Sophie
* * *
Re: Artless Egotism
From: David Greaves
To: Sophie Diehl
Date: Thu, 17 June 1999 10:57:44
Subject: Re: Artless Egotism
6/17/99 10:57 AM
Sophie—
You make your father sound like Zeus, with all those Jovian adverbs and adjectives. You were what, 16 when your parents divorced? And now you’re almost 30, no? Do you still see him that way? Is he still that way?
Somewhere in my late 20s, I realized that I had the upper hand with my parents. (I think this is pretty standard.) They wanted my company more than I wanted theirs. They missed me; I didn’t miss them. I was totally absorbed in my new grown-up life, and in the limited free time I had, I wanted to be with my wife, children, and friends. That’s perhaps an oversimplification but not so broad it misstates the case. (Let me say that I loved and respected both of them; they were good parents and very nice to their children.) It might have been easier for you to grow up and away from them at 16, seizing an independent life, knowing that they were together, but I get the sense that their marriage was volatile and tumultuous, and you and your siblings are probably better off with them apart than together. Just think, if you’d missed having Jake in your life, you might be attracted to “volcanic” personalities, men who are admittedly compellingly attractive but not the sort who make good husbands and fathers. Jake has given you a different model.
I may have crossed a line here, but your email called for a serious response. What is it Dickens wrote about becoming the hero of one’s own life? You’re a terrific person, Sophie. To borrow your “star” analogy, it’s time you took center stage.
David
* * *
Re: Re: Artless Egotism
From: Sophie Diehl
To: David Greaves
Date: Thu, 17 June 1999 11:20:09
Subject: Re: Re: Artless Egotism 6/17/99 11:20 AM
Dear David—
Thank you for your note. In some way, I know, I’m resisting growing up. My parents still feel bigger than life. You know what my mother can do; you saw it at Porter’s. Well, my father can do it too, and with an English accent. (I’m making excuses. Whenever I talk like this in front of Jake, he asks me simply: “What’s in it for you, Sophie? What are you getting out of this?”) Then there’s the generational shift. I know a lot of other immature people my age; 30 is the new 21. (Economically, I’ve been self-sufficient since college; my parents are helping me pay off my law school loans, but I am the debtor of record and have paid my way these last eight years. They were in agreement on this. If my sibs and I wanted to drink, smoke dope, and have sex, we had to do it in our own homes, not theirs, and we had to pay for them. They took the holistic approach to being a grown-up. Of course, every so often—or oftener—my mother buys me a wonderful dress or takes me to a play or sends me books; and my father gives me big cash gifts for birthdays and Christmas. Both take me on vacations, with sibs and stepsibs.)
Jake is a great guy, but he may have come into my life too late to make a difference in my choice of husband. I’ve always thought I should get married in the Church of England so that the banns could be published weeks in advance and the vicar could ask the congregation at the start of the ceremony if there was any reason why this couple shouldn’t be joined together in holy matrimony. Then my best friend, Maggie Pfeiffer, would stand up and say, “Sophie, you can’t marry this man; he’s all wrong for you. Don’t you see!” Jane saved from Mr. Rochester.
I’m a work in progress.
Sophie
TRAYNOR, HAND, WYZANSKI
222 CHURCH STREET
NEW SALEM, NARRAGANSETT 06555
(393) 876-5678
MEMORANDUM
Attorney Work Product
From: Sophie Diehl
To: David Greaves
RE: Therapy for Jane Durkheim
Date: June 18, 1999
Attachments: Jane Durkheim’s Letter
Mia Meiklejohn dropped off Jane’s letter to her dad this afternoon. A heartbreaker. My mother says that the pathos of children is the beginning of tragedy. I can’t figure out what’s going on with that little girl. I don’t think it’s the usual horrors we think of—dads abusing their little girls, moms turning them against their dads. And I don’t think she’s blaming herself. It’s very peculiar.
