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The 'Vanity Fair' Portrait of David Sol'e by Daniel Finneran

The 'Vanity Fair' Portrait of David Sol'e by Daniel Finneran

Ratings: (0)|Views: 809|Likes:
Published by Daniel Finneran
This is one story from a short-story collection. The stories are similar in
theme, and are all meant to be satires.
The story is inspired by Wilde's 'The
Picture of Dorian Gray,' and takes
place, for the most part, in Washington
D.C.
This is one story from a short-story collection. The stories are similar in
theme, and are all meant to be satires.
The story is inspired by Wilde's 'The
Picture of Dorian Gray,' and takes
place, for the most part, in Washington
D.C.

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Published by: Daniel Finneran on Jun 24, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/24/2012

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Finneran/SOL’E 
The
Vanity Fair 
Portrait of David Sol’e
 
byDaniel Finneran 
High pressure. He knew that days like this -- blue sky, clear air -- were the resultof high pressure.He always thought it sort of odd -- amazing, actually -- that for, what, thousandsof years, no one had figured that out. That weather was the result of Pressure Zones, andthen some guy, who ran away from his brother, who had been living in Boston, thenliving in Philadelphia, figured that out. Then invents the lightning rod, and a bunch of other stuff. Bifocals. Made his own sunglasses. Taught himself to swim, from reading a book.Maybe his interest -- provincialism? -- towards Franklin the result of attending theBenjamin Franklin grade school. A great school, as he remembered it. The principal, asort of oversized Ward Cleaver. He was a good guy.
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Finneran/SOL’E
He continued down the sidewalk, felt his tie flare up before him, in the breeze,and saw a big, black SUV to his left, parked on the side of the street. He stepped over onto the grass section, next to the sidewalk, and stopped in front of one of the black-tinted side windows of the SUV. The window big enough so it really didn’t distort himvery much.He flipped his tie back down, and checked the knot. Checked his collar on his button-down shirt, pulled tight his blazer, and gave a quick look at his hair. He lookedfurther down the street and -- could see the address, in large silver letters -- realized the building was only a few hundred yards away, so took off his sunglasses.Didn’t want to walk in, forgetting to take off the sunglasses.The building was one of those red brick, three or four-story office buildings -- thisone about half-a-block off Main Street -- that all towns now had. Even out where helived. A lobby. Elevators. Big plants.He walked into the entrance, pulling his blazer in tight again, and, as he waited for the elevator he again -- in the silver of the elevator doors -- gave himself a quick once-over. Didn’t want one-half of a collar unbuttoned, or some stain somewhere on a shirt.The elevator arrived, and he pressed ‘3.’The receptionist was a pleasant, middle-aged woman, and she immediatelyshowed him through the lobby, down a hallway, and -- after a knock -- on the left, inthrough big, dark, wooden doors. Double doors, where on one side, one door could belocked in place.‘Mr. Harris -- Sir Rachel -- Mr. -- or should I say, Congressman -- David Sol’e,’said the receptionist.
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Finneran/SOL’E
‘David,’ said Mr. Harris, getting up from a leather chair. ‘David -- Florence, Ithink I can still call him David. I knew him when he was running around his father’s farmin his undershorts.’‘Mr. Harris,’ said David. ‘Great to see you. Just great to see you.’Harris gave him his firm handshake, and a look in the eye. ‘Ah, I think even better to see you, David. Making time for us plebes.’‘I don’t know about that, Mr. Harris -- ’‘We’ll have to work on that “Mr. Harris,” but first off I want you to meet CliftonRachel. Some of his friends call him “Sir.” So I guess we’ve decided to also -- that’s allfor now, Florence. Thank you.’Florence shut the door, and the three of them were in the room by themselves.Mr. Rachel had already risen, from another leather chair, and he stepped forward.He was thin, and older. Not quite the person of bull-strength that was Mr. Harris. Seemeda bit fragile, really. His hair was held in place with that sort of gel.‘It is nice to meet you -- Congressman. And one of the great things about your fellow citizens -- that you now, of course, represent -- is that you love Knighthoods andall that sort of thing. Back home, of course, there are some that think the whole institutionhas never recovered from Knighting the Beatles. And some man named Jagger. But itdoes afford one excellent dinner reservations, when the need be. -- But manycongratulations on your recent victory.’‘Well, thank you. Thank you, Mr.--’‘Clifton, please. Clifton. The only one I insist call me “Lord” is Simon over here,’he said, with a slight wink. A wink? thought Sol’e. I’m not sure I’ve seen a wink in a
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