After a while, I got her talking about her book. I was sure after twenty minutes that it was all fiction. No way this well-spoken girl had been a pimp and prostitute. Wrong. She insisted she had “worked summers” while in college, three summers to be exact, in the body trade. The first two summers she had done tricks; the last one she had moved up to “administration,” which seems to correspond more to Madame than pimp, sort of like second-in-command to Heidi Fleiss.
I didn’t go into any of her experiences, though, just asked her to tell me more about the book. She called it “a kind of ironic mockery of shock fiction,” which shut my mouth, I can tell you. She mistook my silence for puzzlement, maybe disapproval. “I mean it tries to be an expose at the same time it makes fun of the conventions of expose writing and the way such sensational stuff is marketed and, well, sensationalized.” She blushed as she said this. Had I not been a little immobile I’d have bounced up and kissed her right there.
To get to the point: at my urging, she read a few pages, the beginning. They were so good that I asked for more, then more, then we had lunch, then more. She ended up reading the whole thing. Took all day and the next (she came back). It would have been faster, had she not kept apologizing and offering to quit.
It sounds like a set-up comic situation, doesn’t it: a guy stuck in a hospital bed being forced to endure 19 hours of CLASS ASS, read by the author, one Septic. But it seemed to me the best day of my life. Sure, I was on some sweet chemicals, which may have made the best day of my life even better, but that’s what it was.
Love,
Juniper
April 5, 2003
Dear Ralph,
I want to thank you for your kindness to Jupiter and to me. I can tell that you hate to be thanked, and I will keep by my promise to hide from Jupiter that there were charges not covered by insurance, and that somebody covered them.
Far beyond that, your kindness in visiting so regularly and in listening so calmly to Juniper’s wild ravings—certainly no other human is so susceptible to chemical pleasures—has been so important to both of us.
I know it is excruciating for you to read that, so let me move to what is excruciating to me. Two days ago, you began what seemed to me like a suggestion that we go to dinner or a museum together. If I am wrong, I am willing to be embarrassed. Life is too short to hide behind the fear of being embarrassed. If that’s what you meant, I would love to do it (movie or museum or anything else short of extreme sports). If that’s not what you meant, just ignore this.
But don’t ignore our gratitude, however much you may cringe to have it directed so bluntly at you.
Your friend,
Reba McCloud
Reba McCloud
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 5, 2003
Dear Juniper,
I am so sorry to hear about your hospitalization—and the pain you must be feeling. Funny how events like these seem to make the world over, place all of us—those hurt and those who care—in another drama, with new parts to play. I don’t mean to sound insensitive to your agony, as if it were only a pretend thing. I know it’s not a pretend thing, and I am not pretending when I say I wish I could help.
You’ve been very good to me, Juniper, and tolerant beyond any reason to be. I have a suspicion that I can help best by staying away, and you don’t need to pain yourself by confirming that. Do stretch one more time to be kind to me and tell me what I can do to help. Do you need money, magazines, girls, liquor (the best!), a clown act? Anything at all.
Love,
Barton
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 5, 2003
Dear Martin,
I think I now have this all straight, thanks to Reba on the phone. If Reba in person is anything like Reba on the phone, she must be a stunner and a saint to boot. Far beyond me, that’s for sure.
I am very sorry, Martin, that you are in pain. I can also understand acting on an impulse to free yourself from whatever emotions are grinding into your skull—or trying to get out. Others will tell you that the letter I gather you sent to Vendetti was unwise, but I am one who can sympathize and understand that wise or unwise does not enter in: the letter was necessary. It shot out of its own gun.
It is a shame that Juniper got mowed down in fire that was, when you consider it, friendly. The longer I live, the more I think there is never anybody to blame. Not even Vendetti. I hope you agree with me—even now, even where you are.
I am staying away for now, unless BOTH you and Juniper need me. But I am moving neither my body nor my heart from either of you.
Always,
Barton
April 7, 2003
Dear Barton,
Hey Barton, you’re so fine! You’re so fine you blow my mind. Hey Barton!
You know that song? It’s a little young for you and me, but a sweet-spirited song. They play it at the end of a movie called “Bring It On.” You’d love it. I did. Reba did. I think Martin didn’t see it. He looked alarmed when I recommended it. True, it’s about highschool cheerleaders, which arouses some people’s resistance. If you don’t let that part stall you, you’ll be treated to a terrific ride.
Anyway, your letter was sunshine to me. But I shouldn’t allow you to feel sorry for me. Better living through chemistry, you know. Whee!
But that’s behind me now. It was like a holiday. I’m home now. It’s poor Martin who is bunged up.
