NO NUDES IS GOOD NUDES: a _Daria_ OAV by Peter W. Guerin prose adaptation by Austin Loomis "Ain't no doubt about it, we were doubly blessed 'Cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed" -- Jim Steinman, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER None of this ever happened. This story is entirely a work of fiction. As for continuity, this story takes place after the events depicted in "Stupid Sunday". ADAPTOR'S DISCLAIMER/OBLIGATORY LEGAL BLAP Daria Morgendorffer and the rest of the Lawndale characters were created by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis and are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess points out, work- for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. This storyline is copyright 1999 Peter W. Guerin, aka Mark Zero Fan Fiction Unlimited (*clang! clang!* OUCH! I HIT MYSELF WITH THE FRICKIN' HAMMER!), and was adapted into prose form by Austin Loomis (to whom the adaptation is copyright 2000) with permission. All characters, locations and incidents are either imaginary or else used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this disclaimer (and all other text) is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without permission of the legal owners of all concepts and formatting involved. The present adaptor hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Peter W. Guerin and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them on purpose. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Our story begins at six PM on a Friday night in Lawndale, USA, at 111 Howard Drive, the home (when they're there) of Vincent and Amanda Lane. Up in her room, their youngest child, Jane Lane, artist extraordinaire, had been staring at a blank canvas for quite long enough, thank you very much. She was suffering from a severe creative block. She picked up one of her brushes, then slammed it down in disgust. _Dammit!_ she thought. She just couldn't seem to get the old creative juices flowing today, and it was going to be her brother Trent's birthday in another ten days. What was she going to do for his present? Just when she needed something to keep her from having to face that problem, the phone rang. Jane answered it with her usual "Yo!" "Jane," a familiar voice replied, "it's Daria. What's up?" "Well, I seem to be suffering from some mental block. I want to do a painting to give to Trent for his birthday and I'm stuck." "That's a rare day where you're suffering from a creative rut," Daria Morgendorffer remarked. "Anything I can do to help?" "Maybe call in a truckload of Prozac?" "You *do* sound desperate. Anyway, don't forget I'm going to be over on Sunday for our weekly Bad Movie Night. I did tape _Demon City Shinjuku_, and I do intend to watch it." Jane remembered that Daria'd faced a choice between watching that particular Saturday Anime as it aired on the Sci-Fi Channel or making it to the Bowl-Buster concert at the Zen. _Thank God, or at least Akio Morita, for the VCR._ "What's that supposed to be about again?" "It's kind of like _Nightmare on Elm Street_ meets _Wall Street_. This evil wizard takes over Tokyo's financial district and this guy and his girlfriend're supposed to stop him from taking over the rest of the world." "Sounds like the type of film they should give the old _Mystery Science Theater 3000_ treatment!" "Sorry, MST3K doesn't do anime." "Aw, man!" Jane kevin-ed. "I would have loved seeing those guys riff on _Project A-ko_ and _Akira_!" "Sorry to disappoint. Anyway, see you on Sunday?" "Sure. Just remember to bring the No-Doz in case we begin to fall asleep." "Gotcha. Got to run; Quinn's expecting one of the Three J's to call her." "Bye." She hung up and let out a sigh of despair. _What am I going to do?_ she asked herself again. _I've just got to paint something nice for Trent for his birthday!_ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next morning, at about eleven-thirty, the four members of Lawndale High's Fashion Club were having lunch (a salad, and a diet soda, for each of them) at a common table in the Food Court at Cranberry Commons, the major mall in Lawndale. "So," club vice-president Quinn Morgendorffer asked, "does everybody have a date for tonight? I'm going to go out with Jeffy." "Oh, are you, Quinn?" club president Sandi Griffin smirked in her deep tones. "I've got a date with Skyler Feldman." Quinn scowled at that. She'd gone out with Skyler once before, the time she bailed on baby-sitting Tad and Tricia Gupty and talked Daria into taking her place. "I don't have anyone to go out with, I'm afraid," secretary Stacy Rowe had to admit. "I don't have anyone myself," added coordinating officer Tiffany Blum-Deckler in her usual subdued whisper. "Well," Sandi snarled, "at least Quinn's weirdo sister Daria has someone, that Trent freak. God, I think I saw them having sex at the Seven Corners a while back." The way Sandi was talking made Quinn decidedly uncomfortable. She might not be crazy about Daria, particularly since the Fashion Club had finally found out they were sisters and not cousins, but still, she *was* family, and Sandi shouldn't be practically calling Daria a whore. "Uh, Sandi, let's change the subject." _Why is Sandi doing this?_ Stacy thought to herself, remembering the car crash Daria and Trent had gotten into at Seven Corners. _I owed it to Daria to be there for her when she needed help. After all, she and her friend Jane were the only ones willing to listen to me when I got dumped and cried my eyes out on the Ferris wheel at the medieval fair. I've got to get to know Daria better; she doesn't seem to be the evil person Sandi's painting her to be._ "Anyway, guys," Quinn breezed on, unaware of Stacy's inner turmoil, "I think I'm about to take the plunge!" "What do you mean, Quinn?" Tiffany rasped. "I'm thinking seriously about losing my virginity." "Well, duh!" Sandi sneered. "What took you so long?" "And what do you mean by that remark, Sandi?" "Oh, nothing." "Well, for your information," Quinn scowled, "I just might do it with one of the Three J's. You know, they look harmless enough." "You mean, they won't fight back if you assert yourself." "And what do you mean by *that?*" "Uh, guys," Stacy piped up, "could you excuse me? I've got to go to the ladies' room." She got up and went. "What is with her these days?" Tiffany wondered. "Stacy's been making a lot of trips to the bathroom." "Well, maybe she's got a case of the Hershey squirts, if you know what I mean." "Sandi!" a shocked Quinn gasped. "How can you say that about Stacy?" "Well, Daria would say that if *she* was here, wouldn't she?" _No, she wouldn't. She'd say something a lot subtler, something Stacy might not even get._ "What is it with you being so obsessive about Daria all of a sudden? So, she's my sister, but does that really mean anything? Sure, she reads a lot and she thinks all the time, but everyone's got to have a specialty; mine's fashion, guys and my friends. Just let it go, Sandi. Daria's really nobody." "Listen, Quinn, Daria is a nerd, a bitch and a creep. If she tries to show me up again like she did at the debate tournament, I swear I'll kill her!" A worried look crossed Quinn's face. _Does she really mean that?_ "Like, what is Stacy doing anyway?" Tiffany wondered, but nobody else seemed to notice or care. (In fact, Stacy was kneeling over a toilet puking her guts up, thanks to the bottle of syrup of ipecac she'd just killed. If someone'd seen her then, it might have saved a lot of people a lot of trouble.) "So, Quinn," Sandi wondered casually, "when do you think you and Jeffy will do the horizontal mambo?" "I hope to ask the big question at Chez Pierre tonight. Wish me luck." "Quinn," Tiffany rasped, "I really envy you." Stacy came back just then. "Did I miss much?" "Oh, no, Stacy," Quinn assured her. "C'mon, guys, let's hit the stores again!" They all got up and went on about their day. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At about two that afternoon, Jane came down the stairs of Casa Lane, still bereft of good ideas on what to paint Trent for his birthday and exasperated at the lack. She saw Trent reclining on the living room couch, apparently watching something on TV. "Yo, Trent!" she called out. _Maybe if I get him talking, he'll give me an idea._ Trent looked up. "What's up, Janey?" "Oh, just suffering from some creative block." She now noticed what Trent was watching: a videotape of James Cameron's _Titanic_, right in the middle of the famous scene where Jack Dawson (Leo) is doing the nude sketch of Rose DeWitt Bukater (Kate Winslet). "Trent, since when did you like _Titanic_?" He looked a little embarrassed. "Oh, I just like the final third of it, when the ship hits the iceberg and it goes down. It's cool seeing all those people drown. It kind of gets me inspired." _Inspired. Yes._ A vision swam across Jane's sight: *Daria nude, striking a pose similar to the classic _September Morn_ pose Mariel Hemingway did on that episode of _Civil Wars_ where she was being painted in the nude, arms covering the parts (nipples and pubis) that can only be shown on premium channels. A gentle breeze blew her hair ever so slightly. The background was _sakura_, cherry blossom petals, floating down from the sky against a pink background, like a romantic fantasy scene in a _shoujo_ anime. Daria herself was, in that moment and pose, the picture of pure romantic innocence. "I want you, Trent," she said. "You are so beautiful, Daria," he replied. They moved closer to kiss.* "Eureka!" Jane exclaimed aloud. "I took a shower this morning after I woke up, Janey; I swear I did." "No, I didn't mean that, Trent! I mean I got an idea!" She hurried out the door. "Whatever." Trent took the remote, ejected the first tape, and put in the second, already cued up to the scene where the look-out screams "ICEBERG, DEAD AHEAD!" Trent had to chuckle a bit. