Sunday, July 19, 2009
Jane Austen's "Daisy of Love" Interlude
Daisy de la Hoya was not one given over much to introspection- especially when there was something so important to be done as the choosing of a lifetime romantic partner. Nevertheless it was that, in a fit of whimsy, she found her mind casting itself back, and sweet memories of bygone times presented themselves to her.
Her memories were filtered in a way that protected her most cherished feelings about herself. Little that she remembered presented Daisy in anything but the most agreeable light, while the gentlemen bore the brunt of any introspection.
Of course, it helped that so much of her last few weeks of her life had been captured by the ever-present camera crew that followed her and the gentlemen to every room of the estate. For this reason, when the mood hit her, she could simply turn on her television set and roll back the accumulated footage of several weeks of fascinating activity- helpfully spliced together by the agreeable producers, who saw no profit in affecting the self-perceptions of their star. At least, not until the programs made their way to broadcast.
About some of the men, her opinion was quite low. Flipper, the mad, had exited the estate under the most bizarre of circumstances, and so merited little in her regard. Fox made more of an impression upon her, and so her feelings toward him suffered greatly. But there were others, for whom she felt no romantic interest, but whom she still looked upon agreeably.
These gentlemen she thought of as cousins. And it was regrettable that she felt they were not right for her in a romantic sense.
Cage- the gentleman fighter, whose passions ran so high that he could barely control his desire to challenge the other gentlemen to a duel. Sinister- the troubled doormat, whose passions ran so high that he could barely contain his desire to turn over candelabra and beds. Chi Chi- the best cousin to Sinister, a friend and confidant who could give Sinister doormatting lessons who felt absolutely no rage at all. And then there was Big Rig.
It is with Big Rig that we now turn our narrative eye for, despite herself, Daisy could not help but to think about him most agreeably of all. The gentleman truck driver who presented Daisy not only with a photograph of his child, but also, with his heart.
In the romantic bath he’d said to her, “I am falling in love with you, Daisy.” This was because she was the first woman named “Daisy” that he’d ever known. This fact does not diminish the ardor that he felt.
As she’d watched him walk out of the estate, she’d felt a feeling that vacillated between ambivalence and disinterest. Even as she’d witnessed his crying of devastated tears. It was these feelings that gave her to understand she’d made the right choice.
For his part, Big Rig expected little more from his endeavors than a broken heart and a tear-stained shirt. As he provided the camera men and producers with the interview they required before allowing him to leave the estate, he thought of nothing more than the reputed beauty and mother of wit who had trod so carelessly upon his heart.
“Never again will I be presented with an opportunity to engage in the act of copulation with a one so lovely as Daisy de la Hoya,” he thought, with great sorrow.
But that was before he met Marcia Brazil, lately having lost love with Daisy’s former paramour, the musical celebrity Mr. Michaels, and who had sought solace in both drink and in attaining refinement in the finishing school uncreatively known as “Charm School.”
Marcia was a woman of great beauty, with long, dark silken tresses and much in the way of décolletage who was known for her enthusiasm at social functions. It was the combination of all these qualities that caused her to first catch the eye of the servants charged with filling Mr. Michaels’ mobile estate with potential romantic partners. To the uninitiated, Marcia’s lack of interest in Mr. Michaels as a romantic partner might at first seem cynical, but she was open about her aspirations- to drink and enjoy the company of the other ladies.
Although she and Mr. Michaels did share one tender, Doritos-flavored kiss, there was none of the spark that either could have hoped for. So it was that she was sent away from his mobile estate.
That was not the last of her appearances on televised reality competitions. She was lately enjoined to engage the services of the televised competitive reality finishing school- a competition whose outcome remains in doubt to all but a select few.
In the meantime, Marcia had embarked upon a most agreeable means of employment available to only those who display the most charm and social enthusiasm. She had become a paid attendee of social functions. Attending the opening of an exclusive club or public house, or merely hosting an evening of conversation and dance, she and other televised reality program contestants spent many an hour enjoying a life that most can only dream of.
VH1 reality show contestants get paid to host parties and open clubs and make appearances and etc. It's kind of a perfect life, especially when Marcia meets St. Patrick's Day.
Alas, she was feeling unfulfilled. She wanted a gentleman to whom she could give her heart.
Upon completing his exit interview, Big Rig was presented with what would turn out to be the key to Marcia’s heart. A card with the name and number of a management company employed by many televised reality program contestants once their first turn at love had collapsed from under their feet.
“Giving Daisy your son’s photograph right after the bath was golden,” he was told. “There is much to recommend about you.”
“Thank you,” Big Rig said, abashed. He wiped away a tear.
The management company arranged for him to appear at a club in Las Vegas. His room and other accommodations were provided for. All he would have to do would be to mingle with the other televised reality program contestants, and any patrons who might wander in.
The humble truck driver was overwhelmed by what he saw in this place. The lighting took on a dazzling aspect. The smoke machine obscured the work of the lighting. The piano-forte played an array of Italian songs and an occasional Scotch air. He watched the attendees as they twirled in time on the dance floor.
“Do you not feel a great inclination to seize such an opportunity to dance a reel?”
The voice was somehow familiar, with its thick accent and lilting tone. But it was not a voice he’d heard in person- only over the television. He turned and there he saw the most beautiful charming lady he had seen in the three weeks since he’d left Daisy de la Hoya’s estate.
The lady was Daisy’s double in every way, with the exception of being more beautiful, more charming, and more socially agreeable than Daisy. She also had completely natural décolletage, lips, and hair color. “I am Marcia Brazil,” she said.
Big Rig said, “I am Big Rig.” It seemed foolish to him to give her his birth name. He was not that person anymore.
