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Overview
Katie Arnoldi’s critically acclaimed debut novel Chemical Pink launched her onto the bestseller lists and so burrowed itself into the public’s consciousness that its title was the answer to a Double Jeopardy question. Now, seven years later, her second novel, The Wentworths, gives her readers a fascinating, erotic, dark, and savagely funny page-turner that will both thrill her fans and appeal to new readers of all stripes. Arnoldi’s searing portrait of a wealthy Westside, Los Angeles family, is a true binge read—boldly dramatizing the dysfunctionality of the modern American family as it examines how people get so screwed up. Comic and horrifying, sadistic and hilarious, tragic and funny all at the same time, The Wentworths is a shocking, yet redemptive tale that will have fans cheering.
“Too funny, too true, too sad, and too short.” —David Mamet, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of old Religion
“Savagely funny . . . You’ll be hooked.” —Marie Claire
“With a wry touch, Arnoldi draws a mocking portrait of a powerful Southern California family that, while not the worst family on record, is remarkably warped by wealth and power . . . A page-turner both for its well-paced intrigue and for its witty, sordid description of just how awful these people can get.” —Publishers Weekly
“The #1 beach read of the summer.” —The Malibu Times
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781590206300 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | ABRAMS, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 05/15/2019 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 256 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
August "Gus" Wentworth and His Girlfriend Honey
GUS SAT UP. IT WAS HOT. HONEY'S AIR CONDITIONER GROANED and sputtered in the window but it wasn't worth a damn. He'd have to buy her a new one if he was going to keep this up through the summer. Meat locker cold, that's how he liked his bedroom.
"Come here, Honey baby."
"I'm peeing."
Gus peeled himself off the sheets and walked to the bathroom.
Honey was seated on the toilet. She had her head down, concentrating, he supposed, on expelling all the urine in her bladder. The back of her neck was pale and flawless. Gus wanted to bite that neck. Everything about her was ripe. Honey's breasts were large and still very firm. You'd never guess she'd had a child. She had the narrow rear-end of an athlete which was a shock considering all the junk food she consumed. Cheese, fudge and fried food were the cornerstones in Honey's life. Gus didn't care. Twenty-one is twenty-one. It smells different. Sweet and fresh. Honey was perfect although if she kept eating the way she did she might not stay that way. You never knew how a person was going to age. Sometimes genetics are with you, but often they're your enemy. Another couple of years, couple more kids, Honey might drop from the tree and spend the rest of her days rotting in the shade. But for the time being, her sun was definitely still shining.
"Don't look." Honey tried to push the door shut but Gus blocked it with his foot. "Can't I have a second of privacy Gus? Please."
Gus laughed. "Nope." Of course Gus was going to watch, that was what he came for. That's why he covered the rent for this little apartment. That's why he gave her the allowance and paid for the fancy daycare. He wanted to come over here and watch sweet Honey whenever he damn well pleased.
She finished peeing, wiped herself, flushed the toilet and hurried back into the bedroom without bothering to wash her hands.
Gus liked to shower at Honey's. Something about the stained porcelain tub, lack of water pressure, the cheap towels, gave the place an exotic feel. She was a terrible housekeeper — damp clothes on the floor, food containers in the trash, hair in the sink. Being in this apartment was a safari through the tangled jungle of the blue-collar worker, the great unwashed, the lower middle class. Gus liked it. He liked to use her Irish Spring soap and Suave shampoo, her floral scent antiperspirant and her French vanilla body lotion. He would arrive home smelling like a room deodorizer.
"Honey, come back in here." Gus pulled back the clear plastic shower curtain and turned on the faucet. He sat on the side of the tub and waited for the hot water. "Honey." The water turned hot. "HONEY."
"WHAT?" Honey had on her flesh-toned panties and matching bra. It tickled Gus that she didn't go in for sexy lingerie. She was plain, utterly basic and beautiful.
"Wash my back."
"I gotta pick up Kimmy at Happy Helpers."
"Please wash my back, Honey."
"I'm dressed."
"Honey."
