The telephone rings. The telephone rings.
The telephone rings, and finally Diane reaches blearily from the comfort of the bed to answer.
"Mmmm-Hello?" She yawns, not yet awake.
"Diane, it's your mother speaking. Are you still in bed? Shame on you for being so slovenly! I always said that allowing you to live -" At this, Diane removes the receiver from her ear and sighs.
Her mother is not a welcome wake up call at seven-thirty in the morning, or ever. She resumes listening and her mother is in mid-scold.
"-not a way for a Brenneman to behave!" Diane rubs at her tired face and stretches.
"It's good to hear from you too Mom." Diane's mother gives a mirthless laugh.
"It is never good to hear from me in your mind! I know you resent me!" Not in a mood for confrontation or attack, Diane rolls her eyes and debates hanging up.
"Diane!" Her mother snaps, endowed with a second sense for insult. "Stop rolling your ungrateful little eyes and listen to me! I have invited a young man to come to dinner tonight, a rich young man worthy of our family name.
"You are to be here at six PM. Wear something suitable - your new Givenchy dress perhaps - and do your hair. And Diane, for heaven's sake girl, do not speak about war, politics, or women in the workforce! It simply isn't suitable." There is a long silence on the end of the receiver.
"No Mother, I won't. I'm not coming." She says, trying to sound resolute.
"You listen Diane!" Mother Brenneman shrills, "The house you live in is MY summer home, and if you disrespect me, I will send you out! BE HERE AT SIX!" The phone line goes dead.
For a few disbelieving seconds, Diane stares at the receiver in her hand, angry beyond words. This house is mine, it was a birthday present! She thinks, fuming.
Diane hurls the phone as far across the room as hard as she possibly can - receiver, cradle, wires and all.