“Jill?” Sunshine asks, trepidatiously. “Was that your boyfriend, or something?”
“Jason? No. Just a friend.”
Sunshine looks puzzled. “Then… I don’t get it. I don’t understand what you’re upset about.”
Jillian glares at her. “You gotta be kidding me. Did you actually see what was going on back there?”
“Well, yes, I think so, but…”
“I swear, she didn’t meet him even an hour ago, Sunshine. Can you believe that shit?” Jillian shakes her head in disgust. “She doesn’t even know the guy for an hour, and she’s gotta run off into the woods and give him a blowjob.” She snorts. “What a fucking whore. My best friend.”
“But Jill, it didn’t look like anybody was hurting anybody…”
“You’re right about that,” Jillian admits, grimly.
“And I don’t think that either of them was forcing the other one to do anything.”
Jillian crosses her arms. “What’s your point.”
Sunshine appears to be taken aback by Jillian’s forcefulness. “Well,” she says tentatively, “if nobody was getting hurt or being forced to do something against their will, and if all they were doing was pleasuring each other, I guess I don’t understand what you’re upset about.”
“Oh, so you think it’s okay to go around sucking off guys that you don’t even know?” Jillian is livid. “She didn’t even have the decency to drag him off to a motel, for Chrissakes. She had to do it right here on my goddamn front lawn.” Jillian shakes her head again, she still can’t believe it. “You don’t see anything wrong with that?”
“I think it’s a question of intent,” Sunshine says, choosing her words carefully. “And I don’t think they intended to cause any offense. It looked to me like they just wanted to give each other some pleasure. And no, I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
“Well, then maybe you’re as much of a slut as she is,” Jillian snarls. And she wheels sharply and walks away, leaving Sunshine standing at the edge of thicket, bewildered and hurt, and feeling very, very much alone.
2.5.8: Dallas
“I don’t know where she is, Mrs. Kendal. We’ve looked all over the place for her.”
“Isn’t that just like her.” Barbara Anne Kendal waves her arms in dismay as she paces back and forth on the lawn. “She’s the one who wanted to have this party. You think she’d be responsible enough to stick around to see that her guests are taken care of, wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose so ma’am.” Suspecting that a reply is not called for, Darvell Tallent tries to be as non-committal as possible.
This has been an unusual night for the ex-Cowboy. The biggest problem at these society bashes usually comes when it’s time to discreetly persuade dangerously intoxicated guests not to try to drive themselves home. But this party, Tallent reflects, has been anything but ordinary. First, that guru dude appears at the gate. Then there’s the unpleasant encounter with that pushy lady reporter – although Tallent has to admit that that incident was somewhat rewarding, in a perverse kind of way.
And now, this.
“Darvell, under no circumstances are you to allow this… this person to circulate among the guests until you have confirmed his story with Jill,” Barbara Anne says, firmly. “And even if what he says is true, he must agree to refrain from harassing people and handing out his… his leaflets, or whatever they are, or he must leave. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, Mrs. Kendal. I’ll take care of it.”
“Mother, have you seen Uncle Stan?” Jillian asks as she strolls into the scene, blissfully unaware of what she’s strolling into. “He hasn’t left yet, has he? I can’t…”
“Never you mind about your Uncle Stan,” Barbara Anne snaps, and Tallent can clearly hear the sharp edges of tension poking through her controlled tones. “Where have you been, young lady? Darvell has had the entire security force scouring the grounds for you.”
“I was showing Sunshine around,” Jillian says, defensively. “We took a short-cut through the… Why has everybody been looking for me? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong,” Barbara Anne says angrily, “is that someone has been disturbing our guests. Your guests, Jillian. It would have been fitting for you to handle the situation, but you’ve obviously had better things to do than to be a good hostess.”
“Mother,” Jillian bristles, “you’re being totally unfair. Sunshine’s a guest, too. I was showing her around. I can’t be everywhere at the same time.”
“You seem to be everywhere but where you’re needed. As always.”