Honey sighed then took off her underwear and stepped into the tub with Gus. He handed her the soap and adjusted the water so it pounded hot on his stomach and crotch. Honey circled the soap round and round, starting at the small of his back and working upward. She worked fast, rushing her job, but Gus let it go. When the area was thoroughly coated she handed him the soap and went to work kneading and massaging his muscles. Gus taught her exactly how he liked his back washed on one of their first dates and now it was a part of every encounter.
"They get really mad if I'm late." Honey raked her nails up and down then pounded on his shoulders in an effort to wrap things up.
Gus soaped his penis and testicles. The cheap smell and the suds were extremely stimulating and he found himself aroused. He turned around and said, "Look what you did."
"I can't be late again," she said.
Gus put his soapy hands on Honey's breasts and circled the tight pink nipples. This little hayseed really did it for him. He closed his eyes and rubbed his soapy erect penis against her damp pubic hair.
"Kimmy cried last time," Honey said. "All the other kids had gone home."
Gus reached down and started fiddling around between her legs.
"I gotta go." Honey pulled back the shower curtain and was about to step out when Gus grabbed her arm.
"Please Honey. You are not through here." He tightened his grip and watched her face. He was awfully generous with her, she owed him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?" He smiled and patted her shoulder. "It would be so cruel."
Honey dropped down onto her knees. The spray from the shower made it hard for her to breathe but somehow she managed. She sucked away and Gus closed his eyes. It felt so good. Honey's little pie hole. In and out, in and out. Not too hard, he didn't want to make her gag, but he took his time. Gus was in no hurry. He pumped her face until the hot water ran cold.
Gus pulled his car into his garage and killed the engine. Twice in one afternoon, not bad for an old guy. This was the kind of news he'd like to share. "Hey Judith, guess what? I got it up two times today." "Judith, women like to fuck me. Young ones." "Judith, I'm sixty-seven. I'm a fucking stud." "Judith, I shot my wad all over a twenty-one-year-old's face." "Judith my dick still gets very, very hard." "Judith, you bitch, aren't you proud?" Gus got out of the car, adjusted his balls, and headed for the house.
2
What Norman Thinks
I am the son of a rutting philanderer. He's a man who likes hot pudding for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Judith does not provide that kind of nourishment and so he forages. To him, there is nothing more edifying than the sticky feel of feminine secretions on his worn and well-used baton. When he was young, my father could attract the finest of the species. August Wentworth was a master huntsman with astonishingly high levels of testosterone. Now that he's older, attracting female companionship has become more of a strategic business endeavor. It takes a little more work and the quality isn't always what it used to be. Still, he is the CEO, the CFO, manager and director, the monster cheese with biscuits, the ultimate liege lord of how to conquer and control women using excess money and a sprinkling of charm. His looks may have faded but a rich man like August can still usually take his pick.
You might ask: what about family values? Trust? Wouldn't the relentless pursuit of tail slacken the marital bonds? Mustn't it breed resentment in the poor, victimized spouse? And what about the offspring? Didn't that kind of behavior harm the sweet, vulnerable Wentworth children? Those loving and innocent youngsters, wouldn't they be confused by the lack of parental unity? My answer to you is that obviously they would be damaged. Children do not thrive when trapped in an environment of deceit. But I'm not one to dwell on the obvious. You must take those questions up with your own therapist, on your own time.
We as a species — yes I admit that you and I have that one thing in common, our place in the genetic cartogram — we human beings, are capable of adapting to endless configurations of adversity. A high pain threshold is crucial to survival. But three young Homosapiens, three Wentworth children, faced with the same hardships, will likely cope in very different ways. It all comes down to intelligence and natural selection. Survival of the fittest and the fittest is I.
And what of my reproductive future, you ask? You bemoan the fact I spill my seed fruitlessly? Then you obviously still believe in the virtue of perpetuating this human race. Well, I do not share your opinion, my friend. You and I are not of like mind.