Ms. Meiklejohn and I had a long talk. She and her husband are moving ahead with Dr. Fischer. They met with her together this morning to set things up, and according to Ms. M, they behaved themselves. The plan is for Jane to see her once a week for several weeks. Dr. Fischer will also meet with the parents separately for a few sessions and then with each of them with Jane. She’ll write up an evaluation, which she will provide to the parents. They have all agreed that her evaluation will be submitted to the judge in the event there’s a dispute over custody or visitation. (Is it wise to reduce their agreement to writing?) At this point they don’t anticipate a custody fight. They both agree (for the moment) that Jane should live with her mother. Dr. Durkheim told his wife he’s working with his lawyers on a response to our counteroffer. She says he appears subdued and chastened. She doesn’t expect the mood to last, but she’s feeling more optimistic about reaching an agreement. I showed her Jane’s letter to her grandfather and made her a copy to show her husband and the therapist.
I raised the matter of her mother’s trust. She had forgotten entirely about it and had no idea how much money was in it. The statements have always gone to her father. She said she would talk to Proctor about the account and arrange for the statements to come to her. “My father is going to be very unhappy. He hates losing control.”
As she was leaving, I asked her who James Meiklejohn was. She looked startled, then sad. I thought she might cry. I quickly explained that I had seen his name in her mother’s will. She told me he was her older brother. He died of leukemia when he was 11, and she was 10. “My childhood ended when he died,” she said. Her mother never recovered from his death. Cordelia was the “replacement” baby, and Mrs. Meiklejohn was devoted to her, almost to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. When she was dying (breast cancer), she was frantically worried about what would happen to Cordelia. She made Ms. M promise she’d always look after her. Jane was named for Ms. M’s brother.
Narragansett Statutes
Title 33 of the Narragansett Code, Sections 801ff.
Dissolution of Marriage, Annulment, and Legal Separation
Sec. 811. Psychiatric or psychological evaluation of the child. In proceedings on custody or visitation, the court may order a psychiatric or psychological evaluation of the child if such an evaluation would, in the court’s opinion, assist its determination of the best interests of the child.
Dear Daddy:
I don’t understand why you don’t love mommy and me anymore. What did we do to make you mad at us? I know I sometimes don’t listen to you. I know mommy sometimes doesn’t listen. Is that the reason? It won’t happen again.
Mommy is sad. I’m sure you can see it. I think she still loves you. You should give her a second chance. She makes you laugh. Isn’t that a good thing?
I’ll be good if you will love us again. I promise. I won’t sulk and I won’t whine, ever. Cross my heart and hope to die. I love you Daddy.
Your loving daughter,
Jane
ps If you and Mommy get divorced, where will Mommy and me live? Will we live in the house in Marthas Vinyard? It has no toilet inside. That’s all right in the summer but not in January.
ps2 Where will Tito and Fido live? If they could talk, they’d say they’re very sad about the divorce.
ps3 What happens if Mommy dies? I can live with Poppa. He says I can live with him always and forever. But I want us all together, you, Mommy, and me. We are the 3 Musketeers. 1 for all and all for 1.
Harry
* * *
From: S
ophie Diehl
To: Maggie Pfeiffer
Date: Sat, 19 June 1999 16:18:51
Subject: Harry 6/19/99 4:18 PM
Dear Maggie,
I had brunch this morning with Harry. We’re back to the early days of dating (though not our early days, more like Gidget’s. He picks me up, he drops me off, he kisses me chastely on the cheek and leaves). It is almost too weird (that sounds as if regular weird were okay). Truth is, I don’t much feel like having sex with him, and I don’t know if I can take much more of this. We talk easily enough, sometimes even about Monkey, but there’s no heat. He doesn’t want to see me anymore (it’s oddly not personal, and I take it that way, oddly for me), but he wants to be a decent person and he can’t see a way out without being a dog. I shall have to break it off, another bye-Jacking. I’ve been breaking up with boys for over a decade, ever since Jack. What is the matter with men? Just once I’d like a boy to break up with me, to do the manly thing, face-to-face, and not in public. Jack said it was always easier if the girl did the breaking up, and I guess it’s a fraternity policy. It worked for him. He was such a master; he even cried when I told him I was breaking up with him for being so drunk and so mean. Ah, Jack, sexy, drunk, mean Jack—the platonic bad boyfriend, a bad boyfriend for the Guinness Book of Bad Boyfriends, high school division. Harry isn’t so much a bad boyfriend these days as a non-boyfriend. And it’s not his fault and it’s not mine. Maman’s advice was to marry American Jewish, and not fancy American Jewish (no Mayflower Sephardim, no Temple Emanu-El Jews, no displaced Czech match kings, no French Jews—which goes without saying), just your standard-issue, wild, funny, ambitious Russian Jew.