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Forty-five minutes later, give or take, Jane was a few blocks down the street, in Daria's padded room at 1111 Glen Oaks Lane. She'd proposed her idea to Daria, who was now sitting on her bed saying, "For the last time, no!" "C'mon, Daria, it'll be fun!" Jane insisted from her position leaning on the handrail. "It'll be the only time I ever ask you to pose nude for me! I swear!" "Remember after I got my belly button pierced, how we said I was doing a dumb thing to please a guy? I promised myself that I'd never do anything like that again, even if it's for Trent." "You know, I could always ask someone else to pose for me." As if on cue, Quinn passed by Daria's open door, fresh out of the shower, her hair wet, her body wrapped in a pink towel. "Hey, you guys, what are you two arguing about?" "Quinn, how would you like it if I did a nude painting of you?" "Well," Daria's sister answered, a bit apprehensive, "I didn't exactly like that painting of me you did where I was getting guillotined, or the sketch where I was shot in the head." "C'mon, it'll be fun. Let's see what you've got." "OK, but I hope I've got a good figure for this." She undid the towel and let it drop. I could go into more detail, but this isn't that kind of a story. Use your imagination; if it's anything like mine, you won't be disappointed. "Well, what do you think?" "I think Trent will love it!" Quinn was instantly disgusted and panicked. "UGH! You're telling me you're doing this for Trent?! EWWWWW!" She picked up the towel, wrapped it up again, and fled to her room. "OK, OK," Daria surrendered, petrified that Trent even *might* like a painting of Quinn nude, "you've sold me on that. You haven't been taking lessons from Jodie, have you?" "Nope; any skills in extortion that I have are mine alone," Jane insisted. "Besides, from what I saw of you that day at the car wash fund raiser, you've got quite a figure." "Let's face it, Jane; I just don't have that great of a body. I'm short, I've got small breasts, and I don't have much in the way of hips." "Hey, some guys like small-breasted women. I personally don't like people like Pamela Anderson who put tons of silicone into their boobs anyway. Can I set you down for a 2 o'clock sitting tomorrow then?" "OK, Jack, I'll be there." "Knew I could count on you, Rose." She exited with an evil smirk. _Just count to ten,_ Daria said to herself, clenching her fists, _and let all those impulses about killing her go down._ Quinn appeared again, now wearing a pink floor-length gown. "Is she gone?" "Yes, Mrs. Hugh Hefner is gone. Where are you going dressed like that?" "I've got a date with Jeffy at Chez Pierre tonight." "And you're dressed up for the occasion now?" "Daria, it's best to be prepared for this way ahead of time. That way it makes the guy think you put in a lot of time preparing for your big night." "Maybe one of these days you should go out on a date wearing *my* clothes," Daria invoked the spectre of the Fashion Club's "Fashion Don'ts Costume Party" that had planted the seeds of her film project _The Depths of Shallowness_. "And maybe sometime *you* should go out to the Zen dressed like *me!*" Daria supposed it was only fair for her sister to counter with a reminder of the desperate stratagem that had called time-out on Quinn's career as a pseudo-intellectual poser with accessories from the street fair. Rather than concede defeat, though, she audibly sniffed the air. "Let me guess, more of that `Nothing Smells!' all-over teen body deodorant and moisturizing spray." Had someone at the Bowl Buster *really* made uncomplimentary remarks about her personal odor, or was it just that Quinn's comments on the subject had gotten her jumpy enough to imagine them? "Daria, will you give me a break about that! All you have in your medicine cabinet is your toothbrush!" _Because anything else I need, I can `borrow' from you or mom or even dad._ "And I bet you're still using those tampons that were linked to toxic shock syndrome in laboratory animals." "Well, it beats those pantyliners you're using!" "This conversation is getting ugly." "It *started* ugly." "Then it's getting uglier. In fact, it's turning into the kind of conversation that can only end in one of us ripping the other's throat out like a marauding wolf -- and you don't want *that* kind of a dry- cleaning bill on your conscience, do you?" "*Fine!* Let's see if Trent finds you attractive because you smell. Emitting feminine order is so...unfeminine!" Quinn stormed out in a huff. _I wonder if I can persuade the President to order a strategic air strike against Lake Success, New York?_ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- By seven PM, Quinn was at Chez Pierre (real cloth napkins, fake French accents), seated across a table from the tuxedo'ed Jeffy Malone. They were enjoying their dinner (Medaillons de Boeuf Bearnaise pour elle, Bouillabaisse pour lui). She took a sip of her soda and noticed it was a bit flat, but she didn't want to spoil the moment just yet, so she simply said, "Jeffy, I'm really enjoying dinner tonight." "Uh, glad you like it, Quinn!" *Now* she could flag down the waiter. "_Garcon, mon soda est flat. Envoyer il revenir._" Jeffy passed a hand under the table and touched Quinn's hand. Quinn blushed ever so slightly. The waiter took up the soda and departed. "You know, Quinn, I really dig you, baby." "Gee, thanks!" She could feel herself blushing even more. "Uh, Quinn, is there something you wanted to ask me?" "Well--uh--er--um--" "Take all the time you want, Quinn; it's all right." _Now or never, Morgendorffer._ She drew a deep breath. "Well, I, I, I, I, I, I--" Suddenly, she gripped her stomach. "Quinn, you don't look so good." "Excuse me, Jeffy!" She ran to the ladies' room and had a nice loud puke, then exited in haste. "Uh, Jeffy, I've got to go now! I don't feel so good!" she gabbled at his back. "Uh, sure, Quinn. _Garcon, le cheque!_" Quinn began to cry silently, knowing she'd missed her chance. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next afternoon around two, Jane was in her room, standing next to her easel, with some paint ready on her palette. "C'mon, Daria, let's get the lead out here." "OK," Daria said as she approached down the hallway, "but I'm warning you, if you even smirk at me just once, I'm ripping your lips off and shoving them down your throat!" Wearing her magenta robe, Daria now stepped inside Jane's room, closed the door behind her and stood a few feet away from Jane. "Come on now, take it off, or I'll be forced to play `Night Train'!" At the mention of that strip club standard, Daria scowled, undid the sash on her robe, and slipped out of it. This still isn't that kind of a story; I say again, use your imagination. "Heeeey!" Jane couldn't resist saying once the robe had hit the floor. "Nice bod!" "Hey, you promised!" "Chill out, already!" Daria set her glasses aside and struck that Mariel Hemingway pose, right arm across the mountains (well, okay, the hills, but they're higher hills than they usually get credit for) and left hand down to cover the valley. Jane now began painting in earnest. "After you're done, I want to do a nude painting of you, Jane." "Uh-uh-uh! Turnabout is *not* fair play!" Daria scowled at that remark. Suddenly, there came a knock on the door. "Hey, Janey," Trent's voice came through the wood, "could I borrow some artist's varnish from you? I ran out of varnish to polish my guitar neck!" Daria instantly went into total panic mode. "Don't let him see me like this!" she blurted. "Relax." Jane grabbed the bottle of varnish and went to the door. "Is everything all right in there, Janey?" Trent's voice asked from the other side of the door. Jane opened the door and gave Trent the varnish. "Yeah, everything's cool." "Uh, what are you doing exactly?" "I'm doing something really special; it's kind of a surprise." Daria, still holding the pose, was starting to sweat. _If I survive this,_ she thought, _I swear I'll kill her!_ "Cool," Trent replied. "Thanks." He closed the door. "OK," Jane turned back, "now where were we?" "I've got to take a break from posing like this," Daria realized. "My arms are starting to hurt." "OK, take five." As Daria dropped her arms to her sides, her left arm was no longer covering her navel, and Jane noticed something. "Hey, is that the scar from where you got pierced?" "I don't want to talk about it." "And that's a very interesting birthmark on your right breast." "Will you stop looking at me like that? It makes me feel uncomfortable." "C'mon, Daria. Trent's seen you like this. You did sleep with him after we freed Lawndale from the Militia." _But that time, I *knew* he was looking._ "I just feel uncomfortable about other people looking at me nude. I've been that way since Todd sexually assaulted me." "Daria, you look beautiful. You really do. You just don't realize it. You're so used to looking at yourself wearing your Full Armor of Brain all the time. I wear this lipstick and all these earrings because I think of my body as a canvas. But *you* don't need make-up. You're perfect the way you are. Don't let anyone else tell you differently." Daria could feel her mouth quirking upward into that faint Mona Lisa smile. "Thanks, Jane. You just made me feel better about myself." "So let's finish this painting up, then, OK?" "OK." She resumed the position. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At about that moment, a yellow convertible, driven by a young lady who shall remain nameless, but who had a rather deep voice for a girl her age, was pulling up outside Morgendorffer Home Base. The car stopped, and the driver retrieved from the dashboard a rock she had picked up from the side of the road en route. Putting on a pair of gloves, the driver threw the rock right at the barred window of Daria's room, smashing the glass, then drove off at high speed. "Jake," Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer gasped, hearing the crash of glass from overhead, "what was that?" Jake Morgendorffer, looking up from his paper, replied "What was what?" Helen groaned in exasperation at her husband's usual oblivious approach to life. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- By six-thirty, Jane was finished with the painting -- a nude Daria against a pink background, with sakura petals floating around her -- and the real Daria was dressed again. "Well," the artist and pizza-fiend asked, "what do you think?" "Jane, I have to say I'm impressed." "Now all we have to do is to keep it hidden until Trent's birth- day. He's going to love it!" "Just as long as you don't do something stupid and put it on display first." "I promise you I won't do anything like that, Daria." _But then again,_ Daria thought, _why do I have the feeling that that's *exactly* what's going to happen?