May 10, 1985
Dear Mother,
My dad and Regina are getting a divorce. I told you. Grandmother is thrilled. She’s taking us to the Caribbean for Memorial Day. Now maybe you and him can get together. I like a boy in my class, Sammy Wauford, but he likes Debbie Tickner, who wears clothes from Kmart.
Love,
Jennifer
May 12, 1985
Dear Bitsy,
Your mother broke down and gave me your address. I just returned from New Orleans. Louie collapsed at his office with an apparent heart attack. It turned out to be indigestion. He is such a sniveler. I completely understand why you are going ahead with the divorce. You can’t sit still while the rest of time is passing by on the winds.
Don’t fret—I won’t give Louie your address. But do you mind if I pass it along to Sister? She asks about you all the time, and she knows quite a few designers on your side of the Atlantic. So if you’re planning to stay in London, she can point you in the right direction.
Love,
Honora
June 4, 1985
Dear Mother,
School is out for the summer, and I am so totally bored. I went over to see Dorothy, and she got mad when I told her that The Official Preppy Handbook was a gag. I was like oh my God. Then she nearly fainted when I told her that George Michael is gay. She is always listening to that song, “Careless Whisper.” She asked how I know so much, but I really don’t. I sure was wrong about my dad. He wasn’t too sad over Regina because he sat me down in his study and told me that he wanted me to meet a woman named Nicole. They met at the golf course. So I guess you and him won’t be getting remarried after all. Next week, Grandmother and Chick are taking me to Hilton Head. I’d rather go to California and see real Valley Girls.
Love,
Jennifer
June 15, 1985
Dear Bitsy,
I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I thought I’d send you a little taped message. It’s so much nicer than a letter, don’t you think? I invited my widowed neighbor, Mr. Stump, to supper. I served him fried chicken, green beans, Jell-O salad, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and apple upside-down cake. The next morning, the phone rang, and it was him. He complimented my cooking and wanted to know if I had any leftovers. Well, I’d never heard of anything so bold, but Mr. Stump is from Indiana, and they are crude up there. So, I told him that I was sorry, all I had was a tiny bowl of mashed potatoes. He said he’d be right over.
The nerve of that man! I may spit in those potatoes, even if they were exceptionally good. The secret is to add lots of REAL butter and sour cream. It will be a cold day before I serve another meal to Mr. Stump.
I hope you are enjoying your decorating jobs.
Love,
Dorothy
June 21, 1985
Dear Bitsy,
It’s Solstice Day. How cool it must be to live near Stonehenge. I wanted to send you Violet’s new address. At the end of the month, she and George will be moving to Boulder, Colorado. She has joined the Mountain Arts Medical Group. George will be doing research at the University of Colorado. My coffee shop is doing great. For July 4, Tucker and I are going to a party on Joe’s houseboat. I wish I could have this man’s baby, even though I have reached an age where I don’t like children. Next month I’ll turn 47, and the only eggs I have left are probably deviled.
Love,
XX OO
July 5, 1985
Dear Bitsy,
I tried to call, but I keep getting your machine. The most horrible thing has happened, so before you read any further, you might want to sit down. Yesterday, Clancy Jane and Tucker went to a houseboat party at the lake. The generator went out, and Tucker tried to fix it. Bitsy, he got electrocuted. I brought Clancy Jane to my house and gave her a pill. I called Byron, but got his answering service. They said he was on a vacation. I just bet he’s not alone. So I called Zach and he came right over. He talked to her about the cycle of rebirth. But I just can’t imagine Tucker coming back as a cat.
Honey, I’ve got to stop writing now. Clancy Jane is getting hysterical, and I need to give her a pill. I hope you like your new decorating job.
Love,
Dorothy
September 19, 1985
Dear Bitsy,
Thank you so much for wiring the flowers. They were real pretty. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it back for the funeral, but Dorothy explained that you were moving to a new apartment and couldn’t leave. I am sorry that it took so long for me to write, but I haven’t been myself. Here is what happened that night. Three couples were on the houseboat, and we’d just taken a midnight swim. Tucker swam up behind me and said, Boo! Then he laughed and told me we had some important things to talk about. I asked him what, but he just smiled and said, You’ll see, you’ll see.
When we climbed up the ladder, everything was pitch-black. The electrical current was on the blink, so Tucker began fiddling with the generator. Somebody went to get a flashlight. Be careful, baby, I told Tucker, and I felt a chill. The lights blinked twice, followed by a crackling sound. Tucker looked like he was dancing, then he fell overboard. I screamed for help, then dove into the water. It was warm and dark, and somehow I caught his wrist. But he was so heavy, the weight of him just pulled me down. From the surface, I heard a splash and saw arcs of light, but I didn’t let go.
I thought I might touch bottom but someone uncoiled my fingers—I couldn’t see who—and I fought them off. Another person grabbed me from behind and shoved me toward the surface. When I came up, people were shining flashlights in the water, and one of the guys was swimming underwater, searching for Tucker.
At dawn, the police divers brought Tucker to the surface. It took three more to lift his body onto the boat. I asked everybody who’d pulled my hands off Tucker, but no one would admit it. I wish they’d just let me go.
Since Zach is the only other Buddhist in town, he helped me plan the service. We handed out candles to the mourners and told everybody to light them. Then we formed a line and walked out of the funeral home. We stood out in the darkened yard. Then Zach told everybody to blow out their candles one at a time. When we got to the last candle, which was Zach’s, he said, “When one flame is extinguished, another is ignited.” And he touched his candle to mine and lit the wick.
It would be nice to think that, at the precise moment Tucker died, another life began. But did it get his soul? I don’t think so. I think he achieved Nirvana whether he meant to or not. He knew how to give love and to receive love, and if that’s the only lesson any of us ever learn, then it’s more than enough.
Love,
XX OO
October 15, 1985
Dear Mother,
I hate school. The eighth grade sucks. I’ve got a mean teacher and she is loading me down with homework. My dad is drinking all the time, even at breakfast. He fell down and hurt his back, and now he is taking pills that make him see double. Grandmother is so upset she had to check into the hospital. I will end up in an orphanage. Please come and get me.
Love,
Jennifer
October 20, 1985
Dear Mother,
Dorothy came over and took me to her house. She said you’d called her and explained what was going on. She has got another freaking dog, and it’s peeing all over the house. I’m, like, gag me with a spoon. I shut myself up in your old bedroom to get away from it. I hate to tell her, but her house STINKS. Plus between the dog yapping and the walnuts falling from the tree and hitting the roof, I can’t sleep. Do you have an English boyfriend? Or are you still pining for Louie? I myself have given up on boys. Here in Crystal Falls, I have few to pick from. I don’t want to end up married to an electrician. I would prefer a doctor or a politician.
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
A LETTER FROM CLANCY JANE
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
A LETTER FROM JENNIFER WENTWORTH
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,
Mad Girls In Love Page 45