I’ll be up to see you in the Shaw the weekend of the 10th. Maman’s coming with me. She got us a room at the Williamstown Inn, so I won’t be camping on your couch. You’re not to think about us—it’s a working weekend for you—except that we’ll be in the audience Saturday night, center row, center seats, cheering for you. And, of course, we’ll come backstage after.
Love,
Sophie
* * *
My Father
* * *
From: Sophie Diehl
To: Maggie Pfeiffer
Date: Sun, 20 June 1999 22:29:49
Subject: My Father 6/20/99 10:29 PM
Maggie—
Terrible news. My father has prostate cancer. He says it’s not life-threatening and he’s not doing anything about it—just watching and waiting. (Waiting for what? Stage 4?) English medicine. I didn’t get to see him. He called. He got the diagnosis about a month ago. He was waiting for the right time to tell me and then realized there is no right time. (I tried to call you, but there was no answer and I couldn’t leave this message on a phone machine.)
I am so upset. I was all ready to blast him for horribleness to us all, and he gets a fatal disease. Just like him. How long do you have to wait before you can get angry at someone with cancer? Does it make a difference if it’s your father? I’m thinking 3 weeks.
And don’t tell me this anger is just a mask for my terror at the thought he is dying. It’s typical of him. He’s untouchable. I don’t think any of us ever got to tell him what a wretch of a father he was. He had that English way of making it impermissible. (Not that Maman took personal criticism well. When we’d start in, she’d say, “I’m not interested in that. Talk to me about something interesting.”) The closest was Francoise, who refused to kiss him for years. (I’m not sure she’s started up again.) It started when she was about 13, after he began to notice her. In the beginning, he’d ask her why, laughing as though it was a secret they were sharing. “Just don’t feel like it,” she’d say, or “Not in the mood.” As time wore on, he made a joke of it, sort of, leaning down to kiss her, then drawing back, saying, “Ah, I forgot, no kisses.” But she would just look at him, unsmiling. God, she had perseverance. So admirable. If grudge holding were a sport, she’d have medaled in it. Reminds me of the joke about Irish Alzheimer’s. Maybe she is Cummings’s daughter.
I don’t want him to die, Mags. Tomorrow I have to call Sally to find out the real story. Of course, I called Maman straightaway. It made her sad, I could tell. She doesn’t want him to die either, not yet; she wants him to apologize to her first. And she wants him to live for our sakes.
Maybe I’ll write him a letter.
I’m being awful. I know you love him too. I told him I’d tell you. He said that was okay. I know he’d like to hear from you. Now I’m going on Yahoo to look up prostate cancer.
Love,
Sophie
POLICE BLOTTER
New Salem Police report that the first day of summer has brought its usual round of hooliganism and mayhem.