For a few long moments, mother and daughter glare at each other, neither backing down, neither giving an inch, the same ice-cold anger gleaming in their eyes. Tallent glances at both of their faces without apparent interest, then seems to find something fascinating to stare at on the back of his hands.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to lighten up for a couple of hours, Mother,” Jillian says. “This is a party, for God’s sake.”
“This is your party, Jillian,” Barbara Anne retorts. “And it wouldn’t hurt you to assume just a glimmer of social responsibility. In fact, it would be a most welcome surprise.”
“Goddamn it to hell. I can’t leave you two heifers alone for a minute without you getting your bowels in an uproar.” G.W. Kendal strides purposefully up to the two women and looks them up and down. “Does somebody want to tell me just what in God’s name is going on around here? Kent Hanscomb tells me that some A-rab terrorist is making a ruckus, getting everybody all riled up.” Whirling around, he barks, “Darvell, fill me in.”
“It’s not all that bad, Mr. Kendal,” Tallent says. Although he has seen it happen before, he’s always uncomfortable when the two Kendal women square off, and he’s relieved to be getting back to business. “I don’t think he’s an Arab, I think he may be Asiatic, I’m not sure. But he’s definitely a terrorist. He’s been arguing with some of the guests, something about that the United States shouldn’t go to the Olympics. He’s been pretty insistent, and he’s been handing out these leaflets.” He holds up a sheet of red paper. “Some of the guests have complained. We have him under control now.”
“Does he have an invitation?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, then, how the hell did he get in?”
“We don’t know that yet.” G.W.’s unspoken criticism is well understood, but Tallent resists the temptation to suggest possible explanations that would, he knows, sound like excuses. “We’re checking into it.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you just boot the son-of-a-bitch? Why are you bothering us about it, Darvell?” G.W. is somewhat short of being angry, but Tallent can see that he’s working on it, he’s cruised past annoyed and he’s rapidly approaching disturbed. “Goddamn it,” G.W. says, “I’m paying you good money to take care of shit like this.”
“He claims to be a friend of your daughter’s, sir,” Tallent says. “We didn’t want to do anything until we checked with her.”
“A friend of mine?” Jillian is taken aback. All eyes turn to her. “He says he’s a friend of mine?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Barbara Anne mutters under her breath, just loud enough for Jillian to hear.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tallent says. “He says he knows you from school. And that part checks out, he has an SMU student ID. His name is…” – Tallent pulls a small pad from his pocket, and skims through the pages – “…let me see, his name is…”
Jillian grimaces and covers her eyes with one hand. “Akaso Siko,” she says softly.
“Akaso Siko,” Tallent confirms.
“I knew it,” Barbara Anne says, smugly.
“He’s not a friend of mine,” Jillian says. “I only met him once, at school. He’s from Qen Phon. His father was some kind of politician over there, or something. He’s not a friend of mine,” she repeats.
G.W. motions at the red paper. “What’s it say, Darvell?”
Tallent clears hi
s throat, as if he’s getting ready for a dramatic performance. “Stop the Olympics,” he reads. “When will it end?” He glances up at his audience. “It says that in real big letters,” he explains. “And below that, in smaller letters…”
“Just read the damn thing,” G.W. growls.
Tallent clears his throat again. “The tyrant Tanami cannot survive without the support of the warmongers in Washington,” he reads, in as flat a voice as he can muster. “The people of Qen Phon call on American Olympians to renounce the imperialist policies of their government and boycott the…”
“What kind of communist bullshit is this?” G.W. fumes, to no one in particular. He grabs the flyer from Tallent’s hands, crumples it into a wad, and flings it to the ground. “I guess you know what to do, Darvell.”
“No, wait.” Jillian holds up a hand and looks around uncertainly, as if she can’t quite believe that she’s about to get involved. “Let me talk to him, Daddy,” she finally says. “I’ll tell him that he can stay only if he doesn’t bother anybody or hand out his leaflets anymore.”
