THE S CLUB

Mother had made a pot roast and served with it petite peas and pearl onions. Mother, Father, Madge and I sat around the kitchen table. The night had fallen like deep blue felt. There was an autumn chill in the air which reminded everybody that the recent respite of Indian Summer was drawing to a close. Farley’s shrieks laced the night. Boom was barbecuing steak and screaming at her children.

My mother’s eyebrows rose, her hazel eyes looked down upon her plate. “That doesn’t sound very attractive does it?”

“Not at all,” Father responded as he dabbed his lips with his napkin. ”They are driving each other crazy and deaf. Edmund,” he said snapping his fingers. ”The horse radish.”

I gave him the horseradish.

“I feel sorry for them,” said Mother.

My father eyed her with a philosophic disdain.

My mother voted for Kennedy and is a Civil Rights advocate. My father isn’t by any means and his vote for Nixon proved it.

All this means is that my mother has a tendency to be more understanding and sympathetic, while my father is not,

“You know,” began my mother, “the children will never recover from the divorce.” She sighed. ”I feel sorry for them. They are just so confused.” My mother’s voice hit a Helen Hayes’ frequency and something about it, turns on me and makes me sad.

“Please,” said my Father as if really didn’t have the time or the interest to discuss the matter any further. “It doesn’t matter. They are all imbeciles to begin with.”

“Well, I don’t think the kids mind so much,” remarked Madge, “in a way, they kind of like it.” Madge spooned her peas. I mean they get to play their parents off one another and stuff.” She smiled.

“I don’t think Farley likes it,” I said.

“Well that’s Farley,” spat Madge. ”That chick is something else all together. It’s nineteen sixty-three, she is eight years old and she plays with dolls. If that is not retarded, then I don’t know what is.”

Mother gazed at Madge, ”You should be a little more kind,” she said.

“For what??” Madge answered with an annoyed scowl.

“For no reason...no reason at all.” My mother said with her bosom full of Christian and altruistic virtue.

“That’s silly,” snapped my sister pragmatically.

My father and my sister winked at each other and laughed.

“O.K. It’s sad,” my father conceded. “It’s sad and it happens all the time.”

“NEIL,” bellowed Farley, ”stop it.”

“But does it have to be so loud?” added my Father.

“Don’t you see that they just can’t help it? Its just desperation,” said my Mother. “One should try to be more ...kind to them. Be understanding.”

“Boom is just flagrant and stupid. They are going to drive each other deaf,” said Father in an almost angry tone.

“It still doesn’t excuse one from being understanding,” replied my Mother, not budging.

“Understood and avoided,” said my Father. For a terse moment, the family played with their food.

“Well,” said my Father, “what do you think? Edmund.”

Ugh. Well what I really thought was that I’d really like to get into Boom’s pants. The reason being that she was a glamour girl. Like something out of the movies. I mean, she was pretty and she was racy. She flirted and there was something about her that was so “existential”. Maybe the word is either “desperate” or “horny.” What I am trying to say is that I am positive, that if the time is right, she is crazy enough to go down on me even if I wear glasses, use Clearasil, and am only fourteen.

“I really hadn’t thought about it,” I said, ”I think it’s sad but it’s their business.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more,” said my Father, he cleared his throat to segue changing the subject. ”Now, children, what kind of day did you have?”

“All right,” I said. After two weeks of school, I had finally mastered my locker combination. I hated gym, science and math. I hated the hoods who smoked Marlboros in the bathroom. I wasn’t smart or obsequious enough to be teacher’s pet. The most I wanted from school was to be left alone.

“All right,” he said.

“Yes, just all right.” I replied.

“And how about you little Missy ?”

“School was O.K.,” she said. ”Best thing about today is tomorrow. Saturday. I can sleep late.”

“Well,” said my father. “I had an absolutely splendid day. I had an important meeting with Du Pont today. They are coming out with shoes made of the most incredible plastic synthetic. The shoes will last forever and you never have to polish them. Just wipe them with a sponge and they look good as new.”

Wow! The Future had just sat down to dinner with us.

“It will revolutionize footwear forever.” he said all excited.”Du Pont has asked me to name the material and market the footwear.”

I had never seen my Father beam so. It seems that the Future had not only sat down to have dinner with us but was going to pay off the mortgage as well.

Everything is going to be wonderful.

“That’s terrific,” burst out Madge with her mouth full. ”How much are you going to make?”

A startled look swept across my Father’s face. “Gee, dear, it is impolite to ask...”

“Then can I get a horse?”

Father hated horses. He especially hated horses because Jackie Kennedy rode horses. And he hated Jackie Kennedy because she was married to Jack Kennedy. And he hated Jack Kennedy because Jack Kennedy was Joe Kennedy’s son. Well, that’s what he said but I think he hated Jack Kennedy because Jack Kennedy had a full head of hair (my father didn’t) and because he made more money than my father.

I never told my father this. I was brought to be totally frightened of my father and thus we never discussed our differences (or defects). So I silently admired John F.Kennedy.

“Well dear,” said my Father answering my sister, “we will think about that.”

“How about if I get straight A’s for an entire school year.”

My father smirked. ”Well, if you get straight A’s that’s an entirely different matter altogether.” He smiled. “You just have to promise that you won’t name it what Caroline Kennedy named hers.”

“Dad,” I said. ”What are you going to call this stuff?′

“I don’t know, something catchy and says it all! Imagine if this stuff takes off, we may put Kiwi shoe polish out of business.”

“Wow! All those poor shoe shine boys at the bottom of Penn Station,” I remarked from the pith of my Liberal heart.

“How about calling it Fantastic Leather or Super Shoes,” ventured Madge

“We want a one word name,” Father pontificated. “It’s easier for people to remember it that way.”

“How about Fantastichyde,” I said blurting out in an inspiration.

My father peered deep into my eyes. There were no other sounds or any other thoughts in our universe. Very, very, close. He sensed my potential as an ad or marketing man. ”Very, very, very close.” he said, “but it sounds too much like embalming fluid.”