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

by Percival Everett

  Do send me your impressions of the lunch with the Senator and any notes or memorabilia you compiled or carried away with you.

  What do you hear from Juniper?

  I have reason to believe that one or both of you is (or maybe are) dating Reba. You know very well who Reba is, so don’t waste our time by saying, “Who is Reba?” Two (or more) can play at that game.

  I am considering taking up archery.

  Devotedly,

  Barton

  OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND

  217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515

  January 10, 2003

  Martin,

  What are that Kincaid and Everett doing? What do they mean by it?

  Did you put them up to this?

  I tried to call McCloud (my Juney) but he doesn’t like phones, so I hung up after a few rings (and several calls), honoring his little whims. We all owe it to one another to do a lot more respecting of whims than usually gets done.

  So, you tell me. There’s an interesting phrase, agree? I mean, depending on how it’s inflected, it can mean so many things. “YOU tell me” or “you TELL me” or (my own favorite) “you tell ME.” The last is friendliest, unless it’s snide.

  In any case, I feel I should get information on this point. Surely I deserve it—who is more deserving, I’d like to know?

  Do you date much, Martin? I can tell from your letters that you are currently unattached. I picture you as having an oblique sort of restless attractiveness to you. Oh sure, you have a complexion nobody’d bid on, and that slouch, and hair you’ve always despaired of. Still………Am I right?

  Barton

  January 14, 2003

  Dearest Reba,

  There is some good news. I haven’t heard from Barton Wilkes in several days, maybe weeks. I don’t know.

  Hope you are equally blessed, and not just in that negative way, for sure. I hope your life is filled with wonderful times and lovely people. Whatever happened to Fred—I can’t remember his last name—you went with for so long? He seemed to have a lot to offer and certainly was fine looking.

  I guess I have more good news. I’m out from under Martin Snell—no pun there. He got me reassigned or maybe was forced to reassign me. I still have a job, but it’s with this Mafia type, Ralph Vendetti. Only he’s not really a Mafia type, Reba, at least not the movie Mafia type, quiet and ominous. That might not be so bad. It’s more like he’s a male Sicilian version of Leona Helmsley. That’s bad. Vendetti does about 60% of the company’s business, I expect, seeing as how he’s in charge of trash: cookbooks, self-help books, true crime, and unauthorized biographies.

  And let’s not forget diet books. That’s what he put me on. Diet books, Reba, can he believe it? The one I’m assigned to “work into shape” is called The Butter Bliss Diet. I want to change it to the Yogurt-Plus Diet, but Vendetti, when I mentioned it, said, in his bull-bellow tenor, that the first title was better. What he said was, “Go suck your hemorrhoids, Julep! Don’t you know any fucking thing?” Then he smiled and said, “That’s OK, kid.” I was slinking out of his office, when he stopped me with this real soft, mocking, girlie voice: “Oh and Julep. Don’t hesitate to stop by any time you have an idea I’ll like. Kissy-kissy.” Then he smiled again and gave me a friendly wave. I can’t tell about him, really.

  Anyhow, this diet book I’m supposed to work into shape, as I say, is—get this—based on the old-wifey premise that we are all healthiest as babies (not true) and that such health is given us by cows (not true) and that we can all regain the vigor, the fitness, the sylph-like figure, and the creamy complexion of babies, if we return to our cow home. Thus the butter bliss. The diet is based on cream and ice cream, milk and yogurt, butter and cheese. It also features a lot of beef, for the simple reason that cows are…. Well, you know the rest. Since nobody’s going to buy a diet book that doesn’t proscribe something, this one sets strict rules on the amount of water one can drink, on yellow vegetables (disallowed altogether, I think), on all green vegetables that are not leafy (such as the sort cows might fancy), on Chinese food generally and anything soy based (tofu especially). Anything fried in butter is excellent, as are sweets (a staple of any cow’s diet), breads (especially in the form of doughnuts and muffins), and most alcoholic beverages, rum excluded. I think I can steal a copy for you when it’s out. You can give it to an enemy.

  But Vendetti at least doesn’t seem to want to undress me or pat my butt. That’s a step up. And he hasn’t started marking each holiday and festival by having me to a party. I think I’m safe there. So far as I can tell, he detests me, or maybe just includes me in his all-round contempt for the world and its creatures. I don’t think it’s anything personal, as he doesn’t know my name even. Thinks I’m Julep, though possibly he regards that name as an amusing attack on my manhood. Well, attack away, I say. I’m not defending. And he did stop by my desk to ask if everything was OK. Now and then he smiles.

  Still, dear Reba, it’s an impossible situation: doing substupid books for publishing’s own Mike Tyson. I’m lonely and useless and feel more lost than I ever have. Strom’s book wasn’t much and neither was Martin; but both sure beat this. I haven’t got so I miss Wilkes, but that’ll be next.

  And then, my sister, I think of what Mother would say: “Remember there are people in the world much worse off.” I do think of that. But I don’t find it cheering. It simply adds shame to my list of woes.