_ Suddenly, the phone rang, and Jane answered it with her usual "Yo!" A pause while the caller spoke. "It's for you, Daria; it's Helen." Daria picked up the phone. "Hi, Mom." "Daria," her mother said, "I couldn't get through to you for hours!" "Well, Jane's mother can't hear it when she's down in the base- ment doing her pottery; Trent usually sleeps through it, and Jane usually leaves it off the hook when she's doing her paintings." "Daria, you'd better get back here. Someone threw a rock through your window." *That* got her attention. Half an hour later, the Morgendorffers -- all four of them -- were gathered in Daria's room, surveying the broken window. "I don't know who could have done this," Helen repeated what she'd said on the phone. Daria noticed that the rock was still lying on the floor. "Do you think the police could analyze the fingerprints on the rock?" "I've already thought of that, but it looks like the person who did this was wearing gloves." "Whoever did this was pretty sharp," Jake noted. Quinn rounded on her sister. "Are you happy now, Daria? People are getting physically violent against you and your geeky friends. All this wouldn't have happened if Mom didn't tell Sandi's mom that we were sisters!" "And what do you mean by that, Quinn?" Daria asked her sister in tones that could have chilled a soda for her. "It's obvious, isn't it? Most people can't stand brains like you." "I think Albert Einstein once said something to the effect that brilliant minds are often persecuted." "Maybe we're all making more fuss about this than it's worth," Helen theorized, "but I'm going to contact some of our friends and find out who could have been responsible." "Anyway," Jake decided it was time to change the subject, "how was your day over at Jane's, kiddo?" "Fine," Daria replied. "I helped Jane with a painting she's doing for Trent's birthday." "Oh, that's nice of her, sweetie," Helen gushed. "Anyway, the glaziers are going to be here first thing after you've gone to school, so the window will be fixed by the time you get back. Of course, we'll have to have those God-awful bars removed first." "Well, you did promise to redecorate my room after we moved in here." _Or was that a threat? In either case, she hasn't found the time to sign my third-grade report card yet, so I suppose there's no real cause for alarm._ "I will, Daria; I've just been so busy these days." "And most of the rest of my life." "Well, if no one minds," Jake decided, "I'm going to have a martini." Helen rolled her eyes as her husband headed downstairs, then indicated a piece of cardboard and some duct tape on the floor. "In the meantime, you can put that piece of cardboard over the broken pane. I've got to finish up on some paperwork for the defective hand grenade case for the local National Guard unit." She followed Jake downstairs. "I could help," Quinn offered, probably not meaning it for a second, "but I've got to try out some new scrunchies I got yesterday. Bye!" She booked it down the hall to her room. With a sigh, Daria picked up the cardboard and tape and began to bung up the broken pane. _I always wind up having to clean up other people's messes around here, don't I? Just a few hours ago, I was posing for Jane, and now I'm fixing my window up. That's the sad story of my life._ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The following night at seven-thirty, in the living room of Casa Lane, Amanda Lane's "Women in Clay" support group was in full swing. Various women were busy shaping pottery on wheels. Any Lawndale High student would have recognized the group's newest member, LHS art teacher Claire DeFoe, the only person there with bigger, clunkier jewelry than Amanda's mighty earrings. "OK," Amanda said, "we're about to start on our latest project: making some nice vases to donate to the Senior Citizens' Center so they can put flowers in them and help cheer up the patients there. Shall we begin?" Claire raised her hand. "Excuse me, Amanda, but before we start, could I use your bathroom?" "Sure. The one down here is being used by Heather, but the one upstairs is available." "Thanks." Claire headed up the stairs. On her way to the actual bathroom, she passed Jane's bedroom, where Jane was busy on a painting. Claire decided to stop by and see her after taking care of her business. A minute or two later, there was a knock on Jane's door. "Mind if I come in?" said a voice. "Oh, hi, Ms. DeFoe," said a surprised Jane, admitting her fave teacher. "So, this is your room?" "Everyone gets shocked the first time they see this place." She lifted up her sheets. "See, I use cinder blocks to hold up my bed." "This is amazing," DeFoe observed, noticing all the art around her. She noticed a painting of a girl's head in a guillotine, then recognized the face. "Say, isn't that Daria Morgendorffer's sister Quinn there?" _I think I've seen her once or twice not smiling, and she looked like that._ "Well," Jane blushed, "I was in a bit of a foul mood that day." Daria had gone to Grove Hills with Jodie, and Quinn's Fashion Mob friends had one by one thrown her out, and Princess Grace had kept talking all night. "You know, Jane, you're a very talented artist. You should put some of this on display. You know, the County Museum of Modern Art is going to be hosting a `Best of Teen Art' exhibit. It won't be a contest or anything like that, and Ms. Li won't have any control over the content. I know you're still mad about how she and Mr. O'Neill tried to censor your anti-bulimia poster." _Yeah, and having to destroy it in order to save it. And then Brittany wound up winning._ Claire then noticed the nude. "Oh, Jane, this painting is beautiful!" Jane saw what DeFoe was so wowed about. "Uh, that one I was going to give to Trent for his birthday one week from today." "Isn't that Daria there?" DeFoe realized. Now Jane was *really* getting embarrassed. "Well, it was just a crazy idea of mine." "Daria looks so innocent and beautiful in that picture. Who would have guessed that beneath her drab clothes and her glasses was someone so ravishing? Jane, *this* is the picture I think should be displayed at COMMA." "Ms. DeFoe, I told you, this is going to be Trent's birthday gift." "It'll only be for a month. You can give it to him after that." "I promised Daria I wasn't going to put this on display. She was kind of embarrassed posing for it in the first place." "Please, Jane, don't do this for me or for the school; do it for yourself. I think this is the best painting you've ever done." Jane was taken hook, line and sinker by this. "You really think so?" "Yes, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your teacher. I really mean it." "OK, but I don't know how Daria's going to take this." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next morning at nine-fifteen, in the hallowed halls of Lawndale High, Daria didn't take it well at all. "You did *what*?!?!?!?" "C'mon, Daria, Ms. DeFoe said it was only going to be for a month." "Jane, I don't think I can be comfortable with the fact that everyone in the Tri-County Area can see me stark raving naked at the local art museum. I could be the target of protests." "Who would protest?" "Sandi and the other members of the Fashion Club. There's also my parents to consider." "Do you really worry what Jake and Helen will think? Besides, when you're in art class, you have to do a nude painting eventually, right?" "Then how come the art class here in school doesn't do that?" "Mostly because Ms. Li would have a fit, but the Tri-County Board of Co-operative Educational Services is out of her control. That's where I took that life drawing class. Got a painting out of those sketches." "Of a man or a woman?" "A woman, a redhead. The one you said was `really bursting out of the picture plane,' remember?" "I remember. She had `bursts' the size of Wisconsin." "It was actually fun, in a plastic sort of way." "You are a pervert, you know that?" Jane smirked evilly. "I've been sneaking peeks at my mother's issues of _Playgirl_ since I was thirteen." "That figures." "Daria, I promise you that if anything goes wrong, you can scratch my eyes out." "Don't tempt me." "Besides, it could have been Quinn being put on display at COMMA." Daria had to smile a Mona Lisa smile at that. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At about ten-thirty AM, the Fashion Club members were sitting at their table in the LHS Cafeteria. Quinn was bemoaning her failure. "Oh, I can't believe I blew it! I had the chance to ask Jeffy and I blew it!" "Oh, I bet you were afraid about `blowing it' in a different way." "Sandi, I won't go down on a guy! That's gross!" "Hey, it's easy." "You're not saying that you. . ." "Yes, Quinn. You're just afraid of what would happen when the guy. . ." "Let's not go there, Sandi!" "Yeah," Tiffany chimed in, "let's not." "You know," Stacy remarked, "this is making me sick. I've got to go to the bathroom again." She got up and went. "Anyway," Quinn resumed the conversation, "I'm going to ask Jamie instead." "Yeah," Sandi sneered, "and this time, don't throw up!" "Speaking of throwing up," Tiffany remarked, "I'm still concerned about...all the trips Stacy's making to the bathroom." "You know, Stacy's been acting weird since she got on that Ferris wheel along with Daria and Jane at the mid-evil fair. Her continued membership in this organization is beginning to become questionable." "Oh, come on, Sandi," Quinn tried to plead, "Stacy's still the same old girl we know." "I don't know about that," Tiffany pointed out. "She doesn't make this many trips to the bathroom usually." "Who cares?" Sandi concluded with her usual bottomless wells of compassion. "Anyway, Quinn," she grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit next to her, "let me show you some technique I picked up." She peeled the banana, closed her eyes, opened her mouth and slowly inserted the banana into it. She began to move the banana in and out of her mouth, making noises around it that reminded Quinn of the "singer" on a disco record she'd heard about five seconds of once while scanning between stations on a long drive -- something by Donna Summer, wasn't it? "Sandi, you're making me sick!" Sandi stopped her little produce sex show. "You know, Quinn, you're not going to get anywhere with guys unless you're willing to do anything for them. You're as stubborn as your sister Daria, you know that?" Sandi's face twisted into a rather ugly grimace. "Boy, do I hate her! I'd like to wrap my hands around her throat and strangle her until she turns twenty different shades of blue and purple!" Quinn was starting to get really nervous about what Sandi was saying. "Uh, Sandi, we all can't stand Daria, but that doesn't mean we should kill her?" "Yyyeeeaaahh, Sandi," Tiffany piped up, "like, get a grip!" That made twice within five minutes that she'd taken Quinn's side to Sandi's face. Anyone else might have taken that as a message. Stacy returned from the vomitorium. "Did I miss much?" "Er, no," Quinn decided. "Quinn," Sandi smarmed, "if you want to get ahead in this world, you've got to be more assertive. Otherwise, you're just going to be stuck right where you are." "But I'm trying my best!" Stacy decided to change the subject. "Hey guys, did you hear that COMMA's going to be exhibiting some teen artwork starting tomorrow? Ms. DeFoe said that a piece done by Jane Lane's going to be the center- piece of the exhibit. She's giving these flyers about it to all the parents." She showed everyone the flyer she'd picked up. "UGH! Not Jane! I can't stand her! She and her brother both! Her brother's always calling me," Quinn did her best imitation (which wasn't very good) of Trent's gravelly tones, "`Daria's sister!' What does Daria see in Trent anyway? He's just a guitar-playing bum! He doesn't even know how to dress fashionably. What is wrong with that whole family, for God's sakes?" "That," Tiffany whispered, "I'm afraid we'll never know, Quinn." Just then, the bell rang to signal the end of the period. "Save you a place at the mirror, Quinn!" Stacy called out as she left. Sandi was still muttering to herself. "To slip some lye into Daria's milk at lunch and see her gag! