by Susan Rieger
Love,
Sophie
The Morning After
* * *
From: Sophie Diehl
To: Maggie Pfeiffer
Date: Sat, 5 June 1999 11:19:08
Subject: The Morning After 6/5/99 11:19 AM
Dearest Mags,
Where to begin? The beginning, I guess. (Maman always says that the virtues of chronological storytelling cannot be overstated.) Harry showed up at 8 sharp, clutching tulips. He remembered they were my second-favorite flowers. He offered them apologetically, saying he had really wanted to bring peonies but couldn’t find any. It was so awkward; I felt 14 and clammy. The reservation he’d made at Printemps wasn’t until 9, so I decided we should get drunk. I made us martinis, without vermouth. And we smoked. It’s good we were in easy walking distance. We each had at least three. I just looked at the gin bottle. It’s half gone.
We talked about our work. He’s running the Cabaret at Mather this summer and is doing three different evenings of three one-act plays. He calls it Three by Three. He was doing a couple of Ives, including The Universal Language, and a couple of Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads. I told him about my divorce case and its catastrophic effect on my personality. He said, “I guess my saga with Tessa didn’t help.” That opened the door to a very serious conversation. He said Tessa had been discharged from Austen Riggs and was back in Manhattan. He hired a lawyer, who drew up a separation agreement. Tessa has it; he thinks she’ll balk at signing. She doesn’t like the idea of not being attached to someone. The lawyer says that if she refuses to sign, he can sue for divorce on grounds of desertion. He hates the thought but said he’ll do it if that’s the only way of extricating himself. I think it’s really over. She was impossible to deal with, refusing to admit she had tried to kill herself and acting as though he’d engineered everything to get her back. The night he drove her back to the city, she took off all her clothes while he was in the bathroom and asked if he wanted to fuck. He was surprised to realize he didn’t. “I never thought I would turn her down,” he said.
I didn’t sleep with him. If I liked him less, I might have. But you know me, when I really like someone, sex can make me think I’m in love. I’m not taking that chance with him, not now. And anyway, we were so drunk at the end of the evening, neither of us could muster any enthusiasm, let alone libido. He walked me home, kissed me on the nose, and said he’d call me. I stumbled into bed and fell asleep in seconds, only to wake up three hours later, my mouth caked, my throat parched, my head pounding. I’m a lousy drinker, like all the women in my family. BUT Harry’s not the only man in my life making a comeback. My father called last night. He wants to see me. He reminded me it’s been eight months since we saw each other. I’m amazed he was keeping track. He invited me down the weekend after next but said if that wasn’t good for me, he’d come up. He made me very nervous. They say that suicides often get in touch with everyone, to say goodbye before they act. I’m going to call Sally and find out what’s up. He’s not the kind to take drugs. A shooter or a jumper is my guess. I’ll kill him if he does it.
Love,
Sophie
P.S. I may be hungover and half heartbroken, but I remembered to call the florist and ordered two dozen yellow roses for Fiona. Let’s see what that does.
Party for Fiona
* * *
From: David Greaves
To: Sophie Diehl
Date: Mon, 7 June 1999 8:36:58
Subject: Party for Fiona 6/7/99 8:36 AM
Sophie—
Where were you Saturday night? We missed you at the party for Fiona that Seamus FitzGerald threw. It was an important event for her, to be honored as one of the year’s outstanding alumni of Narragansett Law School. Every other lawyer in the firm was there. And everyone noticed your absence. I don’t think of you as being vindictive or mean-spirited. Were you ill? Was it some other occasion, a wedding?
David
* * *
Re: Party for Fiona
From: Sophie Diehl
To: David Greaves
Date: Mon, 7 June 1999 9:03:19
Subject: Re: Party for Fiona
6/7/99 9:03 AM
Dear David,
Fiona made it clear that she didn’t want me there. I didn’t tell you. (It’s the new Sophie.) I was sucking it up. I took counsel with Joe. He said he’d tell Proctor’s secretary, who was handling the tables, that I couldn’t make it. And I wrote to Seamus, sending my regrets. After all the fuss, I couldn’t go around telling everyone in the firm I’d been dissed. Instead, I get to look rude, churlish, and mean-spirited. But I’m taking it on the chin.