3
Judith's Work is Never Done
Judith leaned over the porcelain sink to examine the single coarse black hair. It was long and black, obviously one of the maids, but which one? She reluctantly picked up the hair. Normally she wouldn't subject herself to such filth, she would call someone, but she had to personally get to the bottom of this. It was a long hair, at least to the shoulders, so that ruled out Graciela. Judith held it up to the light. It had the glossy sheen to it of the chemically untreated and the color was true black. Rosa. Had to be. Blanca colored her hair and Carmenita's was Negroid-kinky. Judith dropped the hair back into the sink and stepped out into the hall.
"Rosa." She used her calm but authoritative voice. One needed to assert one's position in a household full of help and Judith had perfected her leadership skills over the years. It was a terrible mistake to befriend these people. They didn't need a friend, they needed a boss. Judith was a master at setting limits and defining boundaries. Caring for the help was a lot like raising children except that the help never matured into adulthood. They were perpetual adolescents and required a firm hand. She waited thirty seconds, counting them off in her head, then called again, "Rosa. Come down here, please." She counted. One one hundred, two one hundred. At fifteen she raised her voice. "Rosa, I want to see you this instant!" "Coming, Missus," Rosa yelled from some distant room.
Judith looked around the bathroom. The linen hand towels were perfectly ironed and hung neatly on the towel rack. She reached over and creased the corner of one towel and crinkled another.
Rosa's heavy footsteps thundered down the front stairway. She arrived, panting, her mustache-prone upper lip dotted with beads of perspiration. Was it from fear or hard work? Rosa had been employed for over two years. Was she still so frightened of Judith? Judith smiled at the thought.
"I've been calling, Rosa."
"Yes, Missus?" "I don't like to have to yell." Judith cleared her throat. "I expect you to come immediately."
"Sorry, Missus."
"Look here," Judith pointed toward the bathroom. "What do you see?" "The powder room, Missus."
Judith nodded in encouragement. Sometimes these people could be so dense. Rosa looked reluctant to continue so Judith used her warm and supportive smile as a prod.
"The toilet," Rosa pointed. "The sink, the window, the soap, the hand towel…"
"Is this room clean?" "Oh yes, very clean. I did it this morning."
"Step in here with me."
Rosa reluctantly stepped into the bathroom. Judith could smell the cheap floral soap and the underlying sweat. It must be the rice and beans that gave them that particular odor. Jalapeno peppers and lard.
"Children often have trouble concentrating on the task at hand," Judith said. She smoothed the front of cream-colored linen slacks. She would have to make this quick as she needed to change for dinner. "Follow through is an issue with the very young. You know that Rosa, you have children. Five children, correct?" Rosa nodded her head. There were five children back home in Guatemala. Rosa sent money each week for food and clothing. She had not seen her children in three years and had no plans to return home anytime in the near future. She could not afford to leave.
"You and I, we are not children, Rosa." Judith pointed at the sink and the offending hair. "We are capable of better."
Rosa reached out to grab it but Judith caught her arm. "We can't really call this room clean, can we?" Rosa shook her head. Was that a tear forming in her eye? Judith let the arm go and Rosa snatched up the hair and stuffed it into her uniform pocket.
"To me, stray hairs spell germs," Judith sighed. It was important that Rosa not forget this lesson. "Now, we expect to find hairs in public restrooms at football stadiums or gas stations or fast food restaurants but not in the home. Never in the home, Rosa. I can't live like this. With filth."
"It will not happen again, Missus."
"I hope not."
"Never."
"You promise me? Give me your word of honor?" Rosa nodded. Yes, those were definitely tears in her eyes but Judith noticed that her hands were balled in tight fists.
"We'll let it go this time."
Rosa started to leave before she was dismissed. Silly girl was angry.
"Don't you have something to say, Rosa?" Rosa turned like a defiant child. The fury in her eye made Judith want to laugh. These maids were from the third world, and yes their intelligence was not quite up to par, but they were not animals. They were capable of learning things. Didn't Rosa know that these lessons were for her own good? Didn't she understand that it was moments like this that would make her a better person? Judith stared back until finally Rosa dropped her eyes.
