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Once she vanquished half a dozen frat boys sporting 8's and topped off the show with the defeat of a few freaks exhibiting 12's and 14's, her fame would be assured and the fortune would follow. She could achieve that goal tonight.
Having witnessed her domination of Frank that morning in the kitchen, I was prepared for the inevitable. Annie was no ordinary young woman. I saw her overwhelm Frank with the same unique power that made her a piano virtuoso.
Annie's dialogue with her mother about whoring had revealed the depth of her interest in performance sex. I saw a frightening flash of dark energy flash in her eyes. It could have come only from the uncharted unconscious. Annie was her mother's daughter, not her father's exemplar of interpreting Bach, Beethoven and mozart.
Seeds of commitment were there in her depths. She was free to cultivate them as she wished.
By midnight tonight there would be nothing for me to salvage. Why destroy myself when there was no longer an Annie to save?
All I could do now was sing "God Save The Queen" and hope there were no whores in The Marine Band. Buddy had not yet received his invitation to join the historic organization, but I was confident that he would qualify. Buddy mirrored excellence.
Would I kill them? Undoubtedly, as a civilized social scientist espousing the highest ideals, I would release myself from my pledge to kill them. My reasoning, however, in giving them a pardon was weak.
Wreaking vengeance on Sophie and Annie possibly would feed a sinister need of my own; but that need must compete with many other needs, few of which stem from perversity. As better thinkers than I have written, love never dies and forever attempts to confer upon the betrayer an inexplicable immunity from retribution.
Annie had potrayed my vision of excellence. She was beauty personified.
Such a mortal condition was so rare and unexamined that guiding assumptions did not exist. Was there a limit to the protection such perfection received from Providence? Where did whores endowed with such beauty stand in the eternal firmament?
My daughter was fortunate that I worshipped Providential beauty and perfection, albeit exemplified in an aggressive whore. She was safe, at least in the interim.
Defacing God's supreme accomplishment would have profound implications for the survival of my soul. Harming Annie would test the anchors of my being.
Could I summon a Mr. Hyde? Thought of becoming a Wolf Man was bit more preposterous.
Holding Sophie accountable presented a broader plain of judgments. And I was no destiny mechanic. Fate measured retribution with supernatural precision that only caught my interest incidentally as an academic.
In my wife's case, retribution could become esoteric. Rewards could become punishments. Punishments could become essays from the ghost of Dr. de Sade and Machiavelli. Individual differences determined the weight and nature of penalties dealt by Fate and Nature.
Also, further complicating the scene, Sophie, the legendary whore with the billion-dollar pussy, was beautiful but not in Annie's class. Whether that apparent contradiction would work to her disadvantage remained to be seen. Another troubling question arose from efforts to define and classify beauty.
My love for Sophie had bought her some time. Competition with Fate always led to defeat.
I was in no hurry to act on my convictions.
Obviously, retribution from some source already was evident. Sophie's Vodka addiction assisted by the debilitating ravages of noxious guilt was a merciless executioner.
What was I to do about my old friend, Dr. Frank Malone? Frank was neither perfect nor beautiful. I had no reason to suspend or delay.
Dr. Frank Malone, who purported to be God's gift to academe, would hear from me. His shelf life just expired.
Refreshing rain was coming down as a visible phenomena. Fortunately my watch was cheap and waterproof. It was only 9 o'clock.
Beatrice would not be disturbed if I stopped by for English Breakfast Tea and to get some notes that I needed. My outline for the seminar would be complete by seminar time Monday.
My seminal question for the nine doctoral aspirants had crystallized.
Does Fate's protection for beautiful whores have an expiration date?
END (Until we meet again. Hopefully.)
