Speakeasies and Spankings: a Tale of Two Flappers (for Russianbunny)

[Renton]

Deanna nodded in agreement. "This will be such fun," she said. "I swear there will be a market for a book like this," she said, thinking out loud. "A book for girls like me trying to cook their mothers' recipes. 'The Flapper's Cookbook'," she said with a giggle. "This could be a lifesaver, I promise.

She looked up at the clock and realized there was still a lot of time left in the day. "Do you mind if I go do some writing, mama?" she asked. She had just gotten started on a new novel that she had very high hopes for.

~~~~~~

"I think I still have a pith helmet somewhere, should we need it," Roger said jokingly, happy to see his daughter so enthusiastic. Their meals arrived soon after, and Roger immediately felt he'd made a mistake. This was a feast, and he wondered if he and Emily could finish it all. He muddled through it, and finished full to the brim and feeling quite happy with himself.

"That was delicious," he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "But alas, I have no room for dessert. I might have a nap in the car. Would you mind driving?" he asked as he stood up to leave, giving the waiter a sizable tip.

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

"There probably will be. Most cookbooks that have come out in the past few years have been sub-par." And Tabatha would know: she had browsed through a nearby bookstore the other day, and she had known all the recipes - and how to make them better, of course.

"Go on and have fun writing," she told her daughter, "Just make sure to work hard on it." It would allow her some time to clean up the kitchen, and perhaps to read a book of her own, since the house was clean.

~~~~~~~~

Emily was very happy when their food arrived but, like her father, she was greatly surprised when it arrived, stacked extremely high. "Oh, Daddy!" she said, before they both dug in. It was all very delicious, but it was hard finishing it all. Somehow, they managed, and Emily feared she would burst.

"That was wonderful..." Emily said, standing with her father. "I don't mind driving at all, but it's only a few blocks, Daddy. We could practically walk there."

[Renton]

Deanna smiled at Tabatha. "Always, mama," she said. She then headed upstairs to her little room, where she had her typewriter next to the window. She pulled a pillow off her bed and placed it on the chair; her bottom was still throbbing a bit from her spanking before supper; and she sat down. Her novel didn't have a title yet, but she wanted to tell a two-pronged story of contemporary society; how it was for the rich, and how it was for the less-fortunate, and how those paths intertwined. It was ambitious, but she felt she could do it, because it was her every day life. She sat down and got to work, and minutes turned to hours as she typed away furiously, pausing only to turn on her lamp when the sun began to set.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roger settled into his seat. "Feel free to take us on a loop around the whole city then," he said jokingly as he settled into his seat. A thirty-second nap was better than none, and Roger could fall asleep like a rock, just about anytime and any place.

When they got home, he awoke (he had pulled it off again, perhaps the shortest sleep of his life) and he walked back into his home. He alerted the maids that supper would not be necessary tonight, and then made his way toward the attic. "I wonder what adventures await up here," he said to Emily as he opened the door and began to ascend the stairs.

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

Tabatha smiled as her daughter scampered up the stairs, before she got to work with cleaning around the house and, when that was finished, she started sorting through an old scrapbook of photos that she had found a week before: most of them had been from her own childhood and from various points during her teenaged years, but there were also many from the early years of her marriage – and when Deanna was no bigger than a toddler. Tabatha was very proud of how much of a gentle and kind young soul her daughter had grown up to be, but there was some part of her that wanted her little baby back. Oh, well. Her mother had always said the same thing about it, so she supposed it was a maternal instinct.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emily giggled as her father eased himself into his seat. As they headed back home (since the show was not until farther into the day), the blonde had to keep from laughing as she saw her father go to sleep so quickly! How he managed to keep from doing that in the bank, Emily had always been curious about as a child. Now, of course, she knew it was because he loved his job, and she was glad about that fact.

But the point remained, Emily wasn't always so sure that he had fun when he wasn't in the bank. So she liked to try and make sure that he did.

When they got home, Emily saw out of the corner of her eye, her father coming back into the world as she cut the engine. "Did you enjoy your nap, Daddy?" she teased as they went into the house, and she immediately scampered towards the attic door – but she made sure to wait for her father before they both went up into it.

It was rather dusty: the maids only cleaned it about once a month, and Emily knew it wasn't for another week or so in their next rotation. There were many boxes – most without labels – along with paintings that were covered and a few old pieces of furniture that Roger hadn't been able to let go (Emily recognized her mother's vanity as one of them – and a rocking chair that had been in Emily's nursery as another).

"I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole, Daddy," Emily piped up.

[Renton]

Deanna rubbed her eyes and glanced at her clock. She'd been writing for two hours and felt she needed a break and maybe a cup of tea.

She stood up and went downstairs and saw Tabatha sitting on the couch, looking at pictures. She sat down next to her mother and nestled against her shoulder. "Old pictures?" she said with a smile. She looked them over with Tabatha, feeling very close to her mother right now. She could sense the sort of maternal sadness Tabatha felt when realizing that their children are grown. Deanna sometimes wondered why her parents never had another child. She didn't feel it was polite to ask.