VANDALISM TO SAINT CLOUD LAWN, GARDEN. 404 Saint Cloud Street: At 4 p.m., Sunday, June 20, police were called to the residence of Dr. Daniel E. Durkheim, in response to reported acts of vandalism to the house and grounds. Sometime in the early morning on Sunday, an individual in a Hummer or other large 4×4 vehicle with super-sized, all-terrain tires drove across the lawn and gardens of the property, tearing up the sod and driving over the beds. A large copper beech was deeply gouged, and a 40-foot hedgerow was badly damaged. The copper beech may have to come down, a great loss to Saint Cloud Street. Dating back to the beginning of the 19th century, it is one of 20 copper beeches that stand over 50 feet tall and line the street. The house on the property was also subject to vandalism; graffiti was sprayed across the front walls and windows, with the words: “$AVE US FROM DOCTOR$.” Damages are likely to exceed $20,000. Several other properties on nearby streets were vandalized (see items 3 and 7 below), but the damage to those properties was far less extensive, involving mostly broken windows and demolished mailboxes, the likely victims of mailbox baseball. The police have concluded that different parties were involved in the other reported incidents. ■
From the desk of Sophie Diehl
June 22, 1999
Dear Papa,
I’ve been wretched—and afraid—since you called. I called Maman straightaway. She said Jake knows all the plumbers at P&S and Sloan-Kettering and would be happy to talk doctors with you. We’re all very conventional. We think you should do something. You said you were going to watch it, but nobody trusts you; you’re a horrible patient. And you have no use for doctors. Will you get it checked regularly? “Regularly” for prostate cancer (according to Yahoo) is every year. You’re more likely to follow the Russian plan, five years. That won’t do, Papa. You’re not allowed to die. I am not ready for it, even if you are. When I think that you had three children by the time you were my age, I am embarrassed on my own behalf; I am so monumentally immature. Maggie says I’m not attentive enough to have goldfish. Which I got from you and which is why I worry so much now that you won’t try to live longer. You’re just 55; the earlier you get prostate cancer, the deadlier the disease (Yahoo again). (I know, I know, generally speaking; you may be the statistical anomaly that skews all the data.) (It’s so annoying having to qualify every sentence I write you to make sure I’ve not carelessly, sourcelessly generalized.) Luc said you weren’t going to die; he said I was drama-queening it up. That’s one way of dealing with it, taking the completely optimistic position. He’s got his exams in two weeks; he can’t be derailed by grief.
This letter is going nowhere. How do you write to your father when he’s just been diagnosed with cancer? You must know. The English have protocols for every occasion. Speaking of which, have you told the Ancient Ps? Isn’t there a rule against predeceasing your parents in peacetime? I can’t imagine the disease that would take down Gran.
Please, please do something, for me.
Sophie
TRAYNOR, HAND, WYZANSKI
222 CHURCH STREET, NEW SALEM, NARRAGANSETT 06555 (393) 876-5678
* * *
TRAYNOR, HAND, WYZANSKI
222 CHURCH STREET
NEW SALEM, NARRAGANSETT 06555
(393) 876-5678
&nb
sp; MEMORANDUM
Attorney Work Product
From: Sophie Diehl
To: David Greaves
RE: Criminal Mischief at the Meiklejohn/Durkheims’
Date: June 22, 1999
Attachments: Newspaper Clipping
I am assuming you read yesterday’s police blotter in the Courier. Vandalism at the Durkheim manse. It’s sad, actually (and funny, of course, too—and please don’t give me a lecture; divorce lawyer humor is much more tasteful than criminal lawyer humor). They have a great copper beech that may need to be taken down. The hedge and lawn were torn up, and someone spray-painted anti-doctor graffiti on the house. I just got off the phone with Ms. Meiklejohn. Dr. Durkheim accused her of being behind it. She laughed at him and told him not to make himself ridiculous; “You know damn well that Consigliere Kahn arranged it,” she said, “to make you out the victim. It’s a barefaced Tawana Brawley maneuver.” I don’t think she believes that for one minute, but of course that’s not her point.
I told her that as the owner of the house, she couldn’t be charged with vandalism. I also told her that if she talks to the police, she should tell the truth or not say anything at all. She laughed when I said that. “You think I may have done it, don’t you.” I said, no, I didn’t, but that I thought she was capable of doing it. “Right you are,” she said. We agreed to talk again if the police wanted to interview her.
Vandalism
* * *
From: Mia Meiklejohn
To: Sophie Diehl
Date: Tue, 22 June 1999 15:17:22
Subject: Vandalism 6/22/99 3:17 PM
The Divorce Papers: A Novel Page 25