The Pertinent Age

(Note: This story contains reference to racial stereotypes.)

“Oh, darling, it would be a true shame if we were to miss the party tonight. And all that rot. I suspect that if Dr. Franklin should forget his famous tapestries the whole world would be up in arms, wouldn’t it?”

“I heard the princess got married last week.”

“Truly? Truly, is it?”

“Yes, and he’s black.”

“He’s what?”

“He’s black.”

“Oh, balderdash!”

“Why, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“As true as a state exam in a McDonald’s drive through.”

“What isn’t true about it? Seems mighty true to me.”

“The only thing that’s ‘true’ is that she got married.”

“Well, I saw the man myself, didn’t I? With my own two eyes.”

“Why is it that every white woman has to give up her body in order to satisfy some lustful paradigm. Such a weakness.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. She seems pretty happy. You should see their children?”

“Children? Future bank robbers, the lot of them. I will have none of it. I’ve told you, Esmery, nothing but the utmost of trouble.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“What do I think?”

“Yes, what do you think?”

“I think that people should lay with people and beasts should lay with beasts. That’s what I think.”

“They seem really happy.”

“We have no time for happiness. Our people. We have a civilization to build! Happiness is for the homeless and those on welfare, which is what I suspect this ‘man’ does for a living.”

“Well, at least they can go to sleep at night.”

“Sleep? Who said anything about sleep? I’d rather sleep on the freeway than to have some animal clawing my purse and my body all night.”

“What is it?”

“What do you mean, ‘what is it’?”

“Do you approve or don’t you?”

“We build civilizations, not charity cases.”

“You’re forgetting…”

“What? Forgetting what?”

“I’m Irish. You’re Anglo. You think of yourself in relation to me the same way you think about us in relation to them.”

“That was the past. Nowadays, there isn’t more than about five point’s difference in the IQ of an Irish person and us. You are always good in my book.”

“Well, that is to be expected.”

“Yes, well, anyway, it shouldn’t be long before there’s ‘trouble in paradise’ and we should remember that their blood pulls us down. There isn’t enough strength in all the blood of the forefathers to lift them up.”

“Look, if you don’t like him, at least come to the anniversary party.”

“Anniversary? Slavery is over! There’s no need to keep bringing that up.”

“Of course, you know I meant the anniversary of their marriage.”

“Well?”

“Well.”

“Well, I should want to no, personally, what this man has to offer. Does he spend every day funching at ball baskets or does he actually have a job?”

“No.”

“Oh, my God.”

“He’s a CEO of his own company.”

“CEO of his own company. I’m assuming it was some sort of minority advantage program. Some kind of a leg up?”

“Oh, he’s CEO alright. It wouldn’t be much to say that he’s probably made a million deals by now.”

“What deals? A swimming pool full of purple soda?”

“Look, you should calm down.”

“Look, Esmery. I think I’m going to be working my way back to that book club I was talking about.”

“What book club?”

“The one at the library.”

“What do you do at the book club?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you do at the book club? At the library?”

“Well, we talk about books that we read.”

“Who decides what you read?”

“Who?”

“Yes. Who. Who decides which books the group reads that month? Week?”

“The librarians.”

“The librarians?”

“Yes. Esmery, I have my manuscript. Do you remember when I told you that I had a manuscript?”

“Yes, I do, Alta. What do you want to do with it?”

“I want to submit it!”

“Submit it? To whom?”

“Why, to a publisher, of course.”

“Why would you do that? Can’t you just will it onto the bookshelves?”

“So funny, and yet so misunderstood.”

“I want you to remember that things aren’t always going to go the way you want them to.”

“Well, I know, Esmery. I know.”

“And Alta, not everyone is going to like your book.”

“Thank goodness I wrote it!”

“Well, you’re not going to like it when you get negative feedback. I’m just informing you.”

“Well, It’s not easy to write, either.”

“What I’m saying is that, when you write something like a book it’s like your baby. You don’t want anybody to criticize it.”

“I know. What do you think I should do?”

“Send it out to an editor.”

“I’ve had it edited many times. Many times. It’s been put through the ringer.”

“Well, read over it just one more time.”

“Esmery.”

“Yes, Alta?”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“Crazy for what?”

“You think I’m crazy because I want to be a writer, don’t you?”

“Well, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Thank goodness I wrote my book! All these beautiful ideas locked way in my little head. Well, I could only imagine what would become of them if I couldn’t find the courage to make my way forth.”

“Alta?”

“Yes, Esmery.”

“Ultimately, Alta, it’s up to you. Only you really know what you should do. Is it really ready for publication? I don’t know. That’s not for me to decide.”

“Well, I guess it’s something that I’ll just have to figure out.”

“What is the name of the book?”

“The Pertinent Age. It’s a book about a frostbitten werewolf and his journey through England of the Middle Ages.”

“The Pertinent Age?”

“Yes. So much feeling. So many stories. Such little interest.”

“Who will you write in your dedication?”

“Dedication?”

“Yes. Every book needs a dedication.”

“Well, I haven’t thought about that. Who do you think I should put in it? I don’t even know.”

“Well, it might be best to just put me in there.”