Mad Girls In Love (47 page)

I'm moving to another room.

Love,

Jen

November 2, 1985

Dear Bitsy,

You may not remember me but I am the Wentworths' housekeeper. I worked there when you were married to Mr. Claude, only I was much younger. I just finished reading your letter to Miss Betty where you asked if Jennifer could visit you in London, England. I think it would be a nice idea. She will be out of school for Thanksgiving. But first, let me explain what is going on around here. Mr. Claude is at the Betty Ford Center, and the Wentworths flew out there to keep him company. I am staying here at the house with Jennifer. I don't expect to see Miss Betty until after Christmas. She would not like for Jennifer to go anywhere, but the child is just beside herself. No matter what they say, I know you love Jennifer. And I am willing to take this risk. Please feel free to call and let me know about the travel plans.

Sincerely,

Bernice Calhoun

November 25, 1985

Dear Dorothy,

This is what Mother bought me at Harrod's:

1. A purse

2. A silver keychain

3. A pink raincoat, pink umbrella, and pink Wellingtons, which are boots.

4. Fur mittens

5. Assorted gloves

6. Lip gloss

7. Two Journey albums

Mother lives on the roof of a tall, beige building. The English word for apartment is flat. Whatever it's called, it sure is vomiticious. Every time I want to go outside, I have to get into the teeniest elevator you've ever seen. It's called a lift and only holds three people. The only decent room in her flat has glass walls and a glass ceiling. A door opens onto a porch with a bench, and you can look down into the park. It has ewwie views of buildings. The Queen lives in one, but it's not so great. Last night the electricity, or whatever, went off and everything went dark. Mother and I went out to the roof porch and sat on the bench. Then it hit me that I only had a few days left, and then I'd have to go back to Crystal Falls. I burst into tears and told her that I didn't want to leave, that I would miss her too much. She started crying, too. We hugged each other for a long time.

Love,

Jennifer

December 28, 1985

Dear Bitsy,

Christmas was such a bummer. Violet is living in another state, and you live in another country—all because of the men in your lives. And if it isn't a guy screwing things up, it's National Holidays. Why are there so many? I wish that Christmas only came every other year. I refuse to be manipulated by merchants, refuse to put up a tree, stockings, or mistletoe. Zach gave me a ceramic nativity scene that featured dogs. The Wise Men consisted of a German shepherd, black Lab, and a golden retriever; a white poodle took Mary's place, and Joseph was represented as a bassett hound. A tan chihuahua took Baby Jesus' place in the manger.

The nativity scene is cool, but it didn't lift my spirits. I'd tried so many outlandish things over the years. ROLFing, EST, Buddhism, transcendental meditation. Nothing has worked except good old-fashioned love. But I'll never have that again. I will never get over Tucker.

Last night I drifted off to sleep and dreamed I was moving through the trees, my shoes stirring up fog. A man built just like Tucker stepped out of the haze. I could smell him—ashes and soot mixed with man-sweat. He lifted one hand and waved and turned back toward the fog. I called for him to wait.

He stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder. It
was
Tucker. He wasn't dead. He'd come back. I ran as fast as I could and jumped into his arms, and he swung me around. Pushing his hair off his forehead, I said, “Do you know how much I love you?”

“I ought to,” he said. “You've told me enough.”

That was when I woke up and started crying. A long time ago, Violet had accused me of not knowing how to love or how to experience rage. She called me passive-aggressive.

I tried to remember the first moment I'd ever felt pure fury. Not in my childhood—Dorothy had been the one to have tantrums and rampages. I'd sailed through my formative years without ever raising my voice. I hadn't had to—Miss Gussie had raised hers, yelling at Dorothy on my behalf. Nobody ever got a chance to make me mad until I married Violet's father and he died before I could punch out his lights.

So, maybe I didn't know how to deal with anger. I tried a visualization technique. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to summon it, conjuring rage the way I drew wild cats from the woods with bowls of half 'n' half. It didn't work. It only made me feel tired. But Violet was wrong about one thing—I do know how to love.

Anyway, I hope your Christmas was better than mine.

Love, Aunt Clancy

January 1, 1986

New Year's Day

Dear Mother,

Thank you for the Christmas and birthday presents. Last night during my birthday party, my dad got, like, totally drunk. Nicole poured all the liquor
down the drain, then she caught him in the pantry drinking Triple Sec and feeling up the caterer who's name is Gwen, and she has enormous breasts. Nicole told Gwen to please set out a fresh batch of cheese straws. I don't know what happened after that, because Nicole made me go back to my guests.