“Jillian, really.” Barbara Anne is clearly disgusted. “He doesn’t sound like the kind of person we want to subject our guests to. He’s a… a communist, for God’s sake. Or maybe even a terrorist. You heard your father.”
“And it’s almost over anyway, Daddy,” Jillian pleads. “Half of the people have gone home already, and most everybody’ll be gone in another hour. If he promises to be good, what’s the harm in letting him stay?”
“Honestly, Jillian.” Barbara Anne shakes her head. “Sometimes you don’t seem to have even the tiniest bit of sense.”
There’s a long moment of silence while G.W. appears to mull it over. “Well,” he drawls, “I don’t guess it’ll hurt any to let him hang around for a while.”
“G.W.!” Barbara Anne is aghast. “Whatever are you…”
“Now don’t get your panties all in a wad, Barbara Anne,” G.W. interrupts. “You just let me handle this.”
For a moment, Barbara Anne stands stock still. “We’ll discuss this later, G.W.,” she finally says, icicles hanging from each syllable. She spins and walks off.
G.W. sighs. “Well, horseshit,” he says, under his breath.
“Thank you, Daddy.” Jillian kisses him on the cheek.
“Whoa, you just hold on, now, little lady,” G.W. says, grabbing Jillian’s arm as she starts to turn away. “You listen up and you listen good. I’ve stuck my neck way out for you, and I’m going to hear about this for a long time, you can bet your ass on that.” He stares into Jillian’s eyes. “So you damn well better make sure that this feller, whatever his name is, that he doesn’t give anybody any trouble. If he so much as looks at anybody cross-eyed, I’ll have Darvell kick his ass clear to Oklahoma.”
“I know, Daddy.” Jillian smiles what Tallent suspects must be her best daughterly-appreciation smile. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You do that,” G.W. says, trying to sound gruff.
But even Darvell Tallent can tell that it’s a bluff, that what he has always suspected is true: Jillian Kendal can wrap her old man clean around her little finger, and that she can do it any old time she feels like it.
2.5.9: Dallas
“Under no circumstances will I renounce the legitimate hopes and aspirations of my people.”
Akaso Siko stands calmly next to the chair in which he has been sitting, waiting. He holds a stack of brightly colored flyers. His eyes dart nervously from Jillian to the large men who surround him. “The minions of the butcher Tanami have not been able to prevent me from speaking the truth,” he says. “Your storm troopers will have to kill me, as Tanami murdered my father, to silence my voice.”
Jillian is stunned. “Akaso,” she says, “we’re not… nobody’s trying to silence you.” Why is he being so unreasonable? “But look, this is a party, not a political rally. I mean, I understand the way you feel, really I do, and I respect that, believe me. All I’m trying to say is that maybe your behavior is a little… oh, what’s the word I’m looking for… a little inappropriate.” She smiles at him. He glowers back at her. “You’re welcome to stay, Akaso, and I’m not suggesting that you should change your beliefs. I’m only asking you not to be so… so aggressive about them while you’re here. And stop handing out your leaflets. That’s all.”
“I appreciate what you are trying to do, Jill Kendal,” Akaso says, but Jillian doesn’t think that he sounds at all appreciative. “I have no animosity toward you, personally,” he adds, although he’s staring daggers right through her. “But my people, the people that I love, my family – they are being tortured, they are being raped, they are being maimed and murdered, every day. They cry out with their dying breaths for me to take action. I cannot ignore their pleas.”
“But, Akaso,” Jillian repeats, “this is just a party. Most people here aren’t even involved in American politics, much less Qen Phon politics.”
Akaso smiles, coldly. “Your naiveté is astounding,” he sneers. “Everything here is related to the political situation in Qen Phon.” He waves his hands in an all-encompassing gesture. “My people are starving, and you gather here in all your fine decadence to celebrate your journey to Qen Phon, where for two weeks you and your friends will… will play games! You will play your stupid games on the bones of my people!” He appears to be working himself up into a frenzy.
“The Olympics stand for peace, Akaso,” Jillian says. “If there’s violence in Qen Phon, it’s not our fault. We don’t have anything to do with it.”
