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Vashti To Her Diary

By on March 23, 2016

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Written by Larry Lefkowitz. For more Jewrotica writing by Larry, check out In Victoria’s Bed. “In Victoria’s Bed” is an excerpt from Larry Lefkowitz’s novel, “The Critic, the Assistant Critic, and Victoria”, available from Amazon books. Also available from Amazon is his humorous fantasy and science fiction anthology, “Laughing into the Fourth Dimension.“.

Rated PG-13

Dear Diary:

I finally did it – telling that toad Ahasuerus where to get off, and who to get off. Summoning me like some kitchen wench whenever he gets the urge, usually so drunk he can’t tell a Mede from a Persian. And then I have to cool my heels and anything else that might have been inflamed till he raises that damned scepter of his – the sign that one can enter his would-be-divine presence. Even that he raises a lot faster than his other scepter, which falls short of the mark of his jeweled entry gate, not to speak of mine.

Was it for this that I became a queen! Better I was back at my old job of pleasing the gallants of Shushan. Ok, so they paid well for my services, but at least I had the right of refusal. I didn’t have to wait till they raised their scepters. One look at me in the altogether was altogether enough.

You, dear diary, didn’t know that the king himself first met me in my, ah, palace of work. Of course he came in a disguise – as a woman! For fear of getting a bad rep among the populace, as if that jaded rabble could be shocked. Nor was his disguise mere chance. He had more feminine qualities than masculine ones – every time I see him holding that scepter, I am reduced to helpless laughter. He should be raising a rolling pin.

Still, he has an eye for the pretty maidens. I know, diary dear, that one of these days the perfumed, curly-bearded fob will throw me out in favor of a more pliable wench. He dotes on those sweet types hanging around the court. Talk about courtesans!

I have just about had it playing queen to that excuse for a Persian king. In fact, I confess to you, dear diary, that I’ve been working on a scheme so complicated it would fit easily into the intricate design of that throne room Persian carpet he has so often rubbed by nose and more sensitive parts in.

I don’t need to scrutinize a sheep’s liver to tell me that a pretty innocent named Esther, daughter of a palace functionary, is exactly the type to cause Ahasuerus to raise both his scepters faster than a prefabricated ziggurat erected with slave labor. Yes, dear diary, I am grooming her to take my place – let her end up wearing out her adorned sandals pacing the polished floors waiting for that damned rod of his to nod in her direction.

I have instructed Esther to prance about and try to catch the king’s eye. She hesitated at first, all simpers and blushings, but as her people have an enemy in that scamp Haman, I intimated that I could do her and them a favor and get rid of him. Actually, I’ve been meaning to unhorse him since he refused to pay me after availing himself of my services. Hanging is too good for him but I feel merciful lately, what with getting Ahasuerus off my back – and elsewhere.

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