Sophie
P.S. I’m taking a new tack with Fiona. Killing with kindness.
Lunch in the Enemy Camp
* * *
From: Sophie Diehl
To: Maggie Pfeiffer
Date: Tue, 8 Jun 1999 23:14:56
Subject: Lunch in the Enemy Camp 6/8/99 11:14 PM
Dear Mags,
I had a lunch today that blew my socks off. Implosively, not explosively. I shouldn’t be writing this to you (lawyer-client confidentiality blah blah blah), but I need to tell someone. The aftershocks persist. Bruce Meiklejohn, CEO of Octopus Enterprises, Corporate Raider Extraordinaire, and father of my divorce client, Mia Meiklejohn, took DG and me to lunch at Porter’s. He originally invited us to the Plimouth, but I held true to my French Jewish English Marxist 14th Amendment American heritage and refused to go there. Actually DG did the refusing. But that is a sidebar. Everyone has always said Meiklejohn is an anti-Semitic troglodyte. Not true. Or, at least, not the whole truth. He’s a great charmer and very astute. While we were eating (I had the double lamp chops), the husband of my client, Meiklejohn’s son-in-law, Daniel E. Durkheim, M.D., came into the dining room. From everything I’d heard about him, I thought he would be a rude, arrogant son of a bitch, thin-lipped and too well dressed. George Sanders in All About Eve. But he wasn’t. He was hamish, like Elliott Gould in MASH. A really nice-looking, rumpled, comfortable Jewish man who is 15 pounds overweight and fine about it and fine about your extra 15 pounds too. (You know, my father always reminded me of Donald Sutherland. Also MASH. Not a comfortable Jewish man. Not comfortable at all. And not comforting.) Bruce Meiklejohn, who, my sources (impeccable) tell me, hates his son-in-law, got up from the table, went over to Dr. Durkheim, shook his hand, and patted him on the back in the friendliest way. He then brought him over to our table and introduced him to DG and me, identifying us, not exactly apologetically, more regretfully, as his lawyers and also his daughter’s. “You’re John Diehl’s daughter, aren’t you,” Dr. D said as we shook hands. “I took his course on England at war at Columbia. He was a great teacher. I’m very happy to meet you.” He had a good voice, low and gravelly. I felt suddenly very stupid; I’d committed the great sin of lawyers. I had demonized the other side. I should have known Ms. Meiklejohn wouldn’t have married a complete loser. It made me sad. I’ll bet, in their day, they were an adorable couple.
After Durkheim went back to his table, DG asked Meiklejohn what that was all about. Meiklejohn reached into his pocket and took out a letter he had received the day before from his granddaughter, Jane, the Durkheims’ 11-year-old. In the letter, she asked him to tell her dad not to go through with the divorce. It was a heartbreaker. As I read, my eyes welled with tears. Meiklejohn thought I was crying for Jane. He squeezed my arm gently. I almost lost it. There I was, back in that wretched summer of my parents’ divorce. (As you said, we cry for ourselves.) It was so awful for all of us but worst for Francoise, who was only 11. She stopped washing her hair. I never told you this. I was too ashamed. We all forgot about her. After a few weeks, I finally noticed and asked her what was going on. She said she wasn’t going to wash it until Maman said something. She went three months. My mother wept when she found out. Of course, Papa didn’t notice; how could he? He spent the summer
in Amagansett, and the fall too. Did you know he was sent to boarding school on his 7th birthday? How could they do that? Granny used to say how much Remy reminded her of Papa when he was small, so exuberant, so affectionate, so naughty. We thought she was bonkers.
