From Chapter Two (Cont.)

The Merchant of Venus

Introduction

Excerpts:

Prologue

From Chapter Two

From Chapter Two (cont.)

From Chapter Three

An Interview with the Author

The Merchant of Venus
An Excerpt from Chapter Two (cont.)

By Ellen Hart

"Cute. Guess again."

"If you think you're staying here, I suggest you turn around and head back to New York."

"Can't. The airport's closed."

"Then call a taxi and find a hotel."

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Because I can't." She picked up her luggage and barged past Cordelia into the living room.

The cats squirmed out of Cordelia's arms. "You're not staying."

"I have to."

"Why?"

Octavia flipped off the track lighting and moved over to the long bank of windows, peering carefully down at the street.

"What?" said Cordelia, her hands rising to her hips. "The drug busters after you again?"

"Nothing like a little bitterness to get things off on the right foot."

Cordelia just stared at her. "Age cannot wither nor custom stale your infinite acerbity."

"Oh, great." She whirled around. "I travel all this way and all you can do is toss bastardized Shakespeare quotes at me like an adolescent theatre major. Can't we communicate like human beings -- like sisters?"

"And how would that be?"

"Straight. Without all the sarcasm. For your information, I'm not using anymore."

"Right. Tell me another."

"I'm not. I haven't touched alcohol or cocaine since -- "

"Since when? Since Mom died?" Cordelia could feel the anger building up in her chest.

Octavia looked away. "Cut me a little slack, will you? I wouldn't be here if I didn't need…if I didn't want -- " Her voice faltered.

"You always want something, Octavia. What is it this time?"

"You're my sister! We're family."

"And you're in trouble."

"No," she said, gazing forlornly down at her hands. "It's not like that…exactly."

There it was. The look that could launch a thousand handkerchiefs. "Save the tragic act for your audiences in New York."

"You're a hard woman, you know that?"

"Au contraire. I am the soul of compassion. Just not where you're concerned."

Octavia paused, glanced around the room, then started again. "I came because…because I wanted to mend fences. It's about time, don't you think? I know what I did was horrible. Inexcusable. If I could take back any of my actions, I would. I'm clean, really. I have been for years." She paused, then tried on a hesitant smile. "Hey, don't you ever read Variety? I'm the toast of New York. Your little sister. Think of that."

Cordelia drew herself up to her full six-foot height. "After what you did, I can't believe you'd think I'm even the least bit interested in your career."

"You used to care."

"That ended eight years ago." Cordelia stood her ground as Octavia moved restlessly about the room.

Finally, Octavia said, "Dad's forgiven me."

"Then he's a fool. I'm not."

"How would you know? You haven't been home since Mom died."

"We talk on the phone."

"Not much you don't."

"How would you know?"

"Because I'm there, Cordelia. I drive up to Boston every chance I get. Dad's all alone now. He needs us."

The phone suddenly rang.

Octavia jumped. "Don't answer that."

This was too much. "It's my loft. You don't give orders here."

Octavia lunged at the phone, preventing Cordelia from picking it up. "Please! Just this once. Do what I ask."

"What's the big deal?" demanded Cordelia. "All this talk about forgiveness and reconciliation. You're here because you're hiding from someone, right? You never change. When you're in trouble, you come to me to bail you out."

"That's not true. It's just... we were having our first real conversation in eight years! I don't want to be interrupted."

"What real conversation? All I heard were the usual excuses."

"Cordelia, give me a break!"

Ignoring her sister's pleas, Cordelia pried Octavia's hand off the receiver and clicked it on. "Thorn here," she said abruptly. "Speak."