Ms.Botox gave the girl a cold kiss on the cheek, but other than that, the teen might as well have not even been there. The four adults and the two teens (well, for Robert, come winter, would be his 13th) were currently seated around the dining room table, enjoying the lovely dinner June had prepared. Of course, Dora didn't lift a finger. Oh wait, the old witchiepoo did raise an index talon, two or three times, requesting a refill of either iced tea, coffee, or whatever beverage.
Ward senior shook his head at his wife's solipsism; her habitual dismissal of other people was getting old. He had not forgotten a certain scene, which had gone down, just a few days previous. He'd arrived home early from work. Same old, same old, he came through their large foyer, stepped into his office, then headed down the corridor to the kitchen - for he hadn't had any breakfast nor lunch. Though the couple would be having dinner at the country club, Ward senior needed something to tie him over. Carlotta, a young woman, who was working summers to help pay for college, was polishing the refrigerator. Just when he was about to ask her if she'd throw together a quick sandwich, he noticed the red mark upon the girl's left jaw. His appetite had gone right out the window; he departed from the kitchen area, and went looking throughout the 9k square foot residence for his wife.
Having found her, in her office suite, just a little down the other hallway, he entered, and announced that they needed to talk. She, barely looking away from her screen, spoke dismissively, that she had some paperwork, in relation to a recent video conference. The two had then exchanged some terse words. "Dora, I have a good mind to turn..." She arose from her exec chair, and countered, eyeball to eyeball, "Ward Waterfeld, you wouldn't dare."
"Oh, wouldn't I?" Pokerfaced, he had left her domain.
While the adults were talking politics, Molly arose, reached into the frig for a soda, but changed her mind. If she was, later on, going to eat a gob...she then noticed the plate, peeking from beneath a tea-towel, upon the drying rack. Darn. Oh well, wasn't the first time she'd take the trouble to make something, only to not even get to enjoy so much as a crumb. She, instead, wanting to remain close - her mother would shortly be needing help with the dishes - headed upstairs to text Tami, another one of her girlfriends.
"He'll get things done!" Ward senior rubbed his full belly, which, over the years, had begun to blanket over his slender frame. While the two men didn't always agree on things, Ward junior was with his father, on whom to vote as the nation's next president. The russian premier was a force, and unfortunately Donalds... "Good night!" the old man added, "Donalds looked like a student about to be whipped by his head master." The old man laughed, poking his son in his, still mostly flat, waistline; he had also attended boarding school. Junior didn't find his father's latest remark, or the poke, all that amusing - while the man had, for the most part, enjoyed his school years, there were times.... Some people are just ... evil.
June silently fumed. Though both Wards were right - especially concerning the Six-factions...oh what were their acronyms...this week? Anyway, their needing to be taken to task in a "Premier" ... well, it stopped their even snarling weirdo nonsense, over there. Still, June didn't like Senator Rowan; not one bit - no way, no how! She was going to vote for Donalds - and that's all there was to it!
Father and son both arose from the table, taking their coffee into the den. June arose and began clearing the table, who was then joined by her daughter's assistance. Dora had stepped into the livingroom. From her large purse, she pulled out one of those corporate intrigue novels. Pictured on the front cover, was some suit. In the corner, part of some gal's ankle and stiletto heels. Yeah, yeah, tease sells.
June had seen it while grocery shopping; and had picked it up from the display, because a friend had told her about some of the characters. She was going to buy it, until she read the middle paragraph. In short, the volume was, eh, a bit racey - and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Ward Waterfeld, Jr. cared to read those sorts of books - much less, expose that kind of stuff to their children. Which, needless to say, wasn't always easy to find modern literature, which wasn't ... well, too defiling.
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