Giraffes and Other Stories by Steven Gillis

Author:Steven Gillis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Giraffes
ISBN: 9781938103346
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 2007-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Typically, I’m not the sort to be suckered by sentiment or any argument meant to bait me, but there are times when the imperativeness of taking a stand can’t be questioned and reason must be weighed by a different criterion. No sooner is the incident in the den resolved then I want only to put such foolishness aside and throw myself with spirit back into the party. As king, I intend to command everyone to dance, to have the music changed again to something more lively, to kick about with Mindy and my wife, with Sheila Rice and even one of the waitresses who is sure to blush at her majesty’s demands and rest herself against my belly as we perform an inspired two-step. Instead, I see my wife in the hall staring at me, posting doubtful looks of judgement, questioning my outburst, leaving me no choice but to answer the man’s last charge with disavowal.

I rush from the den and back up the hall, catching the man as he’s halfway through the entrance. “Wait,” I shout. The music in the house has stopped and everyone is gathering near the foyer in order to hear what will happen next. I look toward my wife who’s followed after me, watching me cautiously. The others, too, includingjeffrey Fastow, Mindy Patterson and Ben Lawrence, Howard Joseph, Sheila Rice, Richard Skilluns and Casy Michaels all eager to hear what I’ll say. I laugh uneasily and try to keep from shouting, though the second I start my tone goes sour and I’m bellowing much as before. “You want to tell me about my father, is that it? You think the apple has fallen far from the tree, is that what you’re saying? Because I don’t bring you beer and cookies, refuse to coddle you and put you above the demands of my business, you consider me cold hearted. Of course, you ignore the fact that P.E. grew under my watch, not my father’s. The bonuses you earned, the stock you could have sold for profit were entirely my doing. My father’s virtues served P.E. well for a time, but my strengths,” I say, then stop suddenly, realizing all further talk is simply that, and still intent on making my point, I step past the man and walk outside.

The crown on my head rests high as I march out to the drive where the cars of my guests are parked in the oval and down along the street. The first of the three valets hired for the party is dressed as a peasant in felt shoes and brown shirt. I point toward the road and tell him to, “Bring me a car!” my own garage blocked. Uncertain, the boy hesitates, forcing me to go to the board and grab a set of keys which I toss at him. “A car, a car!” I shout, my robe riding up on my shoulders, the fur about the collar moving in the breeze. Nearly everyone has come outside by

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