The Book Club Chronicles—Part Six—The Tempest

By Joan H. Parks

The storms of autumn arrive, and the storms of their lives continue. The ladies decide to study Shakespeares The Tempest, wrongly thinking that a comedy will be easier than another of the big tragedies. Finding a suitable filmed version is difficult; reading the text is even more difficult. They struggle, seeing in this late play parts that mirror their own experiences.

Claire and Henry struggle in their late-life marriage with the debris and assumptions from their earlier marriages. Annie fights against the physical constraints that come with her aging as Bill wrestles with what he will do after retirement. Katherine is haunted by her past and her brush with cancer and has trouble accepting that Mark is in her life for the duration. Frannie now has grandchildren and a measure of happiness because she has faced the demons of her upbringing. The new members of the book club, Sally and Clarissa, have their own issues as their long-standing friendship shatters. Clarissa is rejuvenated by one new passion and one old passion. All this occurs and is illuminated by their reading of the glorious music and the strange plots of The Tempest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532045967

Joan H. Parks

Joan H Parks lives in Chicago, IL, and after a career in clinical research refreshed her life by becoming a fiction writer. Her undergraduate degree was from the University of Rochester in Non-Western Civilizations, her MBA from the University of Chicago. She studies poetry, including Yeats and the Canterbury Tales (in Middle English); has an interest in the ancient world which she has gratified by studying at the Oriental Institute of The University of Chicago; is an aficionado of The Tales of Genji, which she rereads every year or so. Her family regards these activities with amusement, for she also listens to Willie Nelson and Dierks Bentley. She can be contacted at joanhparks.com

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The

Book Club

CHRONICLES

PART SIX

THE TEMPEST

JOAN H. PARKS

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THE BOOK CLUB CHRONICLES—PART SIX—THE TEMPEST

Copyright © 2018 Joan H. Parks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-4595-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-4596-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018903666

iUniverse rev. date: 03/26/2018

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Promontory Point

Chapter 2 The Friends Have Lunch

Chapter 3 Katherine Recovers

Chapter 4 The Book Club tackles Act 1

Chapter 5 After the Ladies Went Home

Chapter 6 Henry and Claire

Chapter 7 Bill Chews out Annie

Chapter 8 Franny and Sam

Chapter 9 Act 1 Scene 2

Chapter 10 Franny and Sam Go to a Funeral

Chapter 11 Clarissa and Sally

Chapter 12 Back Story and The Treacherous Brothers

Chapter 13 Katherine's Party

Chapter 14 Katherine and Mark After the Party

Chapter 15 Henry and Claire After the Party

Chapter 16 Clarissa Remembers

Chapter 17 Our Revels Now are Ended

Chapter 18 Claire and Annie Take Their Usual Walk

Chapter 19 The Friends Have Lunch, Again

also by Joan H. Parks

The Late Bronze Age Stories:

Thutmose

Lukenow - Part Two

Petros - Part Three

The Bedouin - Part Four

Dalil - Part Five

The Gold of the North - Part Six

Nahid - Part Seven

Contemporary Stories:

The Book Club Chronicles

The Book Club Chronicles - Part Two

The Book Club Chronicles - Part Three

The Book Club Chronicles - Part Four - Macbeth

The Book Club Chronicles - Part Five - Hamlet

Memoir:

32 Linden Avenue

Direct quotes from The Tempest are from the Folger Library paperback edition. Simon and Schuster Paperback, 2015

The DVDs are available for anyone who has an internet connection.

Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human by Harold Bloom, Riverhead Books, New York 1998 is referred to. Sometimes in agreement, often not.

CHAPTER ONE

PROMONTORY POINT

I t's so lush and beautiful. Remember when we first came here so many years ago? The trees were spindly, and now they have grown into their mature selves. Annie looked around her. Let's meander to the end and look out over the lake.

Claire and she left the lobby of their building on 56th Street, headed east to the underpass that rumbled with the traffic speeding down Lake Shore Drive—the Drive. They emerged to walk along the sidewalk that was separated from the busy traffic only by a paltry, sparse strip of grass. They were happy to reach the welcome serenity of the Point, where the traffic noise was muffled by the trees, the waves on Lake Michigan, and the wind blowing off the lake.

Claire paced beside Annie, slowing automatically because she was taller. Anyway, it was a strolling day. Nothing to rush for. They seemingly had all the time in the world. But, just as the days of summer were coming to a close, so their lives were inexorably coming to a close. She and Annie were still stubbornly saying yes to life, trying to squeeze every bit of joy and meaning out of their remaining days, whether they be many or few.

Do you remember… Annie started to ask and then caught Claire’s shudder. Claire, I wasn’t going to get all tragic; listen to me before you decide I have lost it.

Claire turned her face away. Sorry, she said. I've heard those words too often lately. And, when I mention that I am sixty-four, people gasp and say I don’t look it. I don’t believe them.

Yeah, and then they say, ‘you’re only as old as you feel’.

Annie snorted. As if I believe that. They say the same to Bill, although he is five years older than I.

Nobody says ‘You look as if you had been dug up yesterday,’ or ‘I thought you were at least ninety’. Claire laughed.

Laughing with her, Annie then said: "Remember that summer when we were amused and enthralled that some word-drunk undergraduates were eating their pizza and drinking their beer while clutching well-thumbed paperbacks of The Tempest? The boys, burning up with energy as boys are, flung their Frisbees around. The girls, demure in their shorts and tank tops, would join in the rowdy fun if the boy appealed to her."