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Quinn was puzzled, and a little nervous. _I hope I'm reading the signs wrong. Because if I'm right, then Sandi is about to go non- linear...and God help Daria if she's anywhere near Sandi when that happens._ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At seven the following night, the County Museum of Modern Art was quite crowded. Plenty of familiar faces had turned out for the opening of the exhibit. The Morgendorffers were way in the back, with Daria taking the rearmost position, in an effort to stay inconspicuous as long as possible. Standing next to Daria was Charles Ruttheimer III, the octopus of love, better known to the girls of Lawndale High as "Upchuck"; Daria was silently praying for him not to have noticed her yet. The Lanes -- well, Vincent, Amanda, Trent and Jane, anyway -- were up front. From her vantage point, Daria could see everyone else: Sandi, her parents and her two monstrous little brothers; cheerleader and living pudding Brittany Taylor, with her father, stepmother and kid brother; quarterback and human sieve Kevin Thompson with his parents; Jodie Abigail Landon, superstudent, with her parents, little sister and baby brother; Principal Angela Li, the power behind the pantsuit, whose choice of a career in education had deprived a prison somewhere of a take-charge, no-nonsense warden; language-arts and self-esteem teacher (and human marshmallow) Timothy O'Neill; science teacher Janet Barch, taking a break from her one-woman war against the sex that had put her through (as she'd tell anyone who held still long enough) twenty-two thankless years of legal slavery; social studies teacher Anthony DeMartino, clearly keeping his right eye in its socket by force of will; Dr. Margaret Manson, the school psychologist who'd mistaken Daria's low esteem for humanity in general as low *self*-esteem; Nurse Chase; Ms. Morris, the girls' gym teacher, to whom Daria owed a special humiliation one of these days; Coach Gibson; and Ms. DeFoe, up in front with a picture with a cloth covering it. Standing next to Ms. DeFoe, behind a podium, was Arthur Riley, the director of COMMA, a man of middle years with slicked-back hair and a thin mustache, wearing a dark blue Armani suit. _When that drape comes off,_ Daria thought, _all hell will officially break loose._ Looking for something to distract herself from that cheery fact, Daria happened to spot the other two Fashion Club members, Stacy and Tiffany, plus Goth-chick and fellow outcast Andrea Hecuba, and the Three J's: Joey LaPann, Jeffy Malone and Jamie White, the trio of drones that usually swarmed around the Quinn Bee. Also present, oddly enough, were Trent's bandmates in Mystik Spiral. Or, at least, she recognized pretty- boy rhythm guitarist Jesse Moreno, and the kid next to Jess in the jeans and the Mystik Spiral T-shirt looked enough like him to be (probably) his kid brother Danny, editor of the Spiral Fan Club's newsletter. That meant the other two with them must be Nicholas Campbell, the bass player, and Max Tyler, drummer and owner of the indestructible Tank; she'd seen them a couple of times, at Spiral gigs at the Zen, and was pretty sure the bleach-blond was Nick and the one with the shaved head was Max. "You know, it was real nice of Ms. DeFoe to invite us to this art exhibit, don't you think, kiddo?" "I'm thrilled," Daria answered her father's gushing in her usual monotone. She wondered what was going on elsewhere in the crowd. "So, Trent," Jesse wondered, "what's with you saying your sister is headlining this exhibit?" "Janey's teacher was so impressed with some painting she did that she wanted to display it. That's all I know." "Hey, Trent," Danny piped up, "you know if Jane's going to have that drawing she promised me for the next issue of the newsletter?" "I dunno. I'll have to ask her after the exhibit opens." "Oh, Darrrriaaa!" said an all-too-familiar voice as God's gag gift to women approached her. _God help me!_ Daria said to herself, knowing He wouldn't. "You know, art has a way of bringing out romance. After this exhibit, would you mind spending some intimate time with me?" "Upchuck, if you don't leave me alone this instant, I *will* cut your tongue out." The Chuckster got the message and made a quick exit, passing the Spiral guitarists as he went, with his usual parting shot, "*Rowr!* Feisty!" "Hey, Trent, isn't that guy the one they call Upchuck that Daria's always talking about?" "That guy needs a lot of help," Trent shrugged at Jesse. Mr. Riley tapped the microphone. "May I have your attention, please?" he asked. _Sure,_ Daria thought as the crowd quieted down. _It's not like they were using it anyway._ "Thank you," Riley went on. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the County Museum of Modern Art. Tonight, we at COMMA are very proud to open this exhibit dedicated to teen art. All of these pieces of art on display here were made by local teens on their own time." _What a waste,_ Ms. Li thought to herself. _If what Miz DeFoe was telling me about Miz Lane's painting is true, it should have been done in class in order to bring honor unto...Laaawndale Hiiiigh!_ _I wonder what Jane's done that merits her painting being the centerpiece of the exhibit?_ O'Neill mused. _Why,_ DeMartino asked himself, _am I *wasting* my *time* here when I should be getting *drunk* at the *Rathskeller*?!_ _This could give me an opportunity to see how Jane ticks,_ Dr. Manson realized; _often art expresses what's in the painter's mind._ _I hope she's a better artist than she is as an athlete!_ Ms. Morris noted. "To open this exhibit," Riley went on, "I'm pleased to have Claire DeFoe, the art teacher at Lawndale High, unveil the centerpiece of the show. It's a painting done by one of her students, Jane Lane, called `Naked Innocence.' Ms. DeFoe?" DeFoe stepped to the podium. "Maybe she did a nude painting of Brittany!" contractor Doug Thompson smirked. He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until his wife Charlene smacked him upside the head. "Doug, knock it off! You want to put ideas in Kevin's head that he should be sleeping with that tramp?" "That reminds me, Ashley-Amber," Steve Taylor remembered, "I've got to donate that nude of you to the Getty Museum." The second Mrs. Taylor giggled. That had actually been funny, unlike some of the lame "jokes" her husband told (which served mainly to motivate her study of the state's community-property laws). "Man, I'm just glad they're not-for-profit," Andrew Landon mused; something like this is very risky taxwise." "Andrew," Michele Landon pointed out to her husband, "the museum is operated by the county government." This statement triggered an instant reversal on the part of her husband, a Keyes Republican in fairly good standing. "Man, this place is an even bigger waste of taxpayers' money than welfare cheats are! You'd think at least they'd have some Renaissance paintings here!" Jodie closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. "Dad!" "This has got to be good!" Linda Del Monaco Griffin gloated. "I smell controversy brewing! If only I was still a beat reporter!" "If this painting sells for a lot of money," her husband Tom reflected, "Jane's going to need some investment advice and some tax help." "Like, Dad," Sandi wondered morbidly, "you wouldn't really be that freak's accountant now, would you?" "Well, I did help her and her brother when the IRS was on their case." Sandi's younger brothers, Sam and Chris, continued fighting. _Why did I even bother showing up for this?_ Andrea wondered. _So far, it's just a big bore!_ "Thank you, Mr. Riley," Ms. DeFoe said. "Before I unveil this piece of art, let me just say that when I first saw this in Jane's room, I was very surprised. When you see this painting, I'm sure you'll agree that it's a very beautiful work. And so, without further ado, I now unveil `Naked Innocence.'" She stepped up to the painting and removed the cloth. Expressions of shock immediately glued themselves to most of the faces present, though a few people showed amusement and/or wonder instead. Helen was the first to articulate what a number of people had probably realized. "Wait a minute! That's Daria!" "Where?" Jake looked around. "Jake, that's her in the painting, you dolt!" "Where?" Jake reiterated, oblivious as usual. "Right in front of you, Dad!" Quinn pointed out reluctantly. "Cool!" Trent remarked. "Man, out of sight!" Jesse replied. "All right, Daria!" Andrea gave props to her fellow outcast. "What!" Sandi fumed. "Huh?" Stacy and Tiffany boggled as with one voice. "Ho-boy!" Andrew Landon sighed. "Impressive," Steve Taylor remarked. "YOWZA YOWZA!" Doug Thompson cheered, causing Charlene to smack him upside the head again. "ROWR!" Upchuck growled. "The girl of my dreams, as I've always wanted to see her!" "OOOOO," Linda gloated, "I'm going to roast Helen but good on this!" "Daria," Helen sternly commanded her older daughter, "I want a word with you right now!" Daria closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. "Well," Quinn bemoaned, "my reputation's shot to hell now! Everyone's going to be calling me `the sister of the weirdo who posed nude for that painting at COMMA!'" "My God, Daria," her father boggled. "I didn't know you were that...well-endowed!" "Daria," her mother took the lead, "how could you do that to us?" Daria decided to stand her ground as best she could. "I just did it as a favor for Jane. She was doing it so she could give it to Trent for his birthday." "A nude painting of yourself is not a very appropriate birthday gift for a guy who's five years older than you *and* an adult!" "Then again, she does look kind of...cute." "Jake, shut up!" "Yes, dear," the backup singer said meekly. "Daria, you've just embarrassed us! What do you have to say for yourself?" Since, as long as you're not actually dead yet, things can always get worse, it didn't surprise Daria when she saw Ms. Li approaching her and her family with Mr. O'Neill and Mrs. Manson. What *did* surprise her was the Queen Disciplinarian's opening conversational gambit. "Miz Morgendorffer, I have to say that I'm stunned, but in a positive manner. This painting of Miz Lane's really impressed me." "Remember that the next time you call us on the carpet," Daria stated flatly. "Daria," O'Neill said, "I didn't knew you were so..." He took a moment to decide how to say it in a way that wouldn't risk a lawsuit. "...captivating without your glasses." "It's obvious you're suffering from an unstable mind," Dr. Manson observed. "Care to make an appointment for tomorrow to discuss this?" "Dr. Manson," Li interjected, "this is not the act of an insane person -- this is a work of art!" _I wonder what's got into her?_ Daria mused. Trent came over then with his bandmates. "Hey, Daria, nice painting." Daria could feel herself blushing. _At least I'm not getting that rash._ "Well, Trent, I--" Helen interjected. "I don't know if you set your sister and my daughter up to this, but right now, I am very mad at you, young man!" "Hey, Mrs. M, it was Janey's idea." "And besides," Amanda Lane added, approaching right behind her son, "it's beautiful. You know, your daughter is very interesting, Helen." "Amanda, if I want your opinion or anyone else's from your kooky family, I'll ask for it!" Along came Linda Griffin, looking like the cat that ate up all the cream. "So, Helen, how does it feel to have a daughter who's a slut?" Helen popped Linda one across the mouth, then grabbed Daria by the wrist and hauled her away, trailed by Jake and Quinn. "You know, Linda," Tom Griffin told his wife, "you really know how to push her buttons." "Who asked you!?" "Mom," Trent stated the obvious, "I don't think Daria's parents like the fact she posed for the painting." "And why do I have the feeling she's not the only one?" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the answer to that question, we jump to the KSBC 11 O'clock News, and to a man named Brad Schlitz, watching it at home in his living room. "We lead off tonight's news with a shocking development at the County Museum of Modern Art. It seems the centerpiece of a `Teen Art Exhibit' is a nude painting of a sixteen-year-old local girl made by a friend of hers as a birthday present. Jane Lane, also sixteen, of 111 Howard Drive, said she originally made the nude painting of her friend Daria Morgendorffer to give to her brother, Trent, age 21, lead singer and lead guitarist for local rock band Mystik Spiral. Claire DeFoe, Ms. Lane's art teacher at Lawndale High School, was so impressed with the painting that she decided to have it displayed at COMMA. However, when it was unveiled and its subject revealed, an uproar ensued in which Daria's mother, noted local lawyer Helen Morgendorffer, punched KSBC's own Vice President of Marketing Linda Griffin. Police had to be called in to break up the melee that followed, and the museum closed early." To know why this news affected Schlitz, you need to know that he was the president of the Lawndale Taxpayers' Association, the civilian wing of the Lawndale Militia. The present scribe is willing to give Schlitz the benefit of the doubt and think it possible that on a good many matters, he honestly believed he was saving America from the sort of "degeneracy" that had toppled the Roman and British Empires. The fact that the solutions he favored were likely to lead to the birth of the First American Empire either never registered with him or wouldn't have mattered if it had; the way he (presumably) saw it, if it led to the kind of "moral decay" he saw all around him, democracy was highly overrated. (I said I was giving him credit for, maybe, honestly believing he was doing the right thing by trying to turn America into a fascist dictatorship in the name of preserving the Constitution. I didn't say I agreed with him.) _They're not gonna use *my* tax money to display kiddie porn at their museum!_ He picked up the phone and dialed a fellow "patriot's" number. "Yeah, Ben? It's Brad. Time to organize another picket and file another lawsuit!" The other party spoke for a few moments. "I know we lost that last one, thanks to that bitch Judge Feeder, but this time, we're gonna have a case even she can't throw out! Meet me at COMMA tomorrow morning at nine o'clock!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At about nine-thirty the next morning, Daria and Jane were walking down the halls of LHS when they spotted Quinn and the rest of the Fashion Club approaching from the opposite direction. "Prepare for trouble, Daria!" "I can handle those creeps, Jane." "Hey, Daria," Sandi oozed, "I didn't know you needed an electron microscope to see your tits!" Quinn was mortified. Okay, so Daria was no prize, but Sandi was crossing over some lines that just shouldn't be crossed. "Are you still a virgin?" Tiffany rasped. "With a body like that...you're not going to get laid." "Maybe she's beautiful in her own way," Stacy suggested. "Ixnay on the omments-cay, Stacy!" Sandi snarled just under her breath. Stacy took the hint and shut up. "Uh, guys," Quinn suggested, "let's change the subject." The Fashion Club made their departure. "You got off lightly that time," Jane remarked. "That won't be the end of that, I'm afraid." "So what did your parents do to you after you got back?" "I'm banned from your house for a week, and I can't meet you at Pizza King after school for that week, either. Furthermore, I can't go see Mystik Spiral this Saturday at the Zen." "Man, is that all? I thought for sure she'd stretch you out on the rack!" _And once again, I've done something stupid for a guy._ Scenes from her interactions with Trent flashed before her eyes: him giving her and Jane a ride to that party at Brittany's; the time Jane left the two of them alone together after the Tank broke down on the way to Alternapalooza; going down to Dega Street with him, allegedly to get Jane a birthday present, and ending up getting her a ring in Daria's belly button. "Jane, I love Trent, OK? I guess part of me was pleased that I posed nude for that painting, even though my better half wants to kick me in the ass right now." "Would you do it again?" "And go through all this embarrassment again? Hell, no!" Meanwhile, elsewhere in the halls, the Fashion Club's discussion had continued apace. "So, anyway, guys," Quinn was saying, "I'm planning to ask Jamie to Chez Pierre tomorrow night. I'll ask him the big question that I meant to ask Jeffy." "Quinn," Sandi smarmed, "this time, don't throw up!" "Yeah, right," Quinn laughed a weak, embarrassed laugh. "And, remember, if you're a real woman--" "*Ugh!* I won't do it, Sandi! You hear me? I will *not* give him a--" She refrained from finishing the sentence, as Ms. DeFoe dashed past just then. "What...is with her?" Tiffany wondered. "Who knows?" Sandi shrugged. "Who *cares*? She is so weird! No wonder that Jane Lane likes her." Speaking of which, Ms. DeFoe had just caught up with the people she was looking for. "Daria, Jane, I need to talk to you!" "Ran out of room at your studio apartment to house your ex- college suitemates and looking for us to take in the overflow?" Daria guessed. "You've come to the wrong people, sister." "It's worse than that! The Lawndale Taxpayers' Association is picketing COMMA over Jane's painting!" "What the hell?" "Those right-wing bigots!" Jane smoldered. "After school's over," Ms. DeFoe planned, "I'm taking you there so you can see for yourselves. Meet me at the faculty parking lot at three-fifteen!" She dashed off again. "Why do I have the feeling," Daria sighed, "that if the Y2K Bug doesn't bring this country to its knees, idiotic groups like them will?" "You got *that* right," Jane observed. "Computer glitches have nothing on militia groups and their `common law courts.'" "What d'you say? Are you masochistic enough to go there?" "Aw, Hell, why not? At least it'll give you an excuse to Helen as to why you were with me after school." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At three-forty-five, members of the LTA were marching around COMMA, bearing placards which said, among other things: NO KIDDIE PORN WITH OUR TAX $! ABOLISH COMMA! GET RID OF THE PORN! YOUR TAX DOLLARS WASTED AGAIN! One placard had a picture of Jane connected by an equals sign to the image of notorious photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. Another had a picture of Thomas Jefferson on it. (Rumors of a faint rumbling heard from a gravesite in Virginia were doubtless greatly exaggerated, or at least that's what the LTA would tell you.) The crowd was chanting "HEY, HEY, HO, HO, THE PORN AT COMMA HAS GOT TO GO!" Brad Schlitz was there, along with his friend Ben Gray, who was wearing a button that said "VOTE FOR BEN GRAY FOR LAWNDALE COUNTY COMMISSIONER." "Vote for me at the county elections this year," Gray assured them, "and I'll shut this smut factory down! `Carpe diem!'" Schlitz was surrounded by reporters from all three of Lawndale's TV stations, along with members of the written press, taking down his rantings as if they actually meant something. "This is just another example of the arrogance the county government here displays towards `We the People'! Remember, King George III of England and King Louis XVI of France were big patrons of the arts themselves, as well as being bloodthirsty tyrants." Again, this reporter is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and think it possible that the logical fallacy in that statement was as missed by Schlitz as it was by his target audience (well, actually, I'm not, but this is neither the time nor the place to get into it). "We will continue to picket until that smut is removed." "Mr. Schlitz," said a reporter from KSBC, "maybe you're over- reacting toward something that's totally innocent? There are some who say `If we censor this, we might as well cut the penis off of Michel- angelo's statue of David.'" "You're a commie bastard, you know that?" Schlitz replied by way of an intelligent rebuttal. "You and all your leftist media buddies! You're trying to funnel my tax money to New York City!" "We're nowhere near New York City!" "It all winds up there one way or another!" At this point, Ms. DeFoe's car pulled up across the street, and she, Daria and Jane stepped out. "Oh, my God," Daria breathed. "It's a *mob* out there!" Jane exclaimed. "Jane, I am so sorry about this!" Ms. DeFoe apologized. "If I'd known your painting was going to spark this much controversy, I wouldn't have asked you to put it on display." "Well, it's kind of late now for that, isn't it?" "Let's handle these creeps," Daria gritted. She and Jane and Ms. DeFoe approached the demonstration. Schlitz noticed. "There's that slut and her friend now! Hey, slut, are you and your friend lesbians?" _I get that all the time._ "No, Jane and I are not lesbians. And I don't like being called a slut!" "One of these days, we're gonna nail your ass to the wall!" "You and your Lawndale Militia buddies had two chances at that, and you blew both of them." "Don't cross with me, young lady, or I'll sue your ass in court, and not even your smartass lawyer mother can get you out of it!" Daria clenched her fists at her sides. "Daria," Ms. DeFoe noticed, "don't start a fight with them! We don't want to make this any more complicated than it already is." "Just one hit below the belt. That'll teach him." "I hate to take Ms. DeFoe's side on this," Jane intervened, "but you know she's right." "We'd better leave while we can," Ms. DeFoe suggested. "Knowing them, they've filed a lawsuit against COMMA. Let the courts decide on this." "I've had some bad experiences with judges in the past several months." _Well, most of them specifically with the Right Dishonorable Cornelius J. Reinhardt, but still, it's not the sort of thing that tends to inspire confidence in American jurisprudence._ "If Judge Feeder hears their case, you can be sure she'll toss it out due to lack of standing on their part." This was a new one on Jane. "Who's Judge Feeder?" "Kathy Feeder was appointed to the City Court by the governor after Judge Harlon Smith died from a heart attack last year. She used to be Oakwood Town Judge, and their militia movement's more powerful there. She's got a reputation for taking no crap from those goons. She sent Oakwood Militia leader Reinhold Gornstein away for the maximum jail term of twenty years for forgery after he tried to use forged eviction papers issued by his `common law court' against an African- American family that had moved into an all-white neighborhood there." "There's got to be some kind of mistake here," Daria boggled. "Good people like her don't exist in Lawndale." "C'mon, Daria," Jane piped up, "Ms. DeFoe's proof that there are." "Yeah, her and about seven other people." "Maybe Ms. DeFoe's right. Let's see what happens." "Oh, hell. -- Don't think I'm turning tail on you, Schlitz! I'll be back!" They went back to Ms. DeFoe's car and drove off. From a nearby alleyway, Stacy had seen it all. _Man, Daria was so confident. Why can't I be more like her? Why does Sandi hate her so much?