

"We had a riding master, a ballet maestro, a eurhythmics instructor, a fencing teacher, a judo expert-I'm Brown Belt, incidentally-and a gymnast-I can do a backbend and kiss the floor-so we'd be fit. Of course, quite incidentally, they kept us out of mother's way, so she could prepare her 'little talks' on how to raise children-with loving, tender care.

"The four of us, Ted, Alex, Phil and I, had the children's wing'-Mother always called it 'the nursery' in her lectures. A nursery! Each of.us had our suite and there was a study room-with four of the cutest desks you ever saw and not big enough for any of us to sit at-and a recreation room and a special diet kitchen and dining room, with our own chef and maid. By the time I did my Salome act, and got laid, Ted had already moved out and Alex was at college, so there was just the two of us, Phil and me, in our wing, which was practically a separate house.

"There was a 'property room' in the hall between our wing and the main house, for all those 'darling' floppy hats with enormous velvet roses, and very pointed, high-button shoes, and fancy vests, and beaded gowns, so the cute kiddies could 'dress up' for the show, pretending the things had come from their mommies' attics. That's where I got the scarves for my Salome act.

"I can't honestly say, when I started it, that I meant to fuck Phil… Does it surprise you I know the ugly words? I learned them in my trade. Men like to talk 'dirty' to girls they've paid for, so I got a liberal education… I just wanted to shock him, I think. Phil was so abstracted, so solemn. He needed to be shook up. I went in the private lav in the rec room and stripped and fixed myself up in scarves. I don't think there were but six, but that didn't make any particular difference. You couldn't see I was naked until I got down to about three.

"Phil was just mooning when I.came in and started the Scheherazade suite on our hi-fi. He didn't really pay much attention to my prancing, at first, even if I am a pretty good dancer. But when I started shedding scarves, he looked. Really looked, even taking off his glasses for a better view.