Jolted into remembering those long-ago days, Claire mistily recalled, There those privileged youngsters were, amongst all the South Siders, big families that originated in Alabama with their chairs and barbeques and little children running around. The odors of spicy barbequing ribs drifted over to us, melding with the soft southern accents. The matriarch was seated in a picnic chair, with a little one curled up on her lap, sucking his thumb. The men were gathered around the barbeque, their black skins shining in the light, conversing the way men do, whether it is the technicalities of barbequing a piece of meat, the latest minutia of a current sport, the endlessly interesting details of a sleek and dangerous car, or—while standing around a large hole in the street—discussing the arcane details of the large pipes. All Greek, so to speak, to this female—although not all females.

Annie continued the theme. We also had a picnic with our own kids, who were running around as we tried to keep them alive and out of the lake. We were successful, for they all managed to grow up more or less intact. If they didn’t end up stellar, they are at least decent human beings.

Those kids reading Shakespeare had so much fun. Reading the text from a pizza- smeared paperback and reciting the lines to each other with such brio, even standing up, beer can in hand, to declaim a speech. Suddenly passionate, Annie said, I hope we still have the fun of discovery that those kids had, and haven’t descended into total adult seriousness.

You haven’t. Claire moved over to the side of the path to let a jogger run past. I don’t think you ever will.

"The Point is perfect for putting on The Tempest. We have Lake Michigan in all its various moods, we look out and see the sail boats skimming along amongst the white caps, we see the downtown sky scrapers glimmering in the air. Around us is lush parkland, with all the locals coming here to picnic, or run, or cycle, or just to have a good time. The Point feels like an island, although it is not. What a perfect analogue to The Globe theater. All the families, the courting young, the young men playing pick-up volleyball—all are the perfect audience for Shakespeare."

"Are you suggesting that we move our book club out here to study The Tempest? Claire was appalled at the idea. One rainstorm, or raucous young people, and that would be the end of that. Plus, the bugs, and noisy, inquisitive dogs. Yikes!"

Claire, have you gone insane? No, no, no. It wouldn’t work. It’s just an idea I like keeping in my back pocket, so to speak.

Claire finally caught on. You’re going to put it into a story, aren’t you? You have that look in your eye.

Yeah. I’m thinking of it.

Claire knew that whenever Annie thought of it, it would soon appear in a scene. She laughed. I bet word-drunk undergraduates always find some place to have pizza, beer and Shakespeare.

Annie grinned. It gives you hope for the future doesn’t it?

Yes.

Shall we complete our circuit by leaving the underpass at 55th Street? This walk is much more fun than striding our neighborhood streets for our exercise.

They were already walking down the north side of the Point, towards the fountain that was just in front of the 55th Street underpass. Annie was being gracious, as usual.

Here we are, back where we started, Annie said as they entered the lobby of their building. See you at lunch. Call or text when you are ready.

I will.

Claire looked forward to whittling down her list of household chores. Annie looked forward to working on her current story. Both were saying yes to life.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FRIENDS HAVE LUNCH

C laire and Annie met in the lobby and walked the short block from their high-rise apartments on 56 th Street to Piccolo Mondo. They paused at the entrance. In the mellow light, the park adjacent looked its best, although one fine tree showed the scar of a limb that had been torn off in high winds. But, the grass was yet its luxurious green, and the trees had not yet succumbed to autumn by divesting themselves of their leaves.

Across the street, walking slowly down the sidewalk, were fifteen small children from the neighborhood nursery school. The toddlers were dressed in bright-colored vests and connect to one another with ropes—with a minder in the front and the back. Adults on the sidewalks watched the slow-moving procession with softened expressions, Claire and Annie included. Their usual waiter, his mustache bristling with pleasure as he greeted them, escorted them to a table for four next to the windows. They were seated mere inches from the sidewalk.

A diverse crowd, thought Claire. Black/white/academic but all solidly middle class. Not a hip crowd, but what someone caustically called haute bourgeois. That’s me, she reminded herself. Not like a North Side restaurant, where the tables were packed tightly and the din was like the zoo at feeding time. It was never very loud in Piccolo Mondo, even on a Friday or Saturday night when the theater crowd—even some North Siders, anxiously proud of their courage at venturing forth to Hyde Park—filled every table.

Katherine looks frazzled. Annie watched as Katherine emerged from a car that stopped at the corner. She entered the restaurant and paused, looking around for them. Annie waved. Annie raised her eyebrows. I wonder what's up? This looks real.

Claire narrowed her eyes as she, too, saw.

Katherine, her red curls bouncing, came to the table and tried to smile a hello. Hi, I'm sorry to be so late; the traffic was awful. She slung the tote bag in the empty chair, along with her purse.

Rough morning? Annie inquired. Katherine's mascara was smeared, her lipstick chewed off, her shoulders hunched—all unusual.

Memorial service. replied Katherine. Could you order me a martini? I need to go to the ladies room and make some repairs.

She gave a sigh of relief as she took off her heels and slipped her weary feet into comfortable flats that she extracted from the tote. She managed to give her friends a half-smile, slung her purse over her shoulder and, her face taut with emotion, made her way between the tables to the back door that led to the ladies room.

I wonder who it was?

At our age….

Claire and Annie looked at each other. Annie beckoned their waiter, who had been watching Katherine and knew before anything was said that Katherine would have a martini.

Katherine, her mascara renewed, her lipstick on straight, returned, sat down and, holding the martini in both hands, took a lengthy swallow.

Seeing her friends’ concerned looks, she straightened up and said: "A service I had to