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SUSAN SONTAG
kids
go-and Recording Secretary of the local League of Women
Voters. She has 9 and
%
books of King Kom trading stamps and
a 1962 Oldsmobile. Her mother- that's my mother-in-Iaw-would
be mad as hell if I let you get away with this." He paused.
"If
I
let you get away with this-Mr. Obscenity-sir."
"That's better," said Mr. Obscenity.
"Jim," Miss Flatface called out in a cross tone. "It's no use,
Jim. I've changed. I'm not coming home."
Something like a chariot, drawn by a team of two roan horses,
pulled up before the frosted glass doors. Mr. Obscenity vaulted into
his seat, and with a gesture that admitted of no refusal, summoned
Miss Flatface to hers. Above the clattering hoofs, as they sped away,
moans and giggles could be heard.
2.
Back home, Miss Flatface- formerly Mrs. Johnson-had been
renowned for having the cleanest garbage on the block. But
in
the
place to which Mr. Obscenity had spirited her, nothing seemed
amenable to the laws of sanitation as she had known them. Overripe
peaches were languidly let fall, half-eaten, onto the whitewashed
wood floors. Sheets of pale blue legal-size paper were scrawled
over with drawings of the male and female genitals, crumpled, then
hurled into a corner of the room. Winestains flourished on the
damask tablecloths, which were never changed. A flaking lipstick–
smeared magazine photo of Marlon Brando was nailed on the inside
of the closet door; the window sills remained undusted; there was
barely time for Miss Flatface to brush her teeth once a day; and
the condition of the bed- particularly that of the pillow, bristling
with tiny feathers- was not to be believed.
From her window Miss Flatface could see the ocean, and a
carrousel and a roller coaster called "The Hurricane," and small
figures-grouped in twos and in families-sauntering up and down
the boardwalk. It was summertime, and the several greasy fans about
the room carved the air without vanquishing the heat. Miss Flatface
longed to bathe in the ocean, though she would not have dreamed of
washing off the pungent body smells that Mr. Obscenity relished.
Her craving for cotton candy was more feasible. Practically no
sooner had she voiced this wish than there it lay, wrapped
in
news-
