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Authors: Mary Stanton
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bullshit, bullshit! If those are Russian mastiffs, I’m king of the Martians.”
“King of the who?” Bree said, bemused.
“Well!” Antonia stood up and placed both hands on her hips. “I know you don’t have a lot of respect for me, Bree, being your dumb little sister and all, but I just happened to mention them tonight at the theater, and you know what John Allen Cavendish said?”
Bree chewed on her lower lip. John Allen Cavendish had been a classics undergraduate at Yale before he’d gone on to the drama school.
“He says those names mean ‘War’ and ‘Soldier’ in Latin. So what’s normal about that? Nothing! ” Antonia yelled “Aaagh!” for good measure, and then went on, rapidly, “Nobody I know seems to be able to find this office on Angelus you’ve supposedly rented—and the only actual live employee of yours I met is Ron Parchese, and there’s something weird about him, too.”
“He’s gay,” Bree said flippantly. “Maybe that’s too weird for you.”
“You’re a lot of things, Bree Beaufort, but you’re not a creep. At least, not until now.”
Bree flushed with embarrassment and said, firmly, “Cut out the drama queen crap, will you? I don’t have time for it.”
“And there’s something else.” Antonia had the brave, rather hopeless air of someone walking defenseless into an ugly storm. “Which is why I want you to get, like, a complete physical or something. You’re getting harder looking, Bree.”
Bree stared at her in exasperation. “What?!”
“Maybe it’s because you’ve lost weight. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those size six jeans of mine are, like, hanging off you.”
“Those aren’t your jeans.”
“They absolutely are! Who picked them out?”
“Who paid for them?” Bree shot back.
“Fine!” Antonia, prone to fits of temperament which were very satisfying to her, if to nobody else, made a visible effort to get herself under control. “Let’s not talk about jeans, okay? Let’s talk about this weirdness I’m seeing.”
“Okay, let’s.” Bree was good at keeping a poker face. Even a lawyer specializing in corporate tax law—actually, now that she thought about it, especially a lawyer specializing in corporate tax law these days—needed to ‘keep her head when all about her were losing theirs.’ “What’s weird, exactly?”
Antonia squinted at her. “It’s hard to say out loud. It’s like part of you is being pruned away.”
Despite Antonia’s out-of-control imagination and fondness for melodrama, she was an acute observer. Most actors had to be, if they had any hope of a career, as Antonia frequently pointed out. Bree patted her sides and admitted, “I have lost a couple of pounds. But who doesn’t need to lose a couple of pounds?”
“You remember that ceramics class Mom dragged us to when you were in Girl Scouts? It’s like you went into the kiln a person and came back out something else. Harder. Tougher. Glossier.” She leaned forward and said, with an urgency that made Bree’s flesh creep: “It’s like you’re turning into something else. Tell me something. When’s the last time you had a date?”
“A date?”
“You know. A date. A normal sex life. I thought maybe you were coming back to normal when you were flirting with Tony Haddad this afternoon, but after you came out of that meeting with Tully, and he asked you out for a drink, you, like, totally ignored him. Tony Haddad! I mean, even if you can ignore what a fabulous, fabulous brain he’s got, he’s absolutely gorgeous!”
“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to go to work in the morning.”
“You’d better have time for this. You’re, like, consumed with this career thing. It’s not normal. It’s unhealthy.”
Bree got up. “I’m going to get something to eat. Did you have dinner at the theater or do you want something, too?”
Antonia grabbed her elbow.
Bree shook it off and said tightly, “It’s not a good idea to piss me
“King of the who?” Bree said, bemused.
“Well!” Antonia stood up and placed both hands on her hips. “I know you don’t have a lot of respect for me, Bree, being your dumb little sister and all, but I just happened to mention them tonight at the theater, and you know what John Allen Cavendish said?”
Bree chewed on her lower lip. John Allen Cavendish had been a classics undergraduate at Yale before he’d gone on to the drama school.
“He says those names mean ‘War’ and ‘Soldier’ in Latin. So what’s normal about that? Nothing! ” Antonia yelled “Aaagh!” for good measure, and then went on, rapidly, “Nobody I know seems to be able to find this office on Angelus you’ve supposedly rented—and the only actual live employee of yours I met is Ron Parchese, and there’s something weird about him, too.”
“He’s gay,” Bree said flippantly. “Maybe that’s too weird for you.”
“You’re a lot of things, Bree Beaufort, but you’re not a creep. At least, not until now.”
Bree flushed with embarrassment and said, firmly, “Cut out the drama queen crap, will you? I don’t have time for it.”
“And there’s something else.” Antonia had the brave, rather hopeless air of someone walking defenseless into an ugly storm. “Which is why I want you to get, like, a complete physical or something. You’re getting harder looking, Bree.”
Bree stared at her in exasperation. “What?!”
“Maybe it’s because you’ve lost weight. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those size six jeans of mine are, like, hanging off you.”
“Those aren’t your jeans.”
“They absolutely are! Who picked them out?”
“Who paid for them?” Bree shot back.
“Fine!” Antonia, prone to fits of temperament which were very satisfying to her, if to nobody else, made a visible effort to get herself under control. “Let’s not talk about jeans, okay? Let’s talk about this weirdness I’m seeing.”
“Okay, let’s.” Bree was good at keeping a poker face. Even a lawyer specializing in corporate tax law—actually, now that she thought about it, especially a lawyer specializing in corporate tax law these days—needed to ‘keep her head when all about her were losing theirs.’ “What’s weird, exactly?”
Antonia squinted at her. “It’s hard to say out loud. It’s like part of you is being pruned away.”
Despite Antonia’s out-of-control imagination and fondness for melodrama, she was an acute observer. Most actors had to be, if they had any hope of a career, as Antonia frequently pointed out. Bree patted her sides and admitted, “I have lost a couple of pounds. But who doesn’t need to lose a couple of pounds?”
“You remember that ceramics class Mom dragged us to when you were in Girl Scouts? It’s like you went into the kiln a person and came back out something else. Harder. Tougher. Glossier.” She leaned forward and said, with an urgency that made Bree’s flesh creep: “It’s like you’re turning into something else. Tell me something. When’s the last time you had a date?”
“A date?”
“You know. A date. A normal sex life. I thought maybe you were coming back to normal when you were flirting with Tony Haddad this afternoon, but after you came out of that meeting with Tully, and he asked you out for a drink, you, like, totally ignored him. Tony Haddad! I mean, even if you can ignore what a fabulous, fabulous brain he’s got, he’s absolutely gorgeous!”
“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to go to work in the morning.”
“You’d better have time for this. You’re, like, consumed with this career thing. It’s not normal. It’s unhealthy.”
Bree got up. “I’m going to get something to eat. Did you have dinner at the theater or do you want something, too?”
Antonia grabbed her elbow.
Bree shook it off and said tightly, “It’s not a good idea to piss me
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