Subject: New story: Jump, Jive, 'n'
Wail <M/f>
From: Kent Stoneking <kentls001@worldnet.att.net>
Date: 1999/02/12
A short "Daddy/daughter" piece I conceived while watching the Brian Seitzer orchestra cover the title song. Hope you enjoy it.
* * *
"Baby, baby, it looks like it's gonna hail ... baby, baby, it looks like it's gonna hail ... you better come inside, let me teach you how to jive and wail ..."
The sounds of the Louis Prima jitterbug anthem flowed softly from the stereo, surrounding the man seated on the living room sofa, pretending to read the newspaper. He checked his watch; she should be home any moment. He hoped he was ready.
The front door opened and shut; moments later, she entered the room. "Hi, Dad!" she said brightly, coming over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Forcing himself to keep his tone steady, he answered, "Hi, Sweetheart! How was your day?" He patted the cushion next to him invitingly.
"Oh, not too bad, I guess," she replied, taking the offered seat. "School's school, y'know?"
"Papa's in the icebox, looking for a can of ale ... Papa's in the icebox, looking for a can of ale ... Mama's in the backyard, learnin' how to jive and wail ..."
"And how are you doing in English?" He named her least favorite subject.
She rolled her eyes upwards. "Boring as always, but I'm hanging in there. I'll be real glad when this term's over."
"Just can't get into 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner,' eh?" he chuckled.
"No, Dad, I sure can't."
She'd dug herself a deep enough hole. "It may interest you to know," he said casually, watching her face intently, "that your English teacher called me today. She said you haven't been in class all this week."
She didn't even flinch. "I've been going, Dad, every day! I don't know why she'd say that --"
"She also said the class finished the unit on Coleridge last week. They're working on Shelley now."
He had her, and she knew it. She dropped her eyes and started chewing her lower lip. He decided to thrust the knife in a bit deeper. "You'd know that ... if you were going to class."
"A woman is a woman and a man ain't nothin' but a male ... a woman is a woman and a man ain't nothin' but a male ... one good thing about it: he knows how to jive and wail ..."
"D-daddy ... I'm s-sorry," she stammered.
So he was Daddy now, was he? Amazing how she always regressed when caught in a lie. But he wasn't through with her yet.
"You remember that little talk we had after your midterm?"
She didn't answer, continuing her intent study of the carpet. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face. "You promised me you'd go to class every day, and try your best. Didn't you?"
Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes as she glanced away.
"Look at me, Sweetheart," he commanded. She swallowed hard, brought her eyes back to his, and nodded.
"And do you remember what I said I'd have to do if you broke your promise?"
Her confused look was all the answer he needed.
"Well, maybe this'll help your memory." He carefully folded the newspaper and laid it aside, revealing the paddle concealed beneath.
She stared in disbelief at the hated reminder of her earlier childhood. "Daddy, you can't be serious!"
"Jack and Jill went up the hill to get a pail ... Jack and up the hill to get a pail ... Jill stayed up, she wanted to learn how to jive and wail ..."
"I'm very serious, Sweetheart," he replied. "You broke your promise and then you lied to me. It doesn't get much more serious than that."
"But I'm too old for a paddling!"
"I don't think so. All your life, this has been the only punishment that's worked. Whenever I've just scolded you about something, you've gone right back to your old ways. Only after I've paddled you do you behave yourself."
"Daddy, please! Give me another chance!"
"I gave you a chance, Sweetheart, and you blew it. We tried things your way, now we'll do them mine."
"No, Daddy, don't paddle me! I'll do better, I promise!"
"You promised that before. Come on, Honey, let's get this over with. You know you deserve it."
She continued her protests as he took hold of her and pulled her face-down across his lap. He had to pin her arms behind her before rucking up her short pleated skirt and peeling down her panties. He smacked the paddle down, hard, on her bare rump. "Dadddiieee!" she howled.
"You gotta jump, jive, and then you wail ... you gotta jump, jive, and then you wail ... you gotta jump, jive, and then you wail ... you gotta jump, jive, and then you wail ... you gotta jump, jive, and then you wail away ..."
The lyrics caught his ear as he raised the paddle for the next stroke. Very appropriate, he thought. She'd jumped (cut class); she'd jived (lied to him about it); now he'd make damn sure she wailed.