  All in all, I am going to think of what I might do next and then quit—or vice versa. Please tell me if I whining. I always seem to be coming to you for help. Just being able to tell the truth and know you listen to it means that I can think. During the course of writing this letter, it came to me that being bounced back and forth here between King Kong and Godzilla didn’t make any sense. So I’m quitting. Thanks, dear Reba.

  Much love,

  Juniper

  Memo: Snell to McCloud

  January 15, 2003

  Juniper, my Juney,

  Miss you.

  Keep an eye on Wilkes. Just between us. Keep an eye on him. He’s not a person I feel safe about. Do you? Anyway, I look to you to have your feelers out.

  We still work for the same company, remember. And there’s so much else we share.

  Wilkes said he was thinking of taking up archery. Everett told me that over the phone. What do you suppose that means? I know what archery is, of course. I don’t want you to explain to me what archery is. I want to know whether anyone can kill someone or cause them great pain with a bow and arrow. Can they? I suppose so but would like to be sure.

  I think Wilkes must feel threatened by Everett and Kincaid going straight to Strom. Feed that. Sic Wilkes on them. Don’t you agree?

  Miss you.

  Marry-warry

  p.s. Less than a month until Lover’s Day

  Interoffice Memo

  January 17, 2003

  Dear Percival,

  I figured you’d want me to respond to Barton Wilkes, as I am much better than you at sizing up a difficult personality and dealing with it tactfully as it flows. I don’t mean that I understand Wilkes. It’s not a matter of understanding, you see. That’s where you make your mistake. You try to understand difficult people and then deal with them according to that understanding. That’s a mistake.

  Like with Strom. I was adjusting to the flow, making little alterations in my manner and speech, trying to make him hum to our tune. I was playing him like a violin. It’s not that you didn’t raise good points, all through our lunch. You did. It’s just that you didn’t make those adjustments.

  It’s simply a people skill, Percival, and probably not one that can be learned. Knowing you, I expect you wouldn’t want to learn it were that possible, which it isn’t.

  So here’s a letter to Barton. I send it to you as a courtesy, seeing that your name is attached. But I knew you’d like this letter; so, in the interests of time, I sent it on to madman Wilkes. (Who in hell is Reba?)<
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  January 17, 2003

  Dear Barton,

  I want you to know how very much Percival and I enjoyed receiving your letter and how appreciative we are of your energy and courtesy. Both are alike impressive and gallant, just like you.

  You are a very busy man. You are an important man. You are a man with much on his plate. Many demands. Decisions. Staff (none too competent) to supervise. The Senator to manage and to act, as you say, as paladin to. (I confess: you had me there. I didn’t know what paladin meant—needless to say, neither did Everett—but it was the perfect word.) Busy, busy, busy.

  We knew that and know that.

  And so we didn’t bother you ahead of time about our little visit to the Senator. We intended to get in touch with you afterwards should anything come up worthy of your attention.

  Nothing did, nothing that we can see, anyhow.

  Another reason, Barton, is that the purpose of our visit was less substantive than atmospheric. You see? You are around the Senator daily. You know him. You are, so to speak, inside him. We needed to get a feel. We needed to sort of sniff him, let him exude, get into our head and senses and let us experience, let us BE, the man we are writing through. Why bother you with that?

  No need for qualms, you see. We have none. You are too busy and important to have them. Qualms are for others, not you.

  Let me turn to your hobbies. Martial arts and archery. I know that archery was, at the time you wrote the letter, simply on your list, your list of things to master. “Barton’s List of Things to Master: archery, calligraphy, opera (baritone), deep-sea diving.” Am I right? By now, you have mastered archery, I dare say. Several days have gone by, and I am not so dense or so unfamiliar with your brilliance as to suppose that you have not yet mastered it. Rome wasn’t built in a day, perhaps, but Barton Wilkes can master anything in two or three!

  I assure you that we are not dating Reba. I won’t pretend to be ignorant of who she is. Why should I? When I say WE are not dating her, I mean that neither of us is. Actually, we are both married, securely and blissfully.

  No word from Juniper McCloud. Martin Snell told us McCloud had been transferred to another editor.

  Let us know how we can make your job, indeed your life, easier and more pleasant.

  Affectionately,

  Perce and Jim

  FROM THE DESK OF PERCIVAL EVERETT

  January 18, 2003

  J

  I see what you mean about your skills in diplomacy. It’s a remarkable letter. I’ve never seen prose that puckered and sucked simultaneously.

  You got anything else you’re signing my name to?

  P

  Memo: McCloud to Snell

  January 20, 2002

  Dear Martin,

  I think archery is dangerous.

  In some parts of the South, bow-and-arrow season had to be canceled. You know why? Because the archery guys (and gals) were killing the deer at such a rate. They were also winging each other a lot, causing, in every case, a slow and certain and agonizing death. They stopped it and brought back guns, since guns are so much safer.

  This is in response to your question about what one might have to fear from a skilled archer with his quiver full.

  Faithfully,

  Juniper

  SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  To: Ralph Vendetti

  From: Juniper McCloud

  Date: January 20, 2003

  This is to give you notice of my resignation, effective immediately, though I will of course remain on the job for two weeks, unless that is not enough time for you to find a replacement, in which case I will stay longer.