I just reread this email. I’ve been casting my very own family movie. Raul Julia would have been perfect for Jake; second choice, Harvey Keitel. It’s the way they’re both sexy. (Did I really say that? Oy.) For Maman, I’m thinking Anouk Aimee; 15 years ago, she’d have been perfect. Those great bones. Is she still alive? Do you remember A Man and a Woman? Wasn’t that that the best cry ever? After Beaches, and Two for the Road, of course. I’m off to bed. Miss you.
xoxoxoxox.
Sophie
TRAYNOR, HAND, WYZANSKI
222 CHURCH STREET
NEW SALEM, NARRAGANSETT 06555
(393) 876-5678
MEMORANDUM
Attorney Work Product
From: David Greaves
To: Sophie Diehl
RE: Durkheim/Meiklejohn
Date: June 9, 1999
Attachments: Jane Durkheim’s Letter
That was some lunch—and some letter. I don’t know that anyone has ever addressed Bruce Meiklejohn with that sweetness and confidence. That little girl knows he loves her, and she loves him back and trusts him. I’m betting that’s a first for him. He may tell his daughter he’ll underwrite the divorce and her post-divorce life, though I can’t see her going along unless he stops rewriting his will and creates an irrevocable living trust that she can control and/or invade. That would be my advice. What’s yours?
Bruce Meiklejohn never ceases to surprise me. I’ve been his lawyer for 22 years, and I’ve never been able to second-guess him.
Dear Poppa,
Thank you for the new computer. I love it! It’s absolutely beautiful. I never saw a purple one before. All my friends are jealus. I’m glad its a powerbook. I can use it everyweher. My typing is getting better. Mommy says she is going to show me how to use the Internet but I know how. We use computers at school all the time. I don’t have spelchekker on this computer so my spelling is sometimes odd. I do it foneticaly. I hope you don’t mind. I can read much better than I can spell. I can see where it’s wrong. I just don’t know how to make it right.
I need to talk to you about Daddy. I don’t understand why he stopped loving Mommy and me. Do you? Mommy is sad and I’m sad too. I cry sometimes but I try not to let Mommy see. I know it makes her feel sadder. Tito is very sad too. I can tell. He’s very mopey. Fido hasn’t changed. He’s always cheerful. Lucky dog.
I have a very big favor to ask you. Would you ask Daddy not to do this divorce. I bet he would listen to you. He says your very very smart. You just fake being stupid. Tell him I promise to be good and I’ll behave myself.
You never got divorced. You got married again because Granny died. I think that’s the way to do it. Mommy isn’t going to die at 46 is she? She promises she wont but she still could. Who will take care of me then? I cant live with Daddy. Could I live with you? Cindy might not like it. I have a lot of things to worry about.
Your loving granddaughter,
Jane
TRAYNOR, HAND, WYZANSKI
222 CHURCH STREET
NEW SALEM, NARRAGANSETT 06555
(393) 876-5678
MEMORANDUM
Attorney Work Product
From: Sophie Diehl
To: David Greaves
RE: Ms. Maria Meiklejohn
Date: June 9, 1999
Attachments:
What does Jane mean when she says she couldn’t live with her father if something happened to her mother? You don’t think he’s hurting her in some way, do you?
My advice to Ms. Meiklejohn has been to stay the course. The house is the key to the settlement. Bruce Meiklejohn may love Jane more than anyone else, but I don’t think he’ll ever relinquish control of his money. Have you read his latest will? I did. I wanted the full measure of the man. The Law Against Perpetuities has met its match. He’s got everything tied up for decades. He’ll be pulling the strings long after he’s dead. Ms. M may finally get her hands on some dough when she’s 70. (Of course, in next month’s will, he may decide to put all the money in a charitable foundation.) I did learn something interesting. Her mother left an estate of about $900,000, in addition to the Martha’s Vineyard house, which she put in trusts for her children. She left $400,000 to Cordelia, and $400,000 to Ms. M. She also made a direct bequest of $100,000 to a scholarship fund at the Peabody School in memory of James Meiklejohn. Who is he? The money to Ms. M vests in 2007, when Ms. M is 50. Cordelia’s remains in a trust. Ms. M never mentioned her trust. Does she know about it? It’s got to be at least $2 million now, unless of course a bank was doing the investing. It must be 20 years since her mother died. Proctor is a trustee of both trusts, and he has the power to invade in the event of “necessity.” He said he’d give me the numbers after the June 30 statements arrive; he reviews the accounts semiannually. He seems to think the money was invested in blue chips.