"Thank you, Missus …"
"You're welcome, Rosa."
Rosa started to leave.
"Oh and Rosa? These linen hand towels need to be pressed with a very hot iron. You see? They're wrinkled. Do them again, please? I like everything to look nice when the family comes for dinner."
Rosa took the towels and hurried off and Judith continued her inspection of the house. She kept a running tally in her head of all the precious objects that she owned and all the things she intended to buy. Any thing that was lost or taken from her over the years went into a separate mental column, a special section labeled grudge or regret. Her calculations went back to childhood when she lived in a ratty trailer with a mother who had almost no money but an unlimited allowance for booze. But the conscious Judith of today had no memory of that ugly past. Her life was in order. The things that she owned, that she controlled, were comforting in a way that no human relationship could ever be. Her things were solid, and trustworthy; they had monetary value, heft and weight, and that made her feel whole. Judith Wentworth was safe.
4
Rosa
Rosa's jaw hurt from chewing the gum. She chewed and sprayed the starch and chewed and ironed and chewed and folded the linen hand towels. Snap, snap, snap went her teeth. It was a big wad of gum, three pieces. The flavor was gone but Rosa kept on working it. Missus didn't allow gum in the house. Rosa blew a bubble. Well, Missus could just come in here and take it out of Rosa's mouth. Let her try. She'd lose a finger, that's what would happen. Rosa would bite that skinny bitch's arm off.
There were a lot of rules in this house. This palace. No gum. No colored nail polish. No hairspray. Those things were cheap. Low class. And Missus was allergic. Missus could wear her own perfume but Missus was allergic to everyone else's, so no perfume, no scented lotions, no strong smelling soaps.
They were crazy, these people. Missus, with her perfect things, starving herself all the time. And that horrible man, Mister Wentworth, probably had two or three families scattered around this city. Filthy dog. Can't keep it in his pants. Rosa knew lots of men like him; she used to be married to one. No, she had no patience with this type of person. One time Mister Wentworth put that fat hand on Rosa's back end when she passed him in the hall. Rosa turned around and scratched him with her nails. She drew blood. No man could get away with that. Never again. Rosa scratched him then she let out a scream that could have raised her dead grandmother but instead brought the Missus running.
Missus yelled, "What on earth is going on?" Mister Wentworth tried to cover his arm. "Everything's fine."
"Oh my God," Rosa cried. She pulled his arm out for everyone to see. "You're bleeding! Look, Missus. Blood is dripping down."
And sure enough, there were three long scratch marks on his arm, all oozing bright red blood.
"August," Missus said. "How did this happen?" He said some ridiculous story about nails in the garage and falling off a ladder. Not convincing but the Missus, she bought it. She never once asked why Rosa had screamed, never even looked at Rosa. Absolutely no questions were asked. Some women are like that; they don't want to see the truth about their men. Rosa was once like that herself until the day her husband ran off and left her with five young children and no money.
"That could get very infected, Mister Wentworth," Rosa said as she looked him in the eye. "A very, very big problem for you."
Missus took him by the hand and rushed him off to get a Band-Aid. Mister Wentworth never bothered Rosa again. She would take what she had to from Missus, she needed the money, her children needed the money, but no man would ever take advantage of Rosa Alvarado again.
Rosa stuffed another piece of gum in her mouth. Four pieces was a little much but she liked the sugary taste of strawberry. Something about the artificial flavor, a flavor that had nothing to do with real fruit, was soothing.
She had been working in the Wentworth house for two years. Two years and the older children, Conrad and Becky, still hadn't bothered to learn her name. They called her "the short one" or "the little Mexican girl." Rosa didn't care. Why should she? It was all about money. It was about her children, the only people she loved, the only reason she could think of to keep on living this miserable life.
Norman made a point of asking about the children and even remembered their names. He was all right. Crazy, no question, but nice. Who cares if he dressed up in his mama's clothes and pranced around like
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Wentworths"
by .
Copyright © 2008 Katie Arnoldi.
Excerpted by permission of Abrams Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Too funny, too true, too sad, and too short.
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