The Gentleman & The Rake

Day Five: Mr. B vs. The Committee of Literary Fairness

Mr. B contemplated the table's glossy wood finish, following a long grain in the wood with his eyes over and over and over again. 

He heard Lonquist and Leslie Quinn enter the courtroom, chattering about a novel with a governess heroine. It wasn't Herland so he wasn't interested. 

Deborah came in and Mr. B motioned to her. She pressed her hand to her bosom in surprise, then neared him, grinning. 

"Hi, Mr. B." 

"Hello, Deborah. Yesterday--the novel my wife is in--yesterday, you said something about the characters there controlling their pregnancies." 

"Yeah. Gilman, the author, didn't have the greatest experience with pregnancy. Herland makes it all very idyllic--no pain, no fuss, no accidents." 

Mr. B said slowly, "Pamela and I have three children." 

"I know," Deborah said. She studied his creased brow, then patted his arm. "Your wife loves children." 

She did. But Mr. B didn't doubt Pamela would welcome more control in that area. Pregnancy, the idea of pregnancy, had always made her nervous. 

Simply not having sex was unthinkable. He could barely handle sleeping alone. And Pamela was an eager participant in the marriage bed whatever his detractors might think. 

They were an odd people, these twenty-first century inhabitants, far more obsessed with sex than most libertines, but strangely repressive and easily shocked. Only this idealistic young girl, who reminded him of his oldest daughter, seemed to take him at face value. 

Deborah said, "Don't worry. Herland isn't your wife's type of novel. She likes flirting with men too much. In a totally platonic way," she added quickly and Mr. B had to chuckle. 

Mr. Shorter entered, carrying his cup of coffee. He nodded to Deborah and sat down. Today, he also had a donut. Mr. B tore off a piece and chewed it absently. 

Mr. Shorter said, "There's another editorial about Pamela in this morning's newspaper." 

Deborah said, "I read it. It addresses the CLF's negative attitude towards religion. Whoever is writing these editorials has definitely seen the hearing transcripts." 

From her bench across the aisle, Leslie Quinn called, "Judge Hardcastle will be annoyed. Religion clouding the road to judgment, that sort of thing." 

Beside her, Lonquist said, "I have to agree with him. Eighteenth-century Anglicanism was a fairly engrained concept. It shouldn't be an issue, just an underlying point of view." 

Leslie Quinn shook her head. "If Pamela were a true believer, she would find the average Anglican churchman of the period a tad, uh, apathetic." 

"She does," Mr. B said. 

Lonquist said, "A Victorian lady before Victoria was born. A prude without the accompanying antiseptic obsessions." 

"Actually," Deborah said, "Victorians were pretty earthy." 

"True. True. It's only us moderns with our one-bedroom-per-child, anti-bacterial everythings that see sex as something rather naughty." 

Mr. B glanced at him, at the women's good-humored faces. He opened his mouth. 

"Of course," Lonquist said, "they were far more obsessed with issues of paternity than us. You could mess around but only if you gave your husband an heir first!" 

He laughed. So did the women. 

Mr. B closed his mouth. They were right about husbands needing bona fide heirs. Still, he didn't think the limerick he'd thought up would go over well. He'd save it to make Pamela blush.