Bruce Meiklejohn currently pays all of Cordelia’s expenses, and he has made arrangements in his will for her to be taken care of for the rest of her life. Do we have to let Kahn and Dr. D know about this money? I suppose so.
How did Meiklejohn find a purple computer? That was genius. He qualifies for the Guinness Book of Granddads with that one.
Casting Your Life
* * *
From: Maggie Pfeiffer
To: Sophie Diehl
Date: Wed, 9 June 1999 19:33:24
Subject: Casting Your Life 6/9/99 7:33 PM
Dearest Sophie—
I know your dad was hard on you during the bad years. I saw it even though you tried to protect me (or was it him you were protecting, from my bad opinion?). But it wasn’t only you. He was hard on Luc, too. And he barely paid Francoise any attention at all. (I used to wonder if he thought she was David Cummings’s daughter. Where did that unwashed bronze hair come from?) Remy somehow avoided his wrath. Think of your parents’ divorce as war. Now it’s over, time to draw up a peace treaty. Keep it simple. I think he behaves badly because he feels guilty. Does that make sense?
Sometimes, Sophie, it’s hard to hear your complaints against your parents. It’s not only that I love them and that they saved my life; they are by any standard you can think of so much better than my parents. I had this fantasy when I was 10 or 11 that my parents had kidnapped me, that I was really the daughter of cultured and distinguished people (your parents!?). Classic family romance, but what did I know then? Your mother somehow got wind of this, probably something I said, and decided to do an intervention. I can picture it to this day; it’s like a scene in play. We were in the kitchen, just the two of us. I don’t know where you and your siblings were. I was sitting at the table, drinking chocolate milk; she was cooking. “Magpie,” she said, “you belong to a very lucky tribe, did you know that?” I must have looked startled, if not incredulous. “Yes,” she went on, “the self-made. Against the odds, despite your tough upbringing, you will be brilliantly successful. You don’t need rich or royal parents or even me and John. You’ll do it by dint of brains, beauty, talent, drive, guts, and, most important, hard, hard work. I know it.” I would have died for her, right there, on the spot. And I believed her.
Interestingly, she never ever criticized my parents, only my “upbringing.” Once when I was older, maybe 15, I was complaining to her about my dad’s drinking, and she said, with no hint of criticism (of me or him), but with that simple, direct style of hers that could turn someone else’s rhetorical questions into legitimate ones: “Do you think he decided to be an alcoholic? Do you think that’s what he wants to be?” That stopped me in my tracks. I had never given him a point of view. I had only asked: Why doesn’t he stop it and behave responsibly?
Your dad’s depressed and has been, I’m guessing, most of his life (probably since Granny Diehl packed him off to
boarding school), and being English public school, he regards therapy and drugs as crutches. I can still hear him saying to one of you (and sometimes to me, too), “Pull up your socks, old man.” You’re never going to change him; he’s never going to change. You might be able to change. That’s your best hope. I am now going to pull up my socks and learn some lines till bedtime. (It worked for me; I am a perfect monument to sock-up-pulling.)
Love you,
Maggie
TRAYNOR, HAND, WYZANSKI
222 CHURCH STREET
NEW SALEM, NARRAGANSETT 06555
(393) 876-5678
MEMORANDUM
Attorney Work Product
From: Sophie Diehl
To: David Greaves
RE: A Letter from Bruce Meiklejohn
Date: June 11, 1999
Attachments: Bruce Meiklejohn’s Letter
Mia Meiklejohn sent me a copy of a letter her father sent Jane in response to her letter to him. I can’t imagine a letter that could make Jane feel better, safer, or more loved. I’ll bet it made her feel smart, too. It’s perfection. How did he know how to do that? No question: he is really and truly very smart.