When everyone had left, Nicole chased Gwen out into the driveway. Then she found my dad passed out on their bed and she took a strip of electrical tape and pressed it down over his mouth. Next she pulled the sheet over him like she was tucking him in, but then she took a giant staple gun and pegged him to the mattress. He started to wake up, and she took an empty tequila bottle and knocked the hell out of him. He screamed for help, but Nicole kicked the door shut. I totally felt his pain. Now my dad is in the hospital and he looks awful, like, Ew Ew Ew Squared. And Grandmother got Nicole put in jail for assault and battery. She is also filing for divorce on my dad's behalf. Her lawyers will let her do anything.

Love,

Jen

March 5, 1986

Dear Bitsy,

Please call. I need to hear your voice. I am so lonely without you.

Love,

Louie

June 2, 1986

Dear Bitsy,

Thanks for helping me locate a Thomas Pink shirt for George. It's for his thirty-second birthday. I'm seeing seven patients a day, four days a week. I charge out the ying-yang. The money is great, but sometimes I wonder if I'm helping anyone. I never dreamed it would be this way. George says not to think about it, or I could become existentially depressed. I'm extremely proud that you've carved out a life in England. You have real courage.

Love,

Violet

May 20, 1986

Dear Bitsy,

We may not be married but it's still our anniversary.

I love you,

Louie

October 15, 1986

Dear Bitsy,

Happy birthday, Beauty.

I still love you with all my heart.

Love,

Louie

December 15, 1986

Dear Mother,

Here is my totally awesome Xmas gift list:

Dad—personalized golf balls

Gwen (my dad's new girlfriend)—Chanel No. 5

Grandmother—assorted coffee beans, coffee grinder, espresso machine

Chick—cigars

Mack—Jack Daniels and a tool box

Dorothy—blue velour robe, Godiva chocolates

Dorothy's Dogs—jeweled collars

Great-Aunt Clancy—umbrella printed with cats

I left off your name because your gift is a major surprise. I didn't get Aunt Violet anything because I never hear from her. Is she still alive? I will be 15 on New Year's Eve. For my birthday, Grandmother is giving me a huge party at the club. Hope it's better than last year's.

Love,

Jennifer

February 12, 1987

Dear Mother,

I'm sorry I haven't written sooner, but I have been totally busy. Thanks for the present. It's snowing, and school let out at ten o'clock in the morning. That was way cool. Gwen is so bogus and talks to me like I'm her girl friend, not her lover's daughter. This is what she said today: “It's hard to be sweet when Claude sleeps with anyone who'll spread her legs. He's made me into a joke. Why, I can't get a decent haircut in this town because he's slept with all of the beauticians.”

And all this time, I just thought she had, like, real shitty hair.

Love,

Jennifer

August 2, 1987

Dear Mother,

I will start the 10th grade in September. Grandmother and I flew to Houston and a limousine took us to the Galleria. It's like, oh my God. The driver followed behind us, carrying our Saks and Neiman Marcus bags. Every now and then, we'd have to wait while he ran out to the limo to stash everything. He got a little huffy, and I told him to, like, take a chill pill. Grandmother bought from the new Valentino collection. Here is what I bought:

1. Gucci shoulder bag

2. Lace gloves

3. Lace hairbands

4. Green Laura Ashley dress with poofed sleeves

5. Puffy 18 kt heart pendant

6. Louis Vuitton wallet

7. A new Madonna album

9. Oversize pink knit sweater

10. Danskins

More later.

Love,

Jen

December 15, 1987

Dear Bitsy,

Mack and me went to the movies and saw
Fatal Attraction.
You are so lucky that none of Louie's tarts were insane. But now I am worried that one of Mr. Stump's old girlfriends will take revenge on me. Yes, we've been seeing each other, and I'm scared. I can just imagine walking into my kitchen and finding one of my Pomeranians sticking out of a bubbling pot. Tomorrow I am calling a locksmith. Then I am giving Mr. Stump an ultimatum: Stop playing the field!

Love,

Dorothy

December 22, 1987

Dear Mother,

I am staying at Dorothy's this week. She put up her totally faux Xmas tree this morning. She pulled out a box of grody ornaments, including some that I'd made in elementary school. When she finished, her bratty boy dog, Rebel, peed all over the tree. I miss you.

