Jill D. Block wrote a couple of promising stories in college, then went off to law school and got sidetracked for thirty years as very successful attorney representing lenders in corporate real estate transactions, which is almost as exciting and gratifying as it sounds. A couple of years ago she sold her first post-college short story to Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, and followed it up with stories in Dark City Lights, In Sunlight or in Shadow, Mystery Tribune Magazine, and Alive in Shape and Color.
Her first novel, The Truth About Parallel Lines, was published last year. It traces the lives of three high school best friends over thirty years, and one enthusiastic reader hailed Jill as “the long-lost bastard daughter of Rona Jaffe and Mary McCarthy.”
Here’s a taste of her story for At Home in the Dark:
O, SWEAR NOT BY THE MOON by Jill D. Block
ACT 1
He Said…
Rich was sitting at his desk, and Chazz was sprawled across the beanbag chair. They each held a copy of the Ridgely Fells Report.
“Hey, who’s this one?” Rich asked. “She’s new, right?”
Chazz got up to see which picture Rich was looking at.
“Which one, her? Maggie May Costello. Good God. Who would name their kid Maggie May?”
“It says she’s from New York City but doesn’t say what school she came from. Tenth grade.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Chazz said, sitting back down. “I think I heard about her. She’s CeeCee’s daughter.”
“CeeCee Castile?” Rich turned in his chair. “You’re so full of shit.”
“I’m serious. I heard she was coming here.”
“Oh, you heard?” Rich asked.
“What, you think you’re the only person who hears stuff?”
“So, who exactly did you hear from?”
Chazz dropped his copy of the Register on the floor and picked up his phone. “You know that girl with the red hair? The tennis player? You know the one I mean. She hangs out with those girls from San Diego. Anyway, she told me. Her mother is on the board.”
“So you’re telling me that CeeCee’s daughter is a student at Ridgely Fells?” Rich took another look at her picture. “Google it.”
“Okay,” Chazz said. “Hang on. God, what is with the shit WiFi in this building? Okay. Here it is. We’ve got CeeCee tour dates. CeeCee’s new album. CeeCee at the VMAs. Oh, here. This says she had a daughter in 2003, so she’d be 15. That sounds right. Right?”
“Big deal. That doesn’t mean – ”
“Ok, wait. What about this?” Chazz read from his phone, “Quote, while CeeCee has never confirmed paternity, there have been persistent rumors of a brief affair with Rod Stewart during his marriage to Rachel Hunter, unquote. Uh, hello? Maggie May?”
“None of that proves that she’s CeeCee’s daughter,” Rich said, getting up. “She’s in Turner. Let’s go meet her.”
She Said…
“That was so nice,” Maggie said. “Don’t you think? For them to come by like that?”
“Are you kidding?” Katie replied. “Yeah, it was nice. Seriously. Those guys are seniors. They have never even looked at me before, let alone spoken to me.”
“Oh, so that thing about them being from the Welcoming Committee…?”
“Umm, yeah. There’s no such thing. I think they just wanted to see you in person.”
“Really? That’s so … did I act like a total dork?”
“
You were fine. A little shy, maybe. But people like that. Everyone’s just really –”
“That one guy, Rich? He’s really cute.”
“Oh, totally. He’s definitely in the top ten. I would have said he was out of reach, but apparently not.” Katie continued, “Chazz, though? Total jerk.”
“Yeah. But it’s like Rich thinks so too. Do you know what I mean? How he acts like he doesn’t even like him?”
“He probably doesn’t,” Katie said, getting up from her desk and sitting down on her bed. “My guess is that he just hangs out with him for the Blueblood cred.”
“What’s that?” Maggie asked.
“Okay, so here’s how it is.” Katie stretched out on her bed, her legs crossed at the ankle, her hands behind her head. “People here are either Misfits or Bluebloods. The Bluebloods are super rich, usually old money, mostly legacy, but also major corporate types. I mean, children of, obviously. But yeah, hedge funds, Fortune 500 companies, like that.”
“So, like you,” Maggie said.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I’m fourth generation.”
“Right.”
“And the Misfits are also mostly super rich, but it’s different. New money, or shady money. Plus there are the scholarship kids. Oh, and the fuck-ups. You know, like, the kids who got thrown out of other schools.”
“Oh, great,” Maggie said. “So I’m a Misfit?”
“You? Uhh, no. You’re Spawn. Third category: Superstar Spawn. There aren’t very many of you. We get maybe one a year, if we’re lucky. Maybe not even. There’s a girl here, Christina? You’ll meet her. Anyway, her father used to be a pro golfer. Like, big time. All the dads were super psyched for parent’s weekend last year, like he was going to be helping them with their swings or something. But that guy’s nothing like CeeCee.”
“Superstar Spawn. Okay. It could be worse.”
“Are you kidding? It’s the best!” Katie said, sitting up. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my roommate. Seriously. This is going to make my whole year.”
“I’m glad I could help. So umm, what makes Rich a Misfit?”
“Shady money. I don’t know this for sure, but I think his father is connected.” When she saw the look on Maggie’s face Katie continued. “Connected. As in, in the mafia.”
“Oh. Well, I just thought he was cute.”
“He totally is. Plus, it’s not like being a Misfit is even a bad thing. The Bluebloods are mostly pretty dull. Except for me, I mean. But seriously, the Misfits are definitely the coolest and the most popular.”
“Other than the Spawn?” Maggie asked.
“Right. The Spawn are on their own level. See? You get it. Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
ACT 2
He Said…
Dad, I think I’m in trouble. He closed his eyes, repeating the words in his head, in sync with the on-hold music. I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble.
“What?” Emphasis on the T. It wasn’t a question. It was an order, a command, a countdown clock.
“Oh, hey Dad. Hi.” Rich pictured him, hair combed back, double breasted suit, the knife-sharp edge of a white handkerchief just poking out of his breast pocket.
“What is it? She pulled me out of a meeting.” He was probably standing at his secretary’s desk, Rich imagined, using her phone, stretching the cord across her keyboard, invading her space, while she sat there pretending to be invisible, watching, listening.
“Yeah, I know. JoAnn told me —. I mean, I know you’re busy. I just —.”
“You just what? Richie, I can’t do this right now.”
Shit, just say it.
“Okay. I umm. I think that I —.”
“Speak.”
“Okay, yeah,” Rich said. “I’m sorry to bother you. I think –.” The words he’d practiced were gone.
“You think. You think what? For Christ’s sake. Can you understand that I do not have time for this shit today?”
“I know. It’s just —.” Rich looked up, making sure that he was still alone in the room, that the door was still closed. “There’s this, uh, girl,” his voice lowering almost to a whisper.
“Jesus Christ. Call your mother.”
Wait. Don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up.
“I would, but I thought —. It’s just that —. I didn’t want—.”
“Richie, I’ve got a conference room full of lawyers charging me by the goddamn tenth of an hour. I don’t have time for your girl problems.”
“Yeah, ok. I know. I’m sorry. It’s not really—.”
“You’re eighteen years old. Whatever it is, deal with it.”
“I know. I’m trying, but I really don’t –. Dad, I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ve got ten seconds and I’m hanging up.”
“Okay. Sorry.” Say it. Just say it. “I umm, I think I raped a girl.”
“You think –? Jesus, fuck. Call Roland.” Click. The call was over…
#
O, SWEAR NOT BY THE MOON by Jill D. Block is one of 17 outstanding stories in At Home in the Dark. NB: Ebook and paperback editions are on sale now for immediate delivery. DON’T try to order the hardcover, as it’s sold out at the publisher, and while Amazon is still taking orders they’ll be unable to deliver.