_ She gripped her stomach. _Uh-oh! Time to hit the toilet again._ She rushed off to the nearest ladies' room, to continue toward her own rendezvous with destiny. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next significant event in our story unfolded at Chez Pierre, at seven- thirty on a Friday night. Apart from the fact that it was Jamie White sitting in a tux across from Quinn her, it was unfolding like a replay of her failed date with Jeffy, right down to the same meals as before. "Quinn," Jamie said, "you look beautiful tonight." "Why, thanks, Jamie," Quinn blushed. "Uh, Quinn, you look like you have something to say." "Well, I--I--I--" "Take your time, Quinn. It's OK." _If I blow this again, Sandi and the others will make me into a laughing stock!_ "Jamie, I've had a wonderful night and all that. Could we top it off with a trip to Lover's Lane?" "Sure. Anything else?" "Could we also stop at the E-Z-Mart on the way there? Uh, I've got to get a few things." Jamie got the hint. He took Quinn's hand in his and squeezed gently. "If you're feeling nervous about it, I can make you feel better by saying that it'll be my first time too." "Aw, how sweet!" She motioned to a waiter. "_Garcon, le cheque!_" "No, I've got it!" "Mom let me borrow her platinum card today." "Man, all my folks have is Diner's Club." "How gauche! But I forgive you." "Gee, thanks, Quinn!" he aw-shucksed. "No biggie!" Inwardly, she was planning the shopping. _Is he the ribbed type or the reservoir tip type?_ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The vandal entered COMMA (by breaking a window and climbing through it) about an hour later, after the museum had closed for the day. The vandal was dressed in black and carried a black canvas bag. The vandal went directly to "Naked Innocence," took out an industrial cutting knife from the bag, and proceeded to slash the canvas to ribbons, all the while thinking, _If only I could do this to the bitch herself._ The vandal then left with this cheery thought: _Patience...she'll get what's coming to her._ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- About an hour after that, Jamie's (okay, Jamie's dad's) car was parked in Lover's Lane -- considerably back from the edge of the abandoned quarry so it wouldn't fall in. He and Quinn were in the back seat now, lips locked, trying to suck each other's tonsils out. Jamie unzipped Quinn's dress; it fell daintily into the footwell, where it was joined in short order by the rest of their clothes. "And then," as that Carson McCullough guy put it in the book O'Neill had them reading, _The Heart is a Milkman_ or whatever, "this was the way. This was how it was." The Earth really was moving, just like the books said it would ...no, wait, that was just the car. It was shaking quite violently. Jamie noticed it, too. "Thank goodness I parked away from the edge." "Just do me, Jamie!" And he did. "YES! YES! YES!" Quoting McCullough again, "it was like her head was broke off from her body and thrown away." And then he disengaged, sat up, and put his hands on her shoulders, moving her head into position. She was so thrilled from the afterglow of her recent defloration that she didn't really mind, though. _Remember, Quinn, breathe through your nose._ So she did. And he moaned some more, and so did she in a muffled kind of way, until... _EWWWWW! This stuff's gross! I can't believe I swallowed it!_ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The phone rang, startling Jane out of a dream where Tommy Sherman's ghost was back, only haunting her this time instead of Daria, and she and Daria now had psychic powers, which was good because the Ghostbusters didn't seem to be around this time. Oh yeah, and Brittany was a werewolf or something. The details were already starting to fade. With bleary eyes, Jane looked at her alarm clock (_Eight-thirty? On a Saturday? Is that legal?_) as she felt for the phone and finally picked it up. "Yo!" she grogged. "Jane, it's Ms. DeFoe. You and Daria better get down to COMMA right away!" "Not more protesters!" "It's worse than that. Someone's slashed your painting to shreds!" *That* shocking news brought her wide awake, and half an hour later, she, Daria and Ms. DeFoe were looking at the tattered remains of "Naked Innocence." "I can't believe this! All that hard work on this painting, down the drain. Now I don't have anything to give to Trent for his birthday again." "Jane," Ms. DeFoe apologized, "I am so sorry about this. Maybe the Taxpayers' Association was right. I should never have put this on display in the first place." "Ms. DeFoe, we must not accept defeat like this. This is about fighting for your right to free expression of your ideas here. If you let them cow you like this, they'll win." "Daria's right, Ms. DeFoe. We've got to make sure they don't get away with this." "So, what do we do?" "We wait for them to show up for their next protest," Daria replied. "Then we'll treat them to a dose of their own medicine." Jane smirked approvingly (and, of course, evilly). -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fifteen minutes after that, at home, Stacy was watching News 12 Lawndale, the cable company's 24-hour all-news channel, on her living room TV. "The controversy surrounding a nude painting of a local teenage girl took a rather ugly turn overnight," said the anchorwoman. "A person or persons unknown broke into the County Museum of Modern Art and slashed to shreds local artist Jane Lane's painting `Naked Innocence,' for which her friend Daria Morgendorffer had modeled. The Lawndale Taxpayers' Association has been picketing COMMA for the past few days over the exhibition of the painting, and LTA leader Brad Schlitz has said that the protest will continue until a ruling on their lawsuit is given by Acting City Judge Kathy Feeder." _Who would do something like that?_ Stacy wondered. _Sandi? I know she can't stand Daria, but this is going too far. I've got to do something about this!_ She knew Daria would have to be helped and Sandi stopped, and she knew what it would take to do it. She just hadn't been able to bring herself to take that last dramatic step...until now. She went to the closet to get the things she'd need. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At about the same time, in the upstairs bathroom of Morgendorffer Home Base, Quinn was kneeling at the toilet, throwing up. _Man, I can't believe I have morning sickness! I took all the precautions! Jamie used a condom and I used a sponge! Maybe I should use the *other* thing I picked up at the E-Z-Mart..._ From where she'd hidden it, all the way in the back of her medicine cabinet, she took out a home pregnancy test. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- COMMA, about 10:05 AM. Another LTA protest. Same song, second verse. Same signs, same chants, same Schlitz and Gray talking to the media; only their dialogue was different. "I have to admit," Schlitz was saying, "I am shocked -- and I mean shocked -- that this wanton act of vandalism occurred. However, the artist and her model were asking for it. Publicly funded art museums should not exhibit child pornography!" Daria now approached him, accompanied by Jane and Ms. DeFoe. "Mr. Schlitz, I want to have a word with you." "Can't you see I'm having a press conference right now?" "You ordered one of your henchmen to slash up Jane's painting, didn't you?" "I did not! You have no proof!" "We have the same level of proof one of your kangaroo `common law courts' would accept." "You know," Jane piped up helpfully, "the ones you and your fascist buddies use to put the fear of You Almighty into anyone that doesn't fit your vision of an America run by, of and for angry white guys." That pissed Schlitz off. "When my -- er -- our candidate wins the county board elections, we're gonna run you and your kooky family out of here one hundred percent legally!" "Go ahead and try!" "Commie bitch!" "Nazi bastard!" _Well,_ Daria reflected, _this is turning out to be interesting._ From a nearby alleyway, Sandi watched and snickered to herself. "Man," she mused aloud, "I can't believe how those two are tearing into that Schlitz creep!" She took out the industrial cutter she'd used to commit the destruction for which he was now taking the blame. "And no one will ever suspect that I did it!" She laughed to herself, unaware that Stacy, standing at a nearby corner and wearing a trenchcoat, had heard everything she said. "Mr. Schlitz," Ms. DeFoe was saying, "you have no right to intimidate someone from expressing his or her artistic visions!" "I can if it involves pornography on display at a museum funded by my tax dollars!" Daria had opinions as to what this was *really* about. "You and your little `posse ignoramus' just want to get me because I stopped your attempts to turn this town into your own feudal fiefdom!" "Shut up, you femi-Nazi!" Daria tried to rush at him, but was kept back by Jane and Ms. DeFoe. "Let me at him! Let me at him!" "Daria," DeFoe insisted, "fighting is not going to solve anything!" "You're even worse than those welfare-cheating minorities!" Daria gritted her teeth. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At about that time, across town in the Morgendorffer bathroom, Quinn was holding up a pregnancy test stick and looking at a timer. She'd been so nervous she'd had to wait until now to conduct the test. _Just one more minute, and I'll know the truth. If that window shows a minus sign, I'm not pregnant; if it shows a plus sign, I am, and Mom and Dad will kill me!_ The timer dinged. Quinn looked at the little window on the test stick. It showed...a minus sign. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. A couple of minutes later, she was down in the living room watching News 12 Lawndale. _Boy, am I glad I'm not pregnant! Mom and Dad would have killed me! But that still doesn't explain why I felt so sick._ "This health warning was just issued by the local Board of Health," the reporter on the TV was saying. "Chez Pierre will be closed today and tomorrow due to having received contaminated beef that was recalled by the FDA. Anyone who had the Medaillons de Boeuf Bearnaise in the last several days should go to their doctor immediately and get an antidote. Although the contaminated beef does not carry any fatal disease, victims may have an urge to vomit." Quinn, feeling just that urge, dashed off to the bathroom. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was now ten-thirty, and the shouting match at COMMA showed no signs of slowing down. "You know," Schlitz told Daria, "you've been nothing but trouble since you moved in here! Maybe you should have stayed at Highland with those two troublemakers I kept hearing about, Bemis and Bung-Hole!" "They were called Beavis and Butt-Head," she corrected him; "besides, they're dead now!" _One of the few times when Ms. Barch's attitude to men turned out to be the right reaction, given that they were trying to "score" with Quinn the way their hero Todd "scored" with me._ "You know what I meant, you slut!" Daria really wanted to slug this guy so hard his grandchildren would be born with nosebleeds, but the expressions on Jane's and Ms. DeFoe's faces said they didn't think that'd be a good idea. In fact, Jane articulated just that sentiment. "Daria, we can argue with this jerk all day long; nothing's going to change his mind." _Such as it is._ Trent pulled up just then in his blue Plymouth. He got out and approached the confrontation. "Hey, Daria, Janey, Ms. DeFoe, what's going on?" "Uh, Trent," Jane told her brother, "we're in the middle of a big argument here." Daria explained, "We think this goon ordered one of his underlings to destroy the picture Jane was going to give you for your birthday." Trent knew about the painting, but this was the first time he'd heard why it got painted. "You mean that painting was going to be your birthday gift to me, Janey?" Jane sighed heavily; the cat was now out of the bag. "Yeah, it was going to be your birthday present. Didn't you hear about that on the news, or read it in the papers?" He shrugged lazily. "Been too busy rehearsing. Or sleeping. Whatever. -- Daria," he said, addressing her directly now, "you didn't have to do that to impress me. You don't even have to get that tattoo we talked about. I love you just the way you are." He kissed her on the forehead. She felt herself blushing. "Kissing jailbait, eh, you horny bastard?" Trent turned around to see the salt-and-pepper-haired man in his fifties who'd voiced that comment. "You talking to me?" "Yeah, I'm talking to you, you no-good bum!" _I may have to take this crap from Uncle Max, but I'm damned if I'll take it from you, whoever you are._ "I don't like you picking on my sister and my girlfriend like that." "What are you gonna do about it, take out your guitar and hit me over the head with it like El Kabong?" "You're not even worth fighting. C'mon, Janey, Daria, Ms. DeFoe, let's leave this loser." They proceeded to do just that. Schlitz, angry that he'd been dismissed so casually, let out a primal scream and slugged Trent on the back of his head. Trent fell to the ground, but staggered back to his feet, temporarily dazed. He faintly heard Schlitz saying something like "C'mon, fight like a man, you sissy!" With his own yell of anger, he broadsided Schlitz, and they both fell to the ground, exchanging punches. Daria and Jane tried to pry Trent off of Schlitz, but to no avail. Stacy, who'd been watching it all, decided it was now or never and ran to the scene of the fight. "Stop it!" she shouted. "Stop it! Why are you making such a big deal about all this? Stop! Stop! STOP!" She undid the belt of her trenchcoat and let it fall. Remember when I said earlier that she was wearing that trench- coat? As it turned out, that was it. Underneath it was what had been under Quinn's towel and Daria's robe -- not exactly an outfit up to Fashion Club standards, but as old as Eden and at least as new as the finale of Robert Altman's _Ready-to-Wear_. Apart from her shoes, barettes and other hair ornaments, Stacy Lorraine Rowe was naked as the proverbial jaybird. (Okay, I give up -- maybe this *is* that kind of a story after all, but it's still good practice to use your imagination, at least until we can get Matthias Benkman to illustrate all these nude scenes.) Probably not everybody actually gasped at the exact same moment, but enough people did, and they overlapped enough, that it sounded like they all gasped at once. The fight stopped. With a look of shock on her face, Sandi emerged from the alleyway and ran up to Stacy. "Stacy, what the hell are you doing?" "I'm trying to stick up for Daria, that's what!" "Daria is a nagging bitch!" "No, she's not, Sandi!" In retrospect, it was probably the sheer ineffable surreality of being addressed by a naked fashion plate that kept everyone's attention on Stacy. "Why are you arguing about all this? What is so wrong with nudity? We were all born nude, weren't we? Painters have done nude pictures since time began. All right, so maybe Jane and Trent and Daria aren't the type of people who belong in the Fashion Club or the Taxpayers' Association, but what gives them the right to tell Jane she can't do a nude painting of Daria to give to Trent for his birthday? When I saw Trent there comforting Daria after Sandi here spritzed her with the water hose at the community car wash fund-raiser," Sandi shot a hostile look in Stacy's direction, but Stacy went on, "I realized that Trent meant something special to Daria. And when Mr. O'Neill accidentally plowed into them at the Seven Corners, when the rest of the Fashion Club were making insulting comments about them, I was the only one who cared enough to go over and see if they were OK." "You are in big danger of being kicked out of the Fashion Club, Rowe!" "SHUT UP, SANDI!" an enraged Stacy fairly screamed. Sandi cowered; she'd never been yelled at by Stacy before in her life. It was as if nudity liberated Stacy to say what was really on her mind. "Daria, Trent, I realize now that you must really love each other. Don't let jerks like Brad Schlitz judge you like that! They have no right to tell you what to do! And they have no right to tell COMMA what works of art to display or not display. That's censorship. No free society should tolerate that in any form from anyone. Besides, I know for a fact that it was Sandi Griffin here who slashed up your painting, Jane." Sandi looked a little green around the gills at that announcement, but Stacy went on. "I heard her talking to herself about it when I arrived here." Sandi tried to run, but found her way blocked by two Lawndale Police officers. "Sandi Griffin," said one of the officers as he slapped handcuffs on her, "you're under arrest for vandalism!" Struggling in the policeman's grip, Sandi screamed at Stacy at the top of her lungs. "YOU'RE FINISHED AS A MEMBER OF THE FASHION CLUB, STACY ROWE! YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE FINISHED!!!!!" The second officer went over to Stacy. "You realize I'm going to have to arrest you for indecent exposure, miss." "I know," Stacy shrugged, her old meekness returning, "but it was good to get this off my chest." She held out her hands, and the officer proceeded to cuff her, then escorted her away, past Daria and Jane. Daria had to know. "Stacy, why?" "I owed you one." "Actually, I owed *you* one. After all, you were there for me at that accident." "Perhaps. But think about it why I said it the way I did." The cop led her away into the back of the car, throwing a coat over her. Sandi was brought past them on her way to the same destination. "I really hate you, Daria! And you want to know why I destroyed Jane's little picture?" "OK, why?" "Because I hated all the media attention it was getting, that's why! I didn't want to lose popularity to you, you bitch!" She took the opportunity to spit on Daria before being hauled the rest of the way away. "Trent Lane, Brad Schlitz," said a third officer, "I'm placing the both of you under arrest for disturbing the peace." He and a fourth officer handcuffed the two men. "Don't worry, Trent, we're going to get you out of this." "I know, Janey. I know." He and Schlitz were led off. "We'd better get Mom," Daria decided. "If she finds out you were here," Jane pointed, out, "she'll blow a gasket." "At this point, I don't give a damn." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At about twelve noon, Daria, Jane and Ms. DeFoe were allowed to see Trent in his holding cell at the Lawndale Jail. He was wearing his civilian clothes -- for the moment, anyway -- and standing next to the bars. "Trent, I've called Mom; she's going to be here to post bail for you." "Thanks, Janey." "Trent, I called my own mother and told her what happened; she'll be down here in a while." "Thanks, Daria." "And thank *you* for sticking up for Jane and me." "I wasn't going to let that Schlitz guy bully you. Where is the jerk, anyway?" "He was put in solitary after he tried to bite one of the officers," Jane explained. "Cool," Trent jesse'd. "Jane, I'm just going to see Stacy for a second. See you later, Trent." Daria leaned her head against the bars and gently kissed Trent's forehead, then went down three cells down to where Stacy was ensconced, now wearing a light blue female prisoner's smock provided by the guards. "Stacy, it's me, Daria." "Hi, Daria." "Stacy, why did you *really* do what you did out there?" "Remember when Bret Strand dumped me as a date for the medieval fair and I was so heartbroken and I sat next to you and Jane in the Ferris wheel?" "It was the five most agonizing moments of Hell in my life." Daria smiled a Mona Lisa smile to let Stacy know she was just kidding. "You and Jane were the only ones who were willing to listen to me. I never forgot that. Then you and Trent were in that auto accident, and I got help for you. I saw a different side of you than what Sandi, Quinn and Tiffany were portraying you as. Daria, I know you're cynical and all that, but I also know you've got that soft spot for Trent there in your heart. When I saw you, it looked like you cried a bit." "I was at the verge of tears, but then I buried my face into Trent's chest." "Don't try to fool me, Daria; when we were riding the ambulance to the hospital, I saw a tear or two fall down that stony face of yours. You know, I wish I had real feelings for a guy like you do." "You do?" *That* came as a surprise. "It seems with the Fashion Club, you just use up a lot of guys. You date them and then you forget them. Why can't I just have a stable relationship?" "This is all so sudden." "I've been a bit different from the other members of the Fashion Club all the time. It just really tears me up inside when I see Quinn and Sandi fighting like they do, and Sandi acts like a bitch to Quinn, and Tiffany backs Sandi up no matter what. I just want to be liked by everyone, not hold people in contempt. Daria, I know you're cynical and smart and unfashionable and all that, but, for what it's worth," Stacy was obviously on the verge of tears, "I wouldn't mind calling you a friend." "You know what, Stacy? That's the nicest thing any one of you guys on the Fashion Club's ever said to me." "Thank you, Daria." The floodgates opened and Stacy Rowe burst into tears. Daria put her hand through the bars to take Stacy's. "Stacy, it's OK. I guess if you can see me cry, I guess I can see you cry as well. And this time I won't threaten you with justifiable homicide." "Thanks." Stacy began to dry her eyes. Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer entered the holding area. "Daria, I've made the bail arrangements. Everyone except that Schlitz bastard's free to go." "Thanks, Mom. I think." "And I have been thinking. I guess your father and I did go overboard when we reacted to Jane's painting, and I apologize on behalf of both of us. But *please* let us know if you're going to do anything like this again." "Sure." _When Hell freezes over._ "So, now comes the trial." "Unfortunately. I guess I've been subpoenaed as a witness?" "Yes, you have." Helen then hand-delivered the subpoena. "It figures." