The Slipper Read Online Free PDF

writing about white slavery! A baby, and she’s writing about venereal disease! What if someone found out ? What would people say ? Where did we go wrong, Irving? Where did we fail? Sadie had hysterics, said her life was over, said she’d never be able to step foot out of the apartment again, but when September came Nora boarded the train for Indiana, Sadie sobbing on the platform at Grand Central, begging her not to go, Irving smiling sadly and waving as the train pulled away.
    Free at last. Free to be Nora, not Sadie and Irving’s freak of a daughter who had an IQ of 198. Sadie hadn’t exactly scrambled up onto the rooftop and yelled it through a megaphone, but there wasn’t a friend or relative or neighbor who didn’t know her daughter was a certified genius. Hell, there wasn’t a soul in Brooklyn who wasn’t familiar with the fact. Little Miss Mensa. Try and live that one down. Of course Sadie hadn’t realized she was working against her own best interests, broadcasting it high and low. Nice Jewish boys weren’t interested in nice Jewish girls who were brighter than they were. A girl who had read all of Proust and André Gide by the time she was sixteen? A girl who could solve any math problem in the blink of an eye? Great fun in the backseat of a car, right? Just the doll you wanted to take to the prom. Boys had always avoided her like the plague.
    If she was going to be cursed, why did it have to be with a high IQ? Why couldn’t she be cursed with beauty? Why couldn’t she be tall and blond and have cheekbones to die for? No. Fat chance. She had to be cute. Cute as a bug. A Jewish June Allyson. Five foot two, eyes of brown. Naturally curly black hair, cut short now, though not in one of those godawful poodle cuts all the rage. She did have a turned-up nose. An adorable nose. It had cost Irving a fortune four years ago. Nora still remembered the pain. Cute as a bug and brilliant to boot. What chance did she have? Nora had realized a long time ago that she would have to fight every step of the way if she was going to make the world sit up and take notice, and that was exactly what she planned to do.
    Claymore was the first step. She was going to learn everything she could and write a novel that would shock the pants off people and send Sadie into a swift decline. She was going to be rich and famous, have movies made from her books, maybe even write a movie herself one day. She was going to hobnob with people like Noël Coward and the Lunts, trade quips with Mary Martin, call Laurence Olivier “Larry.” Big dreams, sure, but you had to dream big if you wanted to make it big. You had to be ballsy. You had to believe. You had to be determined. Little Nora Levin was going to make it, and she wasn’t going to drag her heels, either. If Françoise Sagan and Gabrielle Bernais could write best-sellers at eighteen, why couldn’t she? Of course, they were both French, but an American girl could write a best-seller, too. She already had a crackerjack of an idea, so sexy it would make Bonjour Tristesse seem like Elsie Dinsmore . Fame. Fortune. So laugh. A girl should aspire to changing dirty diapers and making the perfect meat loaf? Not this kid.
    Some students came spilling out of the ice cream shop, laughing together, belonging, the boys sturdily built, crew-cut, obviously athletes, the girls so pretty and flirty you could whip out a machine gun and blow ’em away. Nora had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, felt insecure, an outsider, but she promptly banished the feeling. She was going to belong, too. She was going to be popular. Cute wasn’t terrific, but it was better than being a dog. Some of the boys might actually prefer petite girls who had glossy black curls and shiny brown eyes and personality to spare. Nora intended to play down the brainy bit. She’d make good grades, sure, top the dean’s list every time, but she’d keep