Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress Read Online Free

Saul. He’s a Socialist.” She turned to Alice. “I don’t know why he’s being difficult. Once, when he was two, he took off all his clothing in the middle of Gimbel’s department store.”
    “They’re also called ‘seraphim,’” said Clifford to no one in particular.
    “Do I get to be an angel?” I asked my mother. I had to admit, this sounded pretty good to me, though I wasn’t crazy about the “naked” part. Every day, I changed in and out of my bathing suit on the beach—all the little kids did in full view of everyone—but I wasn’t a toddler, like my brother, who ran around naked all day long, and good luck getting him into a diaper and a onesy for a trip to the Dairy Queen. Being naked in a movie did seem slightly embarrassing, but maybe not if I was a
cherub
…
    “The sun’s rising, folks,” said Alice. “Are we here to create art, or are we here to discuss the epistemology of cherubs and complain?”
    “Edwid, stop being such a prima donna and take off your clothes,” said Carly.
    “Well, Suze?” said my mother.
    Edwid shrugged, so I did the same. Frankly, I didn’t know what else to do. The general consensus was that shrugs meant “yes,” so quickly, our mothers helped us out of our clothes. The truth was, Edwid and I mooned each other regularly—our friend Freddy Connors had invented a game called “Butt In Your Face,” which was a big hit on the ice cream line—but standing naked when it was officially sanctioned somehow made us very shy. We avoided eye contact with each other.
    “Oh, that’s beautiful!” said Alice, ducking back behind her camera. As soon as she said, “Roll ’em!” I decided I changed my mind. I wanted my clothes back on.
Now.
But Saul was playing “Green-sleeves” on the flute and strolling toward us, and Alice was saying, “That’s it. Great. Now, Susie and Edwid, dance around Saul.”
    And since it was freezing, and dancing was preferable to just standing there, Edwid and I just threw ourselves into it, breaking out our best dance moves from our own, personal repertoire.
    “Stop! Cut!” Alice yelled. “Ellen,” she called to my mother, “what’s Susie doing down there on one leg? What’s wrong with her hand?”
    “Oh,” said my mother. “She’s performing an arabesque and flashing a peace sign. It’s a little ballet thing she likes to do.”
    “Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Alice. “Little Susie Gilman!” she shouted down from the terrace. “Enough with the arabesques and the peace signs. And Edwid, what’s with the shimmying?”
    What Alice had forgotten is that Edwid and I hadn’t been raised on Julie Andrews musicals. We’d had our diapers changed to Otis Redding. We’d learned to walk listening to Donovan’s “Sunshine Superman” and Tina Turner’s “River Deep—Mountain High.” In the bathtub, we regularly sang along to the entire soundtrack of
Yellow Submarine.
When ordered to dance, Edwid had launched into his version of the pony mixed with go-go moves he’d seen on the Sunday morning kiddie show
Wonderama.
This, apparently, was not what Alice had had in mind.
    “Forget the dancing, you two,” she ordered. “Just skip. Skip joyously around Saul.”
    “Like this!” Carly shouted. She lifted up the hem of her caftan and mimed skipping joyously across the terrace. Even Alice looked a bit stunned at the sight. She turned back to the camera. “Skip,” she said.
    Saul resumed playing his flute and Edwid and I skipped around him furiously, in great, spastic movements with big, imbecilic smiles plastered on our faces that we hoped approximated joyousness. We twirled and flailed, pretending to conduct an enormous, invisible orchestra with our entire bodies. We leaped. We pranced. We waltzed. We sashayed. Neither of us had any idea what the fuck we were doing.
    “Beautiful, beautiful!” said Alice. “You’re children! You’re innocent! You’re natural! Keep skipping!” She cued Clifford to release the