Vicky Swanky Is a Beauty Read online

  I came to rest in front of the elegant Blue Tree.

  I had on a gather skirt—steeped in red—a blouse with a series of buttons, hair combed. I noted my showy, stylish approach in the shop window glass with relieved surprise.

  Once inside, I bought a simulated coral and onyx necklace, colorless beads, another necklace with swiftly flowing floral decorations, with ruby and gold glints that gives me a liberally watered shine.

  When exiting, I studied trifling clouds stacked deliberately.

  By and by, Moffat came along, popping out his fingers bouquet-style and calling my name.

  He made a simultaneous outward swipe, with both his hands, with his fingers spread.

  What a darling! No bad side. He has a strong activity level and a good sense of presentation and he’s tentatively changed his mind—about me!

  He’s added, throughout his life, quite a rare group of us to his collection.

  Penelope, for one, has a coiffure with a small, japanned bun and she’s very neatly sweet.

  My intention, with my own flourishes, is to create an impression of frankness and ambition.

  I am prepared to be examined again.

  I should be observed strongly and for a long time, so they can see the changes of my colors during the goings-on.

  DEFEAT

  One Healdsburg Taxicab arrived while she put three wide, wide pieces of paper into her waste can. A peculiarly restricted number of flowers had been cast into the vase and Julius Minx is now here and he exceeds our space.

  AS THE WORLD TURNED OUT

  There’s usually a side table in the story—a place to put a vase of flowers—or a potted plant—a clock, a book. A late-blooming flower may show up in the story—a swimming pool, a carefully groomed garden, pheasants touring the grounds (I mean peasants), Bella Donnelly, the Fraser family, one-on-one meetings with people enthusiastic about work, laughter and companionship, the great tragedy inflicted when people go under, the notion that even a woman can thrust herself forward and up and so-to-speak out from under on the first step down.

  LORD OF THE FACE

  The fact that she’s backlit makes her look ambitious and she tickles my funny bone.

  First I thought that her blue eyes on a pink and yellow background looked a bit purblind, but then their general dimension intrigued me. They have a nice design—glare—and they’re not generous.

  It’s hard to slot him in. He seemed novicelike, uncertain of himself, but he was efficient.

  She said, “I am Diane Williams.”

  They went out to the terrace for a cigarette.

  Italy itself is very lovely, but as the brightness of the sun hit the terrace, the figure of a six-legged star—a sign for sure—was produced on the bluestone.

  All six legs of the star were fairly straight. One leg of the star was not exactly the same length as the others. One leg was perfectly straight.

  Their housekeeper grabbed at her own leg and at the top side of her foot.

  Their cat was yanked up off of the terrace by a bird of prey and then dropped!

  For the cat’s recovery there were five thousand dollars worth of veterinarian bills and for the housekeeper—a premonition she’d be hit by a car.

  The star! The cross! The square!

  A single sign shows the tendency. Can people avoid disaster? Yes. I leave my readers to draw their own conclusions.

  Some years ago, I was satisfied.

  Stop!

  Diane! So many things are clear. Diane was blushing. Her yellow fuzz shows in the sun. She no longer has words of her own and so chooses grunting. Diane! Open! Contribute! Inform! The place!—her brown fuzz, a yellow fuzz over it. The curtains are original. A room contains medical equipment. Diane’s an early type who before arriving in Siena had a day planned for her departure. She had made the arrangements so she’d stay during the spring in Italy as an imaginary character with hope.

  The following stories have appeared in Harper’s: “If You Ever Get Three or Four Laughing You Weren’t Soon to Forget It,” “As the World Turned Out,” “If Told Correctly It Will Center on Me,” “Woman in Rose Dress,” “Stand,” “One of the Great Drawbacks,” “My First Real Home” (reprinted from Post Road), “Protection, Prevention, Gazing, Gratified Desire,” “Human Being,” “I Like the Fringe,” “Broom,” “Rude,” “New Life from Dead Things,” “Mrs. Keable’s Brothers,” “None of This Would Have Been Remotely Feasible,” “Pedestal,” “Between Midnight and 6 AM,” “This Has to Be the Best,” “Lord of the Face,” “Being Stared At,” “Give Them Stuff,” “Expectant Motherhood,” “Glee,” “Chicken Winchell.”

  These stories first appeared, sometimes in a slightly different form or with a different title, in: Agriculture Reader: “Highlights of the Twilight”; The Brooklyn Rail: “Cockeyed” (originally “She Could Never Have Found a Better or More Delightful One”); Conjunctions: “Ponytail” (originally “Virtue”), “The Newly Made Supper,” “The Use of Fetishes,” “Stop When the Person Becomes Restless or Irritable,” “Weight, Hair, Length”; Esquire online: “The Duck”; Gigantic: “Mood Which Gripped Me”; The Lifted Brow: “Defeat,” “Common Body”; McSweeney’s: “A Man, An Animal,” “Arm Under the Soil,” “Death Bed” (originally “For Now I Was Tall”), “Enormously Pleased,” “Hello! Hi! Hello!,” “My Defects,” “Shelter,” “The Strength,” “Tan Bag,” “Vicky Swanky Was a Beauty”; Post Road: “My First Real Home”; Rampike: “Comfort,” “The Emporium,” “On the Job”; Sleepingfish: “Carnegie Nail”; Triple Canopy: “Religious Behavior”; Western Humanities Review: “The Wedding Mask Door Pull.”

  “My First Real Home,” was also reprinted in The Pushcart Prize XXXIV: Best of the Small Presses, 2010.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Diane Williams is the author of six previous books, and the publisher and founding editor of the literary annual NOON. She has taught at Bard College, Syracuse University, and the Center for Fiction. She lives in New York City.

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  eISBN : 978-1-938-07308-3