I keep forgetting to ask or mention or assume out loud: you’re back with Strom now, right? All fences mended? All hugs and boo-hoo and kissy?
More shortly and thankee!
Fondly,
Juniper
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 10, 2003
Juniper McCloud:
I have no idea what you are talking about.
This will be your only warning to desist. Otherwise, I will be forced to take action simply to protect myself. Nobody can blame me for trying to protect myself. Even if they do, I am resolved to keep myself as safe as I can.
You think it’s funny. You think I’m funny.
Well, the ha-ha will be on you.
Barton Wilkes
B. Wilkes, Esq.
SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
April 10, 2003
Dear Ms. McCloud,
Thank you.
I’ve always been suspicious of people who flinch at expressions of gratitude. Anyhow, please believe me, Ms. McCloud, that I’d be happy to accept your thanks, were I at all deserving of them.
I put your brother in the hospital in the first place, you know. As it turns out, it’s not even that I had a reason. Give me a suspicion and a body that’s handy and I’ll start punching it. That’s hardly admirable or deserving of gratitude.
Still, I’m glad I did it, since it gave me a chance to meet you. You seem very nice and I will pick you up Friday at 7 for a movie. Tell me where you live.
Sincerely,
Ralph Vendetti
Ralph Vendetti
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 11, 2003
Mr. Vendetti
Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Dear Mr. Vendetti,
I have an ear for these things, even if seeing is believing. Why should you care? There’s no apparent reason, no reason apparent to most. But to me, there is. I just know it. You care. I do not know if you are generally a caring person, and I don’t care. Does that surprise you? No it doesn’t, and I am the one who knows.
Some people know one
thing, some another. I don’t dispute that, and I think we would all get on better if we took that for granted. Lyndon Johnson did.
As you know, I am writing to offer myself to you. In every sense of that word (but one). Promiscuity is not my thing, and that’s not what I mean anyhow. I am a pro. And in that capacity I am making this offer.
It seems you have managed to disable, in every sense of the word, those who might have helped you. Doubtless some instinct drove you to it. I know that. Those two people, best left nameless as who wants to give them the pleasure? Not me and you. Those two people wouldn’t have been the thing anyhow. Not the thing. Not the thing at all. I, on the other hand, am the thing.
Hire me for CLASS ASS. Hire me, work me, use me. I am used to it. I am not used goods. I know use when I see it. I am still of course attached here to the Senator, loosely but unmistakably. (That’s all been worked out, our misunderstandings, I mean, if they can even be called that.) The point is that I can easily handle (well) two jobs—or more.
You could come to love me. Even if not, I can make allowances.
Should I show up for work in 4 days? Make it 5.
Dutifully,
Barton
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 12, 2003
Dear Percy and Jimbo,
I have heard nothing from you recently. Oh yes, you have written, but that goes for nothing. I wish I could say that I am not accustomed to such treatment, but I am. You suppose that means there is no end to it, but there is an end. That end is nigh. Even worms turn.
Still, as my uncle used to say, there’s no moon like a new moon and no one like you! That’s a song, I believe. Do you know it—I mean the lyrics, all of them? The lyric that applies most now is from, you guessed it, Snow White and the lovely song sung by her little friends as they go, in their words, “off to work.” The most memorable part comes in Verse 2:
When there’s too much to do,
Don’t let it bother you!
Forget your troubles;
Try to be
Just like the cheerful chickadee!
You say you like the idea of a history that is primarily sociocultural, with an emphasis on music, dance, and the domestic arts. And literature. Well, I should think you would like the idea. I don’t expect credit for it. I should receive credit, but that’s another matter. What one deserves and what one gets seldom mesh like butts and toilet seats.
Here are more materials you should include.
Some white writers, just to give a full context. Also white singers and dancers.
Melville. Comment on the use of point of view in Moby Dick and how it compares/contrasts with point of view in Chestnutt and Morrison.
Show that Joel Chandler Harris was really black. It’s not necessary to present this as a DISCOVERY. His blackness is less important IN ITSELF than the implications of that BLACKNESS for literary and cultural history and for the views Strom has about such matters.
Show that Strom himself is an important writer—I include some letters and memos he has sent me, along with 37 speeches, texts of. Show that he is, properly understood, a black writer. Strom has always understood “negrohood” as a matter of spirit and capacity, at least as much as it is of blood. He thus encompasses but is not limited by his black writer capacities.
It will take all your skill to present this last point persuasively and to control by your prose (and illustrations) how this perfectly just claim is to be understood. It won’t do to have it misunderstood. It could be easily caricatured. We know that. Strom knows that. All the same he and I feel you can do it.