  I don’t think you know who I am, but I’m the one working on the Butter Miracle Diet book. I’m the one you call Julep when you yell at him.

  In leaving, I want to thank Simon & Schuster for giving me this opportunity and indicate how sorry I am that I have disappointed both editors to whom I have been assigned. I can only say that I have tried to do my best, with full awareness of what a loser’s slogan that is.

  SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  January 20, 2002

  Dear Mr. McCloud,

  Your note touched me deeply and made me reflect on a manner that I have come to regard as gruff, perhaps, but wholly professional. I see that it is sometimes simply rude and that I have caused you pain and, worse, a feeling of inadequacy.

  I sense in your note that your decision is final, but I wish it were not. There is nothing about your work that seems to me amiss. Of course, it would be dishonest of me to pretend that I know anything at all about your work, one way or the other. But that’s good. If you were fucking up big time, I’d know.

  Can I induce you to stay? I will try to be more considerate, though even as I write this, I suspect that any modifications will be slight and short-lived. There are reasons why I act as I do, reasons that I suppose I could plumb and perhaps understand, change. But I know I won’t. Clearly I am devoting much energy to avoiding any battle with those reasons, and that avoidance won’t be abandoned.

  But if you could work for me, I’d appreciate it. It’s just that, were I you, I wouldn’t. There’s the one virtue left to the vile: bitter candor.

  I will arrange for you to have two months severance pay. You should consider yourself free to leave at the end of work today.

  I may not be able to change, but I can feel regret. And do.

  Sincerely,

  Ralph Vendetti

  Ralph Vendetti

  SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  January 20, 2003

  Dear Mr. Vendetti,

  You are a man of such skills that I wish I had it in me to live with your way of expressing them. But I do not.

  Thank you for your generous offer regarding severance. I will vacate this afternoon.

  With all best wishes,

  R. Juniper McCloud

  R. Juniper McCloud

  January 21, 2003

  Dear Professor Kincaid,

  I am sorry for the formality, but the truth is I cannot remember what we had grown to in the way of addressing one another. I am not in the office and have no access to the file, which would tell me. Also, I feel a little ruffled, bedazzled actually.

  Not to burden you with my problems, but I have left Simon & Schuster. There is no earthly reason you should care about that, but you seem like kind men, both of you, and you’re the one I had the correspondence with. You have helped me before, and I hope you don’t think ill of me for turning to you once again.

  As I think you know, Martin Snell shuffled me off the project and out of his office. I think it was because that idiotic draft got sent to you (though the truth is he was the one who sent it, but never mind). Anyhow, he booted me down the hall to a strange guy who had me working on diet books—how to live better with butter. It was the worst of both worlds, since Snell had clearly not cut me out of his social life, making little buzzing noises about Valentine’s Day.

  I feel as if I’ve escaped from Bedlam. But I’ve escaped into something of a void.

  Any chance you two might be able to use me as a research assistant? I know the project, can take the research off your hands, and do any of the writing you’d like. I come very cheap, cheaper than any grad student you might have working now. You see, I have a friend in L.A. I could live with and I could do some waiting tables and maybe get into grad school or something.

  As I say, there’s no reason you should help me; you just seem so very kind. Kindness attracts those who need it badly.

  Cordially,

  R. Juniper McCloud

  Juniper McCloud

  January 21, 2003

  Dear Professor Everett,

  You don’t know me from Adam, and you probably think I’m going to try and sell you time-share
d condos or aluminum siding. Actually, I’m Juniper McCloud’s sister, Reba. I know you have been working with Juniper on a project involving Senator Strom Thurmond. I also know that he speaks very highly of you. He has read all your novels and sent some to me, which I found both hilarious and shocking.

  Most important, he says you are witty and kind. So’s Juniper, as you probably know or have guessed.

  But he has found himself in a position there at Simon & Schuster that’s intolerable. It would be for me, I think, judging from what I know of the people involved in this project. One of them, a Barton Wilkes, went on a campaign to date me or something. As best I can tell, he is not securely balanced, though I hesitate to say that about a man I have not even met. (Still, it has been one of the triumphs of my last months that I have avoided meeting him.) I realize Wilkes is not at Simon & Schuster, but you probably know that Juniper was ordered to distract Wilkes and go with him on a weekend outing of some kind, maybe more than one.

  The man issuing the orders was Juniper’s immediate supervisor, Martin Snell. Mr. Snell recently transferred Juniper to an editor named Vendetti, who set my brother to work on diet books connected to dairy products somehow.

  The situation does not appeal to reason. But it may appeal to feeling. I hope so. Juniper is surrounded by these three—Wilkes, Snell, and Vendetti—none of whom seem to be just or even sane. Juniper doesn’t whine, he really doesn’t, and I know he wouldn’t even be letting me in on this were the situation not desperate.

  He is thinking about resigning. He told me so. I believe he is likely to do just that, and I must say I cannot discourage him. But he has no prospects that I know of. Is there some way you could help him or point him toward somebody who could do so?