William Vollmann - The Royal Family

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Since the publication of his first book in 1987, William T. Vollmann has established himself as one of the most fascinating and unconventional literary figures on the scene today. Named one of the twenty best writers under forty by the New Yorker in 1999, Vollmann received the best reviews of his career for The Royal Family, a searing fictional trip through a San Francisco underworld populated by prostitutes, drug addicts, and urban spiritual seekers. Part biblical allegory and part skewed postmodern crime novel, The Royal Family is a vivid and unforgettable work of fiction by one of today's most daring writers.

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Brady, said the telephone.

Afternoon, Mr. Brady, said John. What’s the good word?

Say, Johnny boy — you mind if I call you Johnny?

Had anyone else been so presumptuous. John would have been filled with wrath. As it was, he was thrilled.

Downstairs, John and Brady shook hands. Brady was explaining: We want to make sure we always give the customer what he wants, where, when and how he wants it, at a low price and with no complications afterward. No complications may be the most important thing. That requires tact, foresight, and above all innovation on our part.

When he said that, he smiled with self-adulation over his latest acquisition, a hairless wrinked dwarf lady who whispered: Donald Duck! Donald Duck! and the men who went in to her had to pretend to be Donald Duck to make her happy.

Celia stood trailing her fingers along one of the railings which ran along one side of the administration room at Feminine Circus so that spectators such as herself could look down into all the various worlds, each of them as stuffy as a museum. To me, Feminine Circus was much the same as the SuperSaverStore where Irene used to go through heaps of cheap clothes for toddlers, trying to pick out Christmas presents for her cousins and her sister’s boy while John very slowly smelled a genuine cedarwood shoetree. (Tyler, hiding behind a chin-high mountain of Date Flakes, watched Irene picking out childrens’ books.) But to Celia this comparison would have rung entirely false. When she was thoroughly bored, she escaped into an echoing expectoration of dollar coins. Her own secret wish in playing the slots was always to get rid of this heavy burden of quarters which God had given her: when they came clattering out after she pushed the CASH CREDIT button, she felt pleased, even victorious; but once she’d gathered them into her fist she wondered what to do with them. In her pocket they made an uncomfortable bulge which resembled an erection. In the big plastic cup they weighed her down. When the machine ate them back again (“like a dog goggling his vomit,” says some medieval tract on apostasy), she felt relief.

No, the house percentages are really quite small, Brady was explaining to her husband. For instance, if everyone in the world were to give me five minutes out of his life, I could live almost forever, and don’t tell me any of those people would miss that time.

Retreating to the hotel room, Celia got underneath the bedcovers, turned on the television’s remote control, and wrote:

protocol update

prep memo to Heidi

make John promise to do dishes 3 x/week

make calendar for Ellen

update for Jeff

floaters to cover breaks

order cannister mailers

adopt puppy?

dining room set

I’m a slick girl, the TV said. You wanna get slick with me? Get Slick . Now available in pharmacies near you. Federal restrictions may apply.

Celia’s mind wandered. She pretended that she and John were hiking up Coyote Peak to see Napa Valley with its multi-greened corrugations of vineyard, and it was cool and windy with blue and turquoise shadows on the facing mountains, as if the newlyweds had entered one of the buccolic scenes on the labels of Calistoga mineral water. A tiny woodpecker drummed for them, accompanied by the buzz of a little plane. It no longer embarrassed her to be spinning fantasies. Sometimes clutched by insomnia, Celia had long since grown accustomed to imagining herself to sleep. She felt very secure to be married, and the inevitable disappointment after the wedding ceremony was best dealt with by careful planning for their future together, and, whenever that temporarily failed, by mental movies of her own devising.

She and John were supposed to meet Brady for lunch, but just as they arrived, Brady’s cell phone rang and Brady began a long conversation by saying: Those girls usually come by the pair, but maybe I can get you one on open stock.

He put down the phone for a moment to lift his wineglass, and Celia heard the client say: Well, I like this shape here.

Winking at Celia, Brady picked up the phone and said: These can be shipped. They’re very high quality.

Finally he hung up. Tapping his finger against his glass, he said to John: You know, they say a good glass is very important when you drink good wine. You see the parallel?

Excuse me, Mr. Brady, said Celia, clearing her throat. These girls you’re talking about are all virtual, right? I mean, nobody gets hurt, right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, the man said boredly. These girls come in all versions.

Gazing upward, Celia discovered chandeliers like flowers, crystal beehives, and transparent glass spiderwebs.

Actually, Brady said to her, we’ll give your husband a very special price. And listen, John. I can give you the same price for the next five years. Celia, after lunch I need to borow your husband for a minute. I guarantee I’ll return him in better shape than I found him. Perfect balance.

Celia stared miserably at the tablecloth.

Come and see this one, John, Brady was saying. It is gorgeous. You’ll see the hipbones. They’re extremely elegant pieces. And extremely strong. And extremely elastic.

I guess it all goes together, Celia said dully.

From his shirt pocket, Brady removed the transparent cast or likeness of a human nipple as astoundingly beautiful as the crystal stopper of a thousand dollar glass decanter. The thing was a dodecahedron each of whose faces sent the light back in a different shade of blueness.

No, John, said Celia. You don’t need another one.

Brady laughed. — I’ll bet you two aren’t the first pair who’ve come to blows in a place like this. And in a dispute like this, the wife always wins. Know how I know, John? Because you brought your wife. It’s not about you and any of these so-called pieces. It’s about you and her.

Celia was silent, so Brady patted her arm and said: You should give a Christmas present to your husband.

He’s already very spoiled.

So spoil him a little more.

Do whatever you want, John. I don’t feel so well. I’m going to lie down…

The air conditioning was as cold as a cretin’s hand.

| 593 |

You have been summoned, Domino said pompously, lolling back on her purple-sequined wrists. All the girls, come and kneel around the Queen… Where’s my ashtray?

Here, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.

Oh, brother, said John. This is lame.

Beatrice, I want you right now to go get the bitch. You are not in any trouble. Just go an’ get her.

That’s not Beatrice, John said to himself.

The Queen lay very still, lolling around on her swollen, abscessed legs, scratching at the purple sequins.

Now, Chocolate! she laughed. Chocolate, you little bitch! Come here. Siddown. On your butt.

The other girl was hanging her head in the corner with her hand held out and her other hand on her thighs.

That’s not Chocolate either, John realized.

I just brushed my hair, Domino was saying, smashing a beer bottle on the stage. Y’all are crazy. I want you to beat the bitch up. Take this, little motherfucker, and beat her up! I’m not playing. Awright. Now this is what we’re gonna do.

The whores were sitting in the corner at stage left, pouting and quickly wiping their lips before their cigarettes.

An’ every guilty woman, I want their pussies sewn shut, Domino mumbled. An’ all the men— everyone —I want them all brought to me. — You know who you are? You’re the first to have your pussy sewn shut. Do you want your teeth knocked out, too? How’d you like it if I took this cigarette and put it right out between your eyes? Oh, didn’t it hurt enough for you to scream? Well, let’s try it again, you little slut. Get out of my sight. Don’t drink that beer. It’s got that tramp’s lipstick all over it. Come ’ere, Sapphire little one. I’m gonna give you one chance.

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