“You need to mingle,” she said. “You need to engage in the social niceties of imbibing free drinks and encouraging others to enter the club and spend money!” Taking his hand, she endeavored to be his guide in this new world, displaying for him all the possibilities it offered.
Later, near closing time, they shared a tender conversation.
“I don’t know how anyone could have rejected you,” Big Rig said. “Mr. Michaels in an admirable troubadour but, from where I sit, his taste in feminine companionship is lacking.”
She blushed, which was an amazing feat considering the effect that alcohol had upon her complexion. “It means more to me to hear you say that, now, than it meant to me when I was sent from Mr. Michaels’ mobile estate.” There was silence, and then she added, “I believe that Daisy must be a foolish woman, indeed, to have sent away a gentleman of such kind inclination and good-looks as you.”
He nodded. “I was seen as wanting, in your eyes.”
She took his hand. “And now? Do you see wanting, in my eyes?”
Marcia Brazil from Rock of Love Bus and Charm School apparently dated this guy.
At that moment, a charmless brute stumbled into their table, disturbing their drinks, and the mood. “Hey!” he slurred, obviously too much in his cups. “You’re that woman from the Bret Michaels show!”
Big Rig stood, and stared at the man with indignation. “You are not to refer to a lady such as this as a ‘woman’,” he exclaimed. “I realize that you are not in full possession of your faculties; nevertheless, a gentleman does not behave thus.”
The man then referred to the lady Marcia Brazil with a word that was far worse than “woman.” He also inquired as to how much she would charge for an evening of tender kissing.
“I challenge you to a duel!” Big Rig exclaimed.
“No! Please do not do so on my account,” Marcia said. As flattered as she was by the gesture, she could not feel any responsibility for this gentleman’s incarceration.
“A duel?” the man asked. “What year are you from?” He collapsed into a heap on the floor, just before his compatriots retrieved him.
“Please, accept our sincerest apologies,” one of them said, dragging him away.
Once they’d left, and the few remaining patrons returned to their previous activities, Marcia confided, “It’s been so long since a man offered to duel someone on my behalf.”
Big Rig turned to her and smiled. “How long has it been?”
“Two night ago,” she said.
“A woman of charm and grace such as you should have duels fought on her behalf ever night!” he said.
They spent the evening sharing tender kisses.
The next morning, while sharing a breakfast of tequila and eggs, Big Rig presented her with a photograph of his son. “This is the most precious item I own,” he said, in reference to the photograph, not the child depicted upon it. “And I would very much like for you to have it.”
Marcia’s overwhelmed and tearful reaction was exactly the reaction he’d hoped to see from Daisy. Marcia was truly Daisy’s mirror. He decided to share his deepest feelings with her:
“I believe I am falling for you, Marcia.”
“And I am falling for you, Big Rig!” They again shared tender kisses.
That night they spent apart, as they had separate public houses at which to make appearances. Big Rig was again dazzled by the spectacle of the lights, the smoke, and the piano-forte. And the ladies.
He was astonished to find that he was presented with ladies equal in charm to both Daisy and Marcia. This sense of astonishment merely increased as he found himself spending one agreeable hour after another with one charming lady after another. When one of those ladies told him, “I shall be most disappointed if you do not cover me in tender kisses,” he replied, “As a gentleman, I try never to disappoint a lady.”
They shared a tender kiss. They returned to his room, and spent the evening sharing tender kisses.
The next morning, as they were enjoying their breakfast of beer and eggs, he felt himself overwhelmed by a familiar emotion. This lady was truly lovely, the most lovely and charming woman he’d ever seen. He was falling for her.
Finally, he said, “I have something to present to you.” From the chest of drawers beside the bed, he extracted a photograph of his son. “This is the most precious thing I own,” he said.
“A picture of a child?” the lady asked.
“Yes,” he said. “My son.”
To his surprise, her reaction mirrored Daisy’s. “I need to leave,” she said, removing herself from the bed and putting herself back into her jeans and tank-top.
He wondered what he should say. Was there anything that would make her stay- that would show her that his heart was open to her, and his feelings were earnest? There was one thing that might show her the true depths of his feelings. A simple statement that bore so much: “Also, I think I am falling for you.”
As she opened the door and left, without another word, she passed Marcia. “Who are you?” she asked, in an accusing tone.
“I am the lady with whom Big Rig spent the evening,” she said, making her way to the elevator. Marcia watched her movements, and compared the lady’s walk to video of her own, from behind. She found herself getting the better part of the comparison, which merely served to heighten the sense of betrayal.
“At least find a lady of better physical attributes than I!” she exclaimed, upon entering his hotel room. There was, to her manner, a mixture of anger and archness.
“I- I don’t know what happened,” Big Rig explained. “My gentlemanly instincts took over, and…”
He watched Marcia, as tears filled her eyes. “I gave you my heart,” she declared. “Do you know how hard it was for me to open myself up like that?”
In that moment, Big Rig saw another mirror. But this time, he saw himself, mirrored in Marcia. “This must have been what Daisy saw in me, the day I gave her my son’s photograph, and she sent me from the estate,” he thought, with abominable self-awareness. This new life upon which he had embarked would force him to either renounce his gentlemanliness, and therefore rudely turn down the advances of any ladies he met, or to become a cad, and remain true to one only one lady. The lady standing before him.
“It would never have worked between us,” he said, finally. “You were right to send me away from the estate.”
“What are you talking about?” Marcia asked, wiping away tears.
He took her arm and gently guided her out the door. There was a sense of melancholy loss as he told her, “You may keep the photograph of my son.”
Maybe it was Marcia's misspelled t-shirt that drove Big Rig away. Marcia's tweet on the matter offers little to go on.
Big Rig pic source.
Marcia St. Patricks Day pic source.
Marcia misspelled t-shirt pic source.