A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond (36 page)

I didn’t go into any of her experiences, though, just asked her to tell me more about the book. She called it “a kind of ironic mockery of shock fiction,” which shut my mouth, I can tell you. She mistook my silence for puzzlement, maybe disapproval. “I mean it tries to be an expose at the same time it makes fun of the conventions of expose writing and the way such sensational stuff is marketed and, well, sensationalized.” She blushed as she said this. Had I not been a little immobile I’d have bounced up and kissed her right there.

To get to the point: at my urging, she read a few pages, the beginning. They were so good that I asked for more, then more, then we had lunch, then more. She ended up reading the whole thing. Took all day and the next (she came back). It would have been faster, had she not kept apologizing and offering to quit.

It sounds like a set-up comic situation, doesn’t it: a guy stuck in a hospital bed being forced to endure 19 hours of CLASS ASS, read by the author, one Septic. But it seemed to me the best day of my life. Sure, I was on some sweet chemicals, which may have made the best day of my life even better, but that’s what it was.

Love,

Juniper

April 5, 2003

Dear Ralph,

I want to thank you for your kindness to Jupiter and to me. I can tell that you hate to be thanked, and I will keep by my promise to hide from Jupiter that there were charges not covered by insurance, and that somebody covered them.

Far beyond that, your kindness in visiting so regularly and in listening so calmly to Juniper’s wild ravings—certainly no other human is so susceptible to chemical pleasures—has been so important to both of us.

I know it is excruciating for you to read that, so let me move to what is excruciating to me. Two days ago, you began what seemed to me like a suggestion that we go to dinner or a museum together. If I am wrong, I am willing to be embarrassed. Life is too short to hide behind the fear of being embarrassed. If that’s what you meant, I would love to do it (movie or museum or anything else short of extreme sports). If that’s not what you meant, just ignore this.

But don’t ignore our gratitude, however much you may cringe to have it directed so bluntly at you.

Your friend,

Reba McCloud

Reba McCloud

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April 5, 2003

Dear Juniper,

I am so sorry to hear about your hospitalization—and the pain you must be feeling. Funny how events like these seem to make the world over, place all of us—those hurt and those who care—in another drama, with new parts to play. I don’t mean to sound insensitive to your agony, as if it were only a pretend thing. I know it’s not a pretend thing, and I am not pretending when I say I wish I could help.

You’ve been very good to me, Juniper, and tolerant beyond any reason to be. I have a suspicion that I can help best by staying away, and you don’t need to pain yourself by confirming that. Do stretch one more time to be kind to me and tell me what I can do to help. Do you need money, magazines, girls, liquor (the best!), a clown act? Anything at all.

Love,

Barton

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April 5, 2003

Dear Martin,

I think I now have this all straight, thanks to Reba on the phone. If Reba in person is anything like Reba on the phone, she must be a stunner and a saint to boot. Far beyond me, that’s for sure.

I am very sorry, Martin, that you are in pain. I can also understand acting on an impulse to free yourself from whatever emotions are grinding into your skull—or trying to get out. Others will tell you that the letter I gather you sent to Vendetti was unwise, but I am one who can sympathize and understand that wise or unwise does not enter in: the letter was necessary. It shot out of its own gun.

It is a shame that Juniper got mowed down in fire that was, when you consider it, friendly. The longer I live, the more I think there is never anybody to blame. Not even Vendetti. I hope you agree with me—even now, even where you are.

I am staying away for now, unless BOTH you and Juniper need me. But I am moving neither my body nor my heart from either of you.

Always,

Barton

April 7, 2003

Dear Barton,

Hey Barton, you’re so fine! You’re so fine you blow my mind. Hey Barton!

You know that song? It’s a little young for you and me, but a sweet-spirited song. They play it at the end of a movie called “Bring It On.” You’d love it. I did. Reba did. I think Martin didn’t see it. He looked alarmed when I recommended it. True, it’s about highschool cheerleaders, which arouses some people’s resistance. If you don’t let that part stall you, you’ll be treated to a terrific ride.

Anyway, your letter was sunshine to me. But I shouldn’t allow you to feel sorry for me. Better living through chemistry, you know. Whee!

But that’s behind me now. It was like a holiday. I’m home now. It’s poor Martin who is bunged up.

I keep forgetting to ask or mention or assume out loud: you’re back with Strom now, right? All fences mended? All hugs and boo-hoo and kissy?

More shortly and thankee!

Fondly,

Juniper

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April 10, 2003

Juniper McCloud:

I have no idea what you are talking about.

This will be your only warning to desist. Otherwise, I will be forced to take action simply to protect myself. Nobody can blame me for trying to protect myself. Even if they do, I am resolved to keep myself as safe as I can.

You think it’s funny. You think I’m funny.

Well, the ha-ha will be on you.

Barton Wilkes

B. Wilkes, Esq.

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1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020

April 10, 2003

Dear Ms. McCloud,

Thank you.

I’ve always been suspicious of people who flinch at expressions of gratitude. Anyhow, please believe me, Ms. McCloud, that I’d be happy to accept your thanks, were I at all deserving of them.

I put your brother in the hospital in the first place, you know. As it turns out, it’s not even that I had a reason. Give me a suspicion and a body that’s handy and I’ll start punching it. That’s hardly admirable or deserving of gratitude.

Still, I’m glad I did it, since it gave me a chance to meet you. You seem very nice and I will pick you up Friday at 7 for a movie. Tell me where you live.

Sincerely,

Ralph Vendetti

Ralph Vendetti

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