William Gaddis - A Folic Of His Own

— I'd as soon change the shape of my nose.

— Had a client who did that once, wanted a nose bob and couldn't afford one so she got herself the wrong way in a revolving door and sued. What do you say, Harold?

— I'll take the Fifth.

—'Every dog is entitled to one bite.' Is that true?

— Is it the law, you mean? No.

— Well then why would he say it. What?

What he'd actually just said was — I like your outfit, where she'd come striding naked across the bedroom.

— Do you Harry? rippling her arms outstretched, — I'll get it in four colours. Meanwhile doesn't it ever occur to you to water these plants when I'm not here? He drew in his feet where she came down on the end of the bed with the newspaper. Plants? Never occurred to him, no, they were just there, pleasant furnishings like those fluted candlesticks, like the lamps, that Piranesi, she wouldn't expect him to go around watering lamps and pictures would she, one leg off to the floor and her knee drawn up parting the thatch to his gaze if he'd looked there before the newspaper interfered again with —Écrasez l'infame, of course the French are besotted by dogs, you remember those two giant hounds under the next table at Lipp's you'd know they couldn't resist it. Art vs negritude, the petit maître little James B they're turning it into an intellectual cause célèbre and the Brits, of course, a stern letter to the Times from the Pit Ponies Protective Association, my God. Do you want la Repubblica? They call the miserable creature Frugoletta, its soulful eyes brimming with the wounded innocence of the oppressed the world over. I mean you know how they treat dogs.

— They're an operatic people, Christina. In Vietnam you'd have Frugoletta on the lunch menu.

— No stop it, it's just not funny anymore, those stupid local papers down there trying to make Father sound like a monster and these foreign papers pick up the headline and suddenly it's an international incident, this stale cartoon of brutal Uncle Sam trampling the underdog. To turn a phrase, I mean my God, écrasez l'infame, why don't they simply tear the hideous thing down. CYCLONE SEVEN SEEKS NEW HOME, that was a headline wasn't it? why the Village went to court in the first place? They won their appeal didn't they?

— No demolition permit.

— Well that's ridiculous. You mean the Village can't tear it down because they haven't issued themselves a permit?

— Szyrk got a restraining order while he tries to take it to the high court so now everybody who was suing him is suing the Village, James B charging them with detaining and endangering Spot and now these animal rights people joining in with a writ for unlawful restraint, sort of a canine habeas corpus with some psychological expert testifying Spot's having a nervous breakdown.

— Well isn't it? simply ridiculous?

— But it takes a jury to say so. Little James B up there in his bandages telling them how he coaxed his beloved pet near enough to reach in and rescue him and snap, they corner Judge Crease and they've got their headline. EVERY DOG ENTITLED TO ONE BITE, SAYS JUDGE.

— Well my God, Father just lost his temper, he didn't say it in court did he?

— Wasn't even in his court, it's hardly a Federal case but they got their headline, you think their readers are going to make those fine distinctions? The ones down there who can read in the first place I mean, taking a hell of a chance with his circuit court appointment but it almost sounds like he's trying to get himself disqualified in the rest of these cases, these toymakers, the Free Spot game, the Spot dolls, figurines, keyrings and the rest of the junk with the insurance companies' batteries of lawyers in there in no hurry to settle anything, business as usual that's what they're paid for. Now he's got James B's father going after these same animal rights people, posters, T shirts with their new logo, Spot framed by those steel teeth claiming free speech, fund raising in a public cause against Spot's right to own, protect and commercially exploit his own name, likeness and persona following that Federal Appeals Court 1983 ruling for Carson in Carson v. Here's Johnny Portable Toilets and their lawyers contending this right of publicity attaches only to real people, homo…

— Harry he's a Federal judge! You mean with all the carnage going on in this country wherever you look that all the government can *ìnd to worry about is portable toilets?

— Not talking about portable toilets Christina we're talking about millions of dollars, that's what this country's finally all about isn't it? We're talking about free speech, about the right of publicity, names, symbols, trademarks what this whole case that I'm on is all about. I just hope your father's confirmed for the circuit court before he gets a chance to make any more headlines like this last one.

— Well my God, he simply lost his temper again do you blame him? Those obnoxious home town reporters down there bait him until they get another headline, you just said that yourself didn't you? Vilify him any way they can since this whole idiotic business started, this vicious gossip about his drinking and his three packs of cigarettes a day and when one of them got in there and saw that ghastly praying hands thing upside down they accuse him of sacrilege on top of these snide innuendos about madness running in the family, digging up any lie they can about his father in this whole Civil War mess Oscar's got himself into, printing whatever they like while you lie here stark naked and talk about free speech and Johnny's portable toilets?

— You're saying you want me to get dressed?

— I didn't say that did I? running her hand along his ankle where it came down against her, and from there her eyes without pause back up the rest of him — no, no I like your outfit.

— Only colour it comes in Madam, you'd like it with the tassel? or without.

— Oh with! running her hand up his calf, over his rising knee as he reached out an arm — no don't, don't answer it let the tape run, you can break in if it's important can't you? and the grating echo of her own voice reciting the litany, the beep, and then a voice, a filtered imitation of a voice — Oh Teen? It's Irish. It's Trish Teen you've got to call me. I've tried and tried to reach Larry, your husband Larry? They pretended they didn't know him and then they blamed me because they said I had his name wrong Teen I may have to go to prison. Even when I got his secretary he was always in conference or in court Teen it's that wretched boy, these loathsome right to life people got hold of him and had a guardian appointed for the foetus and won a court order to stop the abortion and my lawyers don't know what they're doing, they won't talk to me they just talk to each other and send me the bills and then one of them even had the impudence to call me at the hospital where Mummy died last night and I was snatched away from that marvelous new Basque restaurant everyone's thronging to, a month in advance for a table unless you're a rock star and of course it's très cher with hordes of Japanese so it's clear at a glance there's not a soul you know all simply glaring at my diamonds, I should never have worn them, the ones that were literally torn off my throat that night in the elevator after that jubilee with Bunker? These clever insurance people had actually bought them back from the thieves if you can imagine, like these shady deals for these tiresome hostages you keep reading about in the papers, it was like seeing old friends and now they have the gall to ask for the money they gave me when they settled my perfectly legal claim, isn't that why we pay these frightful premiums year after year in the first place? It just shows the lengths they'll go to, it's all sheer greed you almost want to lose your faith in human nature, I don't know what this poor boy thinks he's up to but oh, I have to tell you. I went back and bought that sweet little Lhasa, the one we saw in the pet store window coming back from the clinic? I've got to run, Bunker's persuaded me to press charges against that pitiful creature who threw the catsup on my sables when we came out of the clinic thank God it wasn't the chinchilla Mummy would kill me so I'll miss the vernissage for what's his name I can't pronounce it, are you going? I hate to miss it but Bunker insists it's our duty to stand up to these hordes who are out to destroy civilization Teen call me, I may need you. I hate to bother Larry but he may be all that stands between me and that island, Rikers is it? remember their sign NO FOOD AT ANY PRICE and those vile hamburgers at four in the morning the night Bim stole the hearse and we all went out to Jones Beach God, those were the good times weren't they Teen, how could we know it would all turn into such a…