story

Hello. my name is Claire Duvall. i was born in ireland, and lived there till i was five. yes i did have an accent for awhile, untill my English kindergarden teacher drove it out of me. i miss it with all my heart. before i came to the US i attended a very prestigious preschool, where the nuns would beat us with rulers. i wish i had the scars to show but they have all vanished mystriously about three years ago.
now i live in new york with my husband, hans. We go to cocktail parties and drink untill the sun rises in the east. i don't really like him much, but dont tell him i told you that. last night he found out that i had been sleeping with the kitchen girl, and he beat me with his italian lether belt. i wish i could leave him, but sometimes he is so sweet that a couple of broken ribs, black eyes, and a concussionseem a small price to pay. i use to work as a lawyer for a very large firm, but hans says that princesses should not have to work. so now i spend my days-shopping fith avenue, and drinking opium in my tea. isn't it just lovely.

so there i was at this party where i didnt really know anyone at all. i was standing for the moment all by myself off to the side of the room next to a very large and very loud painting. i had had some tea, if you know what i mean, beofore the party, and i was significant way though my second glass of champagne, so i was feeling very relaxed, and sort of swimmy.

suddenly i heard a voice from behind me. it was a man.
"do you think i am sexy?" he asked
"huh" i said
"i said... do you think i am sexy? you know lots of woman", he looks me up and down " think that i am sexy"
" thats nice", i siad, not wanting to answer his question and also not wanting to sound interesting at all so that he would find me boring and go away. my husband hans was in the restroom. well now, come to think of it he had been in there a long time, and he would not want me talking to another man, especially someone who was coming on so strong. hans can get very physical when he is mad, and being drunk doesn't help much either.
the strange guy stepped a little closer
"i'm from spain you know. men from spain are said to be great lovers. i had so many women in spain wanting to be with me. i could have that here too if i wanted. but tonight i save all the sexiness for you, and only you."
"o.. oh thats nice...."

but just than, in a manner of speaking, i was saved. hans had stumbled out of the bathroom, his arm wrapped around a young girl. the pary fell silent. they stared at hans and the girl trying to get their balance in their drunken stupor, and then one by one, they turned and looked at me. i must have turned a brilliant shade of red. they were all looking at me like, ' you're a sweet little thing, why would he need another?' hans started to make his way over to me while saying;
"everything's all... right, maybe this party won't suck after all."
hans came over and took my arm with his free one, he must have looked like a pimp, one girl on each arm.

in the town car on the way home, i sat scrunched to one side, sara, the girl, sat in the center, well more like it in han's lap, on the other side of the car. hans broke what felt like an uncomfortable silence.
"hey claire-a dear. don't you think sara's cute? isnt she cute" he gave her a little kiss, and whent on " you know, we could have a lot of fun tonight...."
i told him i wasnt in the mood, and that all i wanted was to go to bed.

in our apartment, there is one bed, our bed. it's a kin, but some times it can feel so small. i slept on one side, they "slept" on the other.
the next morning when i woke up, hans was gone. where he had gone i had no idea, but there was sara, aged nineteen, curled up against me in the very large bed.

The END