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  • 28
    February

    Wren’s Diary III

    Written by Ghost Archer. No comments Posted in: Characters, Fiction

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    My studies of Japanese progress thanks to the computer and a very good language program. After almost three months St. Someone of the Immaculate Credit Card is behind me and I am free for the summer. Father has offered the options of a villa in St. Tropez, a chateau at Interlocken, a trip back to Malibu or my Mother’s estate at Luxor.

    I made the mistake of St. Tropez last summer and found that for a then 12 year old, it was very boring. Sunburned northern Europeans interested in little save sex, drugs and partying held no attraction and I had spent most of my time traveling Italy. This proved to be taxing as Father insisted that I take a chaperone, in this case one Miss Agatha Greenwald. Yes, there are actually people alive still named Agatha. Sadly, she was a phenomenal bore caring nothing for art or dance. Her exaggerated glances at her watch as I strolled the museums of Venice and Milan or perched on the edge of my seat at the ballet did nothing to endear her to me. Half way through the summer I gave up and remained at the villa. This led to a series of escapes on my part in the evening hours. Unfortunately, even on the French Riviera, an unaccompanied 12 year old cannot gain entrance to any number of dance clubs. The other hazard was being mistaken for a child of the evening. During my third such ‘escape’ the gendarmes picked me up on ‘suspicion’. After they found out who I was returned to the tender mercies of Miss Greenwald the dratted woman took up station in my room each night for the rest of the summer. I took some solace in her general exhaustion.

    Interlocken was tempting as Switzerland in the summer could be quite beautiful but there was little that interested me culturally. Staying there would necessitate travel into Germany or Italy and I was not excited about having a second Miss Greenwald accompany me. Malibu, of all the choices, was the worst. Three months of Mother’s or Father’s sycophants traipsing in and out of the beach house would drive me to violence. There would also be ‘photo shoots’ and ‘premiers’ I would be expected to attend … Egypt it was.

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