She glanced down and saw one from when she was a little girl of no more than four. Tabatha was young and lovely, her father still ruggedly handsome. "That's Coney Island, isn't it?" she said, noting the festive background and the signs for roller coasters and side shows. "Papa used to love theme parks. I don't think he's been in years," she said.


~~~~~

Roger looked around at all the covered art and furniture and stifled a sneeze from all the dust. "It's like one of those books I used to read you when you were a little girl," he said. Like we've stepped back in time. He pulled back one of the coverings from a painting. It was a beautiful sunset cityscape by some French artist whose name Roger couldn't recall. He never gained much fame, but his wife had loved his work.

"I never had an eye for art until I met your mother," he said. "I looked at this and said 'why on earth would anyone need this when they have a window'?

And she went up to it and pointed out all the little details that made it alive. The way the smoke comes off buildings. The boats and people in the river. The little details the painter included, each one its own story." Roger realized he had tears in his eyes. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed them. "I'd have been an uncultured brute if not your for your mother," he said to Emily. "She showed me the beauty in things I had never considered before."

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

Tabatha smiled when she saw her daughter come down from the stairs, and she made room for Deanna before allowing her to snuggle into her side. This was comfortable. She nodded, moving the old album so it would be easier for the two to see all of the photographs.

There was a very warm feeling of nostalgia around that made Tabatha very happy that Deanna was here. While there had been many reasons why they'd only had one child (a complication at Deanna's birth being the main reason, along with their financial situation), she was very glad her daughter was here now.

"Yes, it is," Tabatha answered with a grin. "I remember you cried when your father and I wouldn't let you go on one of the larger rides, because you were so little. You had him tied around your little fingers so easily, I was worried he would let you go anyway." Thankfully, he hadn't, but that didn't mean he hadn't felt bad about it later on. She shook her head at her daughter's observation. "No, I don't think he has either. We haven't had time or the resources to go on that kind of a vacation. I'm sure we'll be able to go back someday, though, don't worry."

~~~~~~~~

Emily grinned. She remembered that, unless her father had an obscenely late meeting (which would normally involve an exchange of money of some kind), he was always there at night to read her a story: he must had read The Wizard of Oz series enough to practically memorize them by the time she was seven.

When he took the tarp of a nearby painting, Emily felt herself gravitating towards it, and she looked carefully at the painting, and she felt herself growing a little melancholy at her father's words (and when she noticed he was dabbing his eyes). She gave him a little smile, then she said, "Would you mind if we hung this one up? It's very pretty, and being in here doesn't do it justice."

Not to mention, if it hung up in one of the rooms, even a hallway, it would like a part of her presence being in the house again.



((I can't remember: did we give Mrs. Benson a name?))

[Renton]

Deanna smiled sadly. The reality was that her dad had worked so hard for so long to provide for them, and had done so but at the cost of leaving little time to enjoy himself. "I know we will," Deanna said, smiling and turning through the album. "Oh god," she said, looking at one and holding back laughter. It was from when she was older, on her first day of school. She had such a frown. "I'm wearing that dress because the school wouldn't let me wear slacks," she said. "I was such a tomboy at that age. I remember cutting up the dress, thinking that'd get me out of it. You were none too pleased." She now could laugh at the patches Tabatha had used to fix the dress at the last minute, but she remembered well the spanking she'd gotten before going out the door, which no doubt explained the grumpy face she was making.

When they had looked through the album, Deanna leaned back in the chair. The phone then rang. "I'll get it," she said. She picked it up. It was Gerard.

"Mama, it's Gerard," she said. She spoke with him briefly, just clarifying arrangements for their next date. She hung up and returned to Tabatha. "Mama, I've got a date next Saturday with Gerard. Is it all right if I get home late?" she asked. She felt a bit silly asking for permission to come home late, like she was 15 and going to a picture show, but she felt her mother would appreciate the courtesy.

~~~~

Roger smiled at the suggestion. "I think that is a grand idea," he said. "We can put it in the main staircase. Looking up the stairwell be like looking at the skyline."

They continued to look for the piggy bank, and in the process discovered many other artifacts from years past. One of them was a very dashing looking, albeit half finished portrait of Roger that Mrs. Benson had worked on. "This is not hanging up anywhere," he said with a hearty laugh. They had been newlyweds when she started it. She had finished just his face, which was bespectacled, but he didn't yet have his mustache. "She must have stopped when I started to gain weight," he said. He wasn't fat, but he was no longer the thin, lean man in this painting. At the bottom, she had signed it already: Bertha Benson, in a signature of great artistry and flourish.

"Your mother gave up painting too early, I think. She was much better than she ever let on," Roger said. "We had you and she just lost interest. She had too much fun raising you, and I think she preferred collecting art to making it."

Then he spotted something distinctly like a pointed metal pig's ear poking out of a box. "Ah!" he said. "There we go." He picked up the old piggy bank, and gave it a shake. Its bellyfull of nickels rattled. "I think we might just be able to afford hot dogs, my dear," he said, giving Emily the old metal pig.

(She does now )