Perhaps you should write up these pages right away and forward them.
I think you should be very careful what you say to you-know-who at S&S. Don’t say I said anything. If you do, you’ll find yourself having to deal with somebody a good deal more able to take care of himself than little junebug. Strom is doing well.
For a period of about 6 weeks when I was in high school, I would meet, every school day, this girl Dawn Ann Blaine in the woods between our houses. There was this small woods between our houses. We’d meet at exactly 6:45 so we could do this thing and still catch the school bus at 6:55. The woods were small and close to the bus stop. It was an urban sort of woods. What thing we’d do was exchange underpants, easier for her than for me, in terms of time, but I was good at it. Never missed the bus. Dawn Ann wasn’t what you’d call pretty but she was nice. Looking back now, I think it’s the only innocent thing I ever did in my life.
Help me.
Yours,
B. Wilkes
SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
April 15, 2003
Mr. Barton Wilkes
Washington, D.C.
Dear Mr. Wilkes,
No.
Sincerely,
Ralph Vendetti
Ralph Vendetti
Interoffice Memo
April 15, 2003
Dear Percival,
You know what? I don’t know what I’m doing on this project. I thought I did. You thought we did. I just finished up to page 73—I know you’ve done the bulk of it so far, but pp. 68-73 that I did are real good. Anyhow, I was just steaming along and then this comes from Wilkes.
You get it? Strom as a black writer? But that’s not the half of it. Should we be frightened?
Jim
FROM THE DESK OF PERCIVAL EVERETT
April 16, 2003
Dear Jim,
Here’s what we do. We write Wilkes a polite and very calm letter, explaining that we love what he says and just need a little time. Then we leave tomorrow for Washington to see Strom. I’ll pick you up at 5:30 (in the a.m.—sorry but we want to do this in a day) and we’ll get this straightened out.
Don’t be scared. And yes, you can have the aisle seat. I know about you and your bladder.
Percival
Here’s a copy of the letter to Barton:
Hi Barton,
Many thanks for the suggestions. They fit wonderfully with what we’ve been doing, and Jim and I were both delighted to get them. We can see now how they fit, though we would never have arrived at anything like this on our own. Yes, you are right about the skill needed to get the major claim established clearly and yet unapologetically. We’ll need your help there.
And don’t worry about either of us breaking any confidences. We are all professionals here, and you can count on us, professionally and personally.
Your friends,
P & J
[Jim—I know that “professionally and PERSONALLY” is a bit risky, but I figure it’s better having him liking us and being a pain in the ass that way than shooting us and being a pain everywhere.]
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 17, 2003
Dear Jim,
I can interpret your silence only one way. Don’t tell me how to interpret it. You think you know, but you don’t. How could I have been fooled so badly. You pretend to be one thing but you’re another. Now I see.
And pretty soon YOU’LL see.
Barton
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 17, 2003
Everett:
I thought you were the one I could trust.
I thought our mutual blackness would bond us. I am not black, thank God, but all the same things like that should count for something. It is not all your fault. It is deconstruction and moral relativism. But it really is nobody’s fault but yours.
I do what I must do now painfully.
Yo da man.
Barton
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 17, 2003
Martin,
Why would you lure me in and then throw me back, like a fish hooked out of season?
I know you’re in bed, but so what? Hospitals never were fortresses in any time. Don’t pretend they are now. What was true for Henry V is true for me. But not for you, apparently.
My family has long memories. Long. This is not a threat, but if you continue in your present conduct it could become one. You think you have it bad now? You in pain now, Martin? Real bad pain? Think of your pain, Martin.
I paid my taxes, honestly. My father always did too. He said one should always favor the government when in doubt. That says it all. Next to my father, Martin, few can stand. Even fewer deserve to live.
Barton
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
April 17, 2003
Dear Juniper,
You are worst of all. I know you can be kind. It seems almost whimsical of you to mark me off as the one person to whom you choose not to be kind. I cannot understand that. Is it really something about me, or do you simply get pleasure from the cruelty? Do you masturbate there at your desk, picturing me in agony?
I keep thinking things could have been different. But they won’t be because you are who you are. Maybe you can’t help yourself.
But you deserve to be punished.
I could change, you know. You don’t believe it, don’t want to believe it. I can see very clearly when I’ve got off on the wrong foot and am very adaptable to what other people think. I have always been able to change and make people love me. Even at the age of 2, I could charm anyone, even when at first they didn’t like me.
A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond Page 19