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At nine Monday morning, the main courtroom of the Lawndale Municipal Courthouse was packed. Daria, Jane, Trent, Helen and Amanda were at one table, while Schlitz and his attorney sat at another, and District Attorney Betty Foy was stationed at the prosecutor's table. "I hope that dumb Judge Reinhardt isn't hearing this one." "If he is," Helen chided her daughter, "you will *not* express your displeasure at him!" "I hope that Reinhardt guy's hearing this case," Schlitz gloated. "From what I hear, he's open to bribery." "Just leave it to me," Schlitz's attorney assured him. "All rise!" an elderly bailiff in a beige uniform called out. "Lawndale City Court is now in session! The Honorable Katherine T. Feeder presiding!" The Honorable Katherine T. Feeder made her way to the bench and seated herself. Judge Feeder had sandy hair, done up on the top of her head, and fairly classical features. She looked rather like a young Katharine Hepburn, or like Kate Mulgrew, the Hepburn-esque actress who plays Captain Janeway on _Star Trek: Voyager_. "Aw, man," Schlitz muttered, "not her again!" "Good to see you too, Mr. Schlitz!" said the Judge. She even *sounded* like Kate Mulgrew, with the same Hepburn-esque voice. Daria felt her mouth quirking up in another of her smiles. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Let's face it," Judge Feeder was summing up several hours later, "this is the most ridiculous case I've ever heard. A group of people who object even to firemen rescuing cats from trees yelling about a work of art at the local museum. I had the opportunity to see that painting the day before it was destroyed. It was a beautiful work of art, and I don't see any reason why it should have been removed. Mr. Schlitz and his organization had no right to bully the defendant's sister and girlfriend in order to draw them into a fight. The defendant's actions were justified in my opinion, and Mr. Schlitz got what he deserved. Case dismissed!" She banged her gavel on the podium before her. "And, Mr. Schlitz, you'll be happy to hear that, unless your attorney really impresses me this time, I also intend to toss out your lawsuit against COMMA." "Why, that no good bitch!" Schlitz snarled. "I hate her!" He left with his lawyer, shooting a hostile glance at the Morgendorffers and Lanes. Jane gave Trent a sisterly hug. "Thanks, Mom," Daria had to say. "Oh, it was nothing." "This court is in recess until six-thirty PM," Judge Feeder decreed, "at which time we'll hear `People v. Rowe,' `People v. Griffin' and `Lawndale Taxpayers' Association v. County Museum of Modern Art.'" She banged her gavel again to underscore the point. As the courtroom cleared, Feeder got down off her bench and approached Daria and Jane. "Ms. Morgendorffer, Ms. Lane, I admire your courage. Don't give up on the fight for what you believe in." "Thanks, Your Honor." "You know, Ms. Morgendorffer, I was a lot like you when I was growing up." She extracted a locket from under her robes, opening it to reveal the picture within. The hair color and style were different, as was the shape of the face; the jacket was blue, the T-shirt was purple and the skirt was brown. Apart from those purely cosmetic details, the young Kathy Feeder could have been the older sister Daria (as far as she knew) had never had. "And I never gave that up." Looking at the floor now, Daria saw the toes of a pair of Doc Martens peeping from under the judge's robe. "You have to be like that," Her Honor continued, "to handle creeps like Brad Schlitz. I promise you that Mr. Schlitz and his LTA friends will be dealt with severely on my watch." "That's a relief. So what's going to happen to Sandi and Stacy?" "Both have struck plea bargains. Ms. Griffin will most likely serve 100 hours of community service while Ms. Rowe will probably have to pay a $50 fine." "And they say the system doesn't work," Jane smirked, not evilly this time, only mischievously. "You can say that again," Daria allowed as. "Well," Judge Feeder observed, "I'd better retire to chambers, but I have a feeling we'll meet again." "I'm looking forward to it, Your Honor." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At six that night, in the Lanes' living room, Trent's birthday party was in full swing. Daria, Jane, Trent and Amanda were sitting around the table. "Too bad your father couldn't make it," Daria shrugged. "Well, he wanted to get those rare tiki masks in Tahiti, so he went off in a hurry." "In the absence of the painting," Jane yielded up a wrapped box, "here's *my* gift to you, Trent." Trent opened it. "Cool. Guitar strings. Thanks, Janey." Daria handed over her own gift. "And this is from me." He opened that as well. It was a gold chain with the charmed name "Trent" suspended from it. "Daria, this is beautiful." "I had to dip heavily into the Montana Cabin Fund to get it." "Thanks. I really like it." He kissed her on the cheek, and she blushed. "Of course," Jane grinned wickedly, "I could always persuade Daria to pose nude again. . ." "Don't even think about it, Rembrandt!" Jane smirked -- evilly, of course. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At ten-thirty the next morning, the Fashion Club were seated at their usual table in Lawndale High Cafeteria. Stacy Rowe, however, was far away from the others. "So I did it with Jamie!" Quinn gushed. "Aren't you guys happy for me?" "Well, duh, Quinn!" Sandi gloated. "I did it with Skyler!" Quinn frowned. Was she missing something? "So, Sandi," Tiffany rasped, "why is Stacy sitting so far away?" "Stacy committed conduct unbecoming a member of this club! She exposed herself at COMMA and ratted me out on Saturday! Stacy's membership is suspended pending a hearing on her fitness as a member of this club!" Stacy slunk away. She really didn't want to hear this. In the hall, Daria and Jane saw her approaching. "Hey," Jane wondered aloud, "what's Stacy doing without the rest of the Airhead Club?" Daria, on the other hand, realized at once the personal hell Stacy was going through. "Shut up, Lane." Jane shot a quizzical look at her friend, but Daria ignored it as she turned to Stacy. "Are you OK?" "My membership's been suspended," Stacy replied, "and I might be kicked out of the Fashion Club altogether. But it was worth it, and I have you to thank, Daria." "For what it's worth, you could hang with us." "Could I? Really?" "We just have one rule," Jane informed her. "Which is?" "No crying." "OK." She joined them on their travels down the hallway. Mr. O'Neill passed by and looked at the situation with surprise. _Funny, I don't remember Stacy hanging out with Daria and Jane. Maybe I'm getting forgetful about these things._ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- At six-thirty that night, it was Fried Chicken Tuesday at Morgendorffer Home Base. "You know," Helen was saying, "I'm glad everything worked out for the best." "At least no one will have to see me in the altogether again." Helen scowled. "So, Quinn, honey," the backup singer came in with a well-timed distraction, "how was your date with Jamal Friday night?" "That's Jamie, Dad. It was great! We were at Lover's Lane afterwards." "That reminds me, Quinn, I meant to ask you..." Helen took out the remnants of Quinn's pregnancy test from her pocket. "Would you mind telling me what this is about?" The most reliable source of joy in Daria's life had always been Schadenfreude -- delight in another's misfortune. And seeing Quinn's face in full collapse was good for a hit of Schadenfreude any day. "If you beg for mercy, I'm pretty sure you can get off with twenty years." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- After dinner, Daria was lying on her bed, staring at a fascinating crack in the ceiling, when her phone rang. "Hello?" "So, how's everything over there?" Jane asked. "Back to `normal.' Quinn got busted for having sex with Jamie. She's grounded for a month." "So, the little slut did it!" "Speaking of sluts, I'm really beginning to get concerned about Sandi. One of these days, she's going to blow her stack, and I get the feeling I'll be her target." "So shine up that AK-47 of yours." "I'm afraid I'll need a stealth bomber to handle her." "By the way, I can still do another nude painting of you to give to Trent." "No thanks; I don't want to go through all the grief again." "Just thought I'd ask. See you at school tomorrow. Bye." "Bye." She hung up. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next morning, she stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. Quickly, before anyone could see, she wrapped herself up in it and took a look at the mirror. _Heeeey!_ Jane's remembered voice said in her head. _Nice bod!_ She undid the towel and looked at herself full on in the raw for the first time since...since what Todd did, really. And, for the first time in all those years, she liked what she saw. _You know what, Daria? Maybe Jane's right. Maybe you're not so bad-looking after all._ And she smiled -- a Mona Lisa smile, of course. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ADAPTOR'S NOTES As you may have noticed, I've taken the liberty of tightening up Guerin's dialogue and smoothing out some of his choppier transitions. I only hope he wasn't just saying he approved. A note on names: Peter used Danny Bronstein's speculations "Woo" and "Nibblet" for Tiffany's and Stacy's surnames, respectively, in the original version of this fic, but when he switched to the MTV-approved surnames beginning with "This is Spinal Crap," he announced his intention to go back, at his convenience, and revise those usages. This is just my sneaky way of beating him to the punch. I originally used Guerin's coinage "Darren" instead of the semi-canonical "Vincent" for Mr. Lane's forename, but changed that when he started using "Vincent" beginning with "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Cynic." I followed his (and most other fanficters') example in using Bronstein's conjectural "Hecuba" (instead of my own preferred "Thorne") for Andrea's surname, because MTV haven't established anything official one way or another on that front. Just in case any of you felt the need to point it out, I *know* Quinn got Carson McCullers' name (and the name of her book _The Heart is a Lonely Hunter_) wrong, and moreover, I know that McCullers wasn't a guy. It was deliberate, underscoring Quinn's usual (at this point in her career) disdain for intellectual pursuits. The quotes, however, are accurate. (_The Heart is a Milkman_ is, "of course," a reference to the book of that name by Balph [sic] Eubank in Ayn Rand's endless and terrifying novel _Atlas Shrugged_.) C.E. Forman spells the bribable judge's surname "Reinhardt" in "To Helen Back." Guerin, in the original version of this fic, spelled it "Reinhart" without a D (kind of like Thomson without a P, I guess). I figured, since he's Forman's character, I'd go with C.E.'s spelling. Jane's Tommy Sherman dream is based on Jay Osako's "Sick, Sad World of Darkness" series, with an allusion (of course) to the earlier OAV "The Prepaid Phone Card Call of Tommy Sherman." Betty Foy is lifted from Michelle Klein-Haess' "Clothes Make the Manson." Matthias Benkman is a German artist who has some nude studies of Daria and Trent on his webpage at . They're very tasteful and artistic and I recommend them. Austin, and good day.