Love,

Jen

January 11, 1987

Dear Bitsy,

The Gulf Coast isn't the same without you. Just the other day I was cleaning my handbag room, and I found a vintage Jackie O Gucci. May I send it to your mother? Louie is still brooding. I've never seen him go this long without taking up with a woman. He only has himself to blame. I hope the Brits are giving you the respect and love you deserve.

Love,

Honora

May 12, 1988

Dear Bitsy,

My poor little friend, Mr. Stump, was standing on his back porch and tripped over his shoelaces. He fell into the flower bed and broke his neck. It didn't kill him but he stayed in the hospital for a month. Then his daughter came and took him home with her. He wasn't a real boyfriend, but I sure do miss him. Speaking of such, Earlene has left the Million Dollar man for a filthy rich widower in Knoxville. He is nearly 79. Now Earlene is driving a brand-new Jaguar. But she still has that platinum blond hair and could pass for a hooker. I just pray that she won't come sniffing after Mack,

Love,

Dorothy

May 20, 1988

Dear Bitsy.

Happy Anniversary. I won't give up, so you'd better call.

Love,

Louie

December 9, 1988

Dear Bitsy,

I'm so excited that you're flying home for the holidays. And I LOVE your idea of having an early birthday party for Jennifer. Clancy Jane says she'll bring the finger foods and coffee, and Mack is going to smoke a turkey and a Boston butt.

I'm counting the days,

Dorothy

January 10, 1989

Dear Mother,

It was way cool seeing you. I loved all my gifts. I'm sorry that I missed the party, but when it started snowing I was like no way, this isn't happening. So, when my friends said they were going sledding, I had to go. It was awesome. I got a spiral perm and my driver's license. I want my own car, but my dad is yelling at me to slow down and going totally Chuckie. I just ignore him and turn up the volume on my cassette deck. I am listening to it now. Roxette is singing “It Must Have Been Love.”

Take care,

Jen

P.S. You guys need to remember to call me Jen, okay?

January 22, 1989

Dear Bitsy,

Here is a copy of a tape I sent to Barbara Bush. Do you think I sound kooky?

Love,

Dorothy

January 22, 1989

Dear Barbara Bush,

I haven't contacted a First Lady in years, but I'm hoping you and me can become friends. For one thing, we are dead ringers for each other. Same fluffy white hair and gracious smiles, except I am lots thinner. My niece, Violet, is also married to a man named George, and he is good to her, but not real family-oriented. He likes to snow ski and go white-water rafting. He was that way even before he and Violet moved to Colorado—nothing but weirdos out there. They are neither Democrat or Republican but Independent. They're also childless (I suspect a low sperm count). I understand that they voted for Ross Perot, who looks like the rat in
Fantasia.
I am not surprised at their politics. My niece is an atheist and she goes to Africa by herself to do free medical work, but I can't imagine what she does over there—she's a psychiatrist. Although I thought headshrinkers was something they had a lot of over there.

Yours forever,

Dorothy McDougal

February 5, 1989

Dear Bitsy,

All morning I've been wearing the cardigan that you left at Christmas. It still smells like you. I'm freezing to death. It turned bitter cold overnight. The temperature dropped into the teens, and my pipes froze. Mack tried to fix it. He used a blowtorch and I was scared that 214 would go up in flames. Mack turned on the upstairs faucet, and when the pipes thawed, the water filled the sink and flooded the bathroom. Water poured through the ceiling, into the dining room. So now I'm fighting with the insurance company. I think your poor brother has damaged his brain. They say that alcohol will actually KILL brain cells. It's a wonder that he has any left.

Love,

Dorothy

May 21, 1989

Dear Bitsy,

Another anniversary—I wish I knew your address. I would fill your flat with blue boxes from Tiffany's.

Love,

Louie

December 8, 1989

Dear Mother,

Guess WHAT? We're going on a Christmas trip to Switzerland next week!!!!!! We go from Nashville to Atlanta to Zurich. So I will get to ride on three planes going and three coming back. I was hoping we'd get to stop off in London, but it's too much out of our way. But I was thinking we could still meet somewhere, maybe in Lucerne. I know it's late notice, but maybe if you look at the itinerary, which I had to STEAL, we can figure out a way to meet without Grandmother finding out.

My fingers are crossed!

Jen