“Gordon gave it to me.”
“I know where you got it. Why are you reading this filth?”
Frank looked both bewildered and amused. “Filth?” He grinned. “What are you talking about? Huxley’s considered one of the greatest—”
“It’s filth!” My father hurled the book against the wall, its pages fluttering. “And I don’t want it in my house!”
“Have you read it?” Frank asked.
“I don’t have to read it! I already know what it’s about.”
Frank sneered with a familiar sadistic glint in his eye. “Oh, really?” he said, stroking his chin with his fingers and nodding in mock earnestness. “Then please, tell me. What’s it about?”
“It’s about drugs, test-tube babies, and whatnot. That’s why the church banned that crap years ago!”
Frank laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Here you are commenting on a book you haven’t even read.” Frank continued to laugh. “You’re taking your cues from the church, and you don’t even know what you don’t know. Listen to yourself.”
“Listen, buddy boy,” my father said, jabbing a finger in Frank’s face. “I know you’re a big-shot advertising man up there in Manhattan with the rest of the phony bastards, but when you’re in my house, you can take all that Madison Avenue bullshit and shove it! I don’t want you bringing this crap into my house. Do you hear me?”
“Well, hey,” Frank said, extending a hand toward my father, “now there’s an intelligent response. It’s good to know you’re an open-minded, critical thinker with your own thoughts and opinions.”
“And tell your friend Gordy that if he wants to poison somebody’s mind, he and his fruitcake wife should get their own goddamn kids.”
“Why don’t you tell him? I’m sure he’d relish the exchange of ideas.”
“I will. And don’t think I won’t.”
Frank picked up his book and noticed that the front cover was torn. He opened his mouth to say something, but then headed for the bathroom. My father blocked his path. “Gimme that,” my father said, holding out his hand.