“It is unforgivable. You cannot escape blame by pleading ignorance.” Akaso spits on the ground. “You have already rid yourself of a journalist so that the world would not know about the despicable things you do here,” he continues, a cold fury burning in his voice. “But you will not be able to silence the cries of the people of Qen Phon so easily.”
“Are you talking about Leida Andersen?” Jillian asks, incredulously. The situation is taking on a definite air of unreality. This can’t be happening, not at her party. “I forgot all about that. Whatever happened with her?” she asks Tallent.
“We asked her to leave, as you requested,” Tallent says. “We cleared it with your father, of course. He told us to do whatever you said to do.” Tallent grins. “Frankly, I don’t think he liked the idea of that reporter being here any more than you did.”
“Did she give you a hard time?” Jillian asks, apologetically.
Tallent shakes his head. “Not a peep. She went just as gentle as a lamb. You’d of thought…”
“You cannot hide what you do here!” Akaso shouts, suddenly animated. “Are you so ignorant that you think you can protect yourselves by eliminating a single journalist? The truth will be revealed! Your father exploits poor people all over the world. You and your family live in luxury while children in my country beg for food.”
Akaso takes a step toward Jillian. Two burly security guards move forward. But Jillian notices that Tallent, who has assumed a position directly behind Akaso, restrains his men with a barely perceptible motion. Akaso has a little more time, but clearly, his time is running out.
Well, she tried.
And she’s just about to shrug and tell Tallent to go ahead and kick Akaso out when Akaso starts to shout at her. “You can no longer hide behind your ignorance!” he screams, nearly in her face. “You must accept responsibility for your life! You must repent for the crimes of your father! My father died so that his people might live. Your father steals from the poor so that you can surround yourself with…”
But before Akaso can complete this thought, Jillian slaps him across the face, as hard as she can. His head snaps to the side. He grabs reflexively at his cheek, which bears the clear imprint of Jillian’s hand. For a moment he appears to be confused. But then his eyes flash with anger and he mutters something under his breath. He balls his hand into a fist, he raises his arm, he starts to swing it at Jillian…
But his arm has barely started to move i
n her direction when Tallent grabs it from behind and, in one fluid motion, twists it behind Akaso’s back. The fingers of his other hand encircle Akaso’s left arm like it’s a twig. “Let’s go, fella,” he says calmly. “You’re leaving.”
“You have no right to talk about Daddy like that,” Jillian says, through clenched teeth. Even when Akaso’s fist was aimed at her, she had not flinched, so they still stand eye to eye. “He’s one of the kindest, gentlest people in the whole world,” she says. “He’s never done anything to you. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Miss Kendal,” Tallent says, “I think it would be best if you’d leave this to us.” He tugs on Akaso’s arm, but Akaso resists with surprising strength. Tallent motions for assistance, and two other guards spring into action, literally wrestling Akaso to the ground. Red papers fly in every direction. In only a few seconds, the three men have pinned Akaso face down on the grass, his arms bent behind him.
As Jillian watches in horror, Tallent pulls a gun from a shoulder holster and holds the barrel to Akaso’s head.
“Shoot me, you fascist murderers!” Akaso shouts, intensifying his struggles. “I am not afraid to die! You cannot murder the will of my people!”
Jillian stares at the revolver, horrified. “Is that really necessary?” she asks.
“Miss Kendal,” Tallent repeats, “it really would be best if you’d get back to the party. We’ll handle it from here.”
“What the hell is going on!” G.W. Kendal roars. Sputtering, he surveys the scene, hands on his hips. “Jesus Christ almighty, you can probably hear the ruckus clear on the other side of the goddamn lake!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kendal,” Tallent says. “It did get a little out of hand,” he admits. “But we have the situation under control now.”
“Is that a fact?” G.W. fumes. “But I see that it took three of you and a goddamn thirty-eight to handle this one little feller.” Akaso, the little feller in question, has stopped struggling, and lies panting on the grass.
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