Big Foot Stole My Wife Read online

  Anyway, darling, lunch at the Russian Tea Room on Saturday!

  Your obedient servant,

  Aurora

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  March 15, 1974

  Dear Mrs. Cathwright,

  I regret to inform you that your services are no longer desired at Wellington House. I have reviewed the household accounts, and was tempted to bring to Miss Wellington’s attention numerous questionable purchases from Maclay’s Market, an establishment owned, I understand, by your brother-in-law.

  However, I feel it best not to disturb Miss Wellington. Should you desire references, please contact me directly. Miss Wellington is much too preoccupied with her work to speak to you in person or to communicate with you in any fashion whatsoever, but if you insist, I cannot promise that she will not file charges. Enclosed is severance pay of two weeks.

  Yours truly,

  Kristen Childers

  From the desk of Aurora Wellington

  March 28, 1974

  Dear Mrs. C.,

  Kristy has told me of your sudden decision to retire and move to Earlsville to be near your son and grandchildren. Although I am devastated by the loss of your invaluable services after all these years, I do understand your feelings. I don’t know how I shall survive without your chicken salad and flaky, sinfully rich cream pies. You’ve spoiled me rotten for twenty years, you wicked woman! Lady Amberline sends her fondest regards, and does hope you’ll send photographs of those darling babies.

  Warmly,

  Miss W.

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  September 2, 1975

  Dear Mrs. Harold Maron,

  I still giggle every time I think of you being married! Doesn’t it feel totally weird to have a new name after all these years? Harold looks divine in the photographs, you are radiant, and even our bratty little cousin Wendy is sweet (did she put thistles in the flower basket?). I’m sick I missed the wedding.

  Miss W. still hasn’t recovered completely, and is doing most of her writing in bed these days. You’d think the doctors could figure out what’s wrong after all those tests, but no one has any ideas and poor Miss W. often feels faint if she ventures downstairs. I helped her out to the garden yesterday and we sat in the gazebo all afternoon, her dictating (and drinking gin, of course) and me scribbling until I thought my fingers would bleed. The Scarlet Sand, for your information, a Worthington book. It’s going to be super—and after the disappointing sales figures for The Passages of Pleasure, it’d better be.

  Did Mrs. Harold Maron come out of her honeymoon daze long enough to notice the return address? After the funeral, I went back to the house and found the sheriff howling on the doorstep. It seems my mother forgot to pay property taxes, and with the cost of the funeral and all the bills from the butterfly farm, there was no way I could catch up on the taxes and at the same time have electricity! Apparently, someone’s already offered to buy it for back taxes.

  I rented an okay apartment, but when Miss W. discovered it was on the wrong side of the tracks—in every sense of the word—she insisted that I move into the house. I figured I might as well, since she was keeping me until eight or nine o’clock every night, although my paycheck sure hasn’t been reflecting the extra hours. Now at least I get room and board out of the deal. No satin sheets, alas. Just cat hairs on my pillow, Lady Amberline’s cute way of reminding me of my allergies.

  Love,

  Sneezy

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  May 29, 1976

  Penman Publishing, Inc.

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  Miss Natalie Burlitzer, editor

  Dear Miss Burlitzer,

  Miss W. asked me to let you know that the manuscript of Lady Amberline’s Revenge is within a few days of completion and should reach you by the end of next week. She’s been working on it around the clock, and is sure you will be as delighted with it as she is.

  Should you wish to discuss the manuscript, we will be at the lake house for the summer. There is no telephone, but the proprietor of the general store will convey messages, and I’ve been told you have his number. I look forward to meeting you this fall when we’re in New York for the release of The Sins of the Whittiers.

  Yours truly,

  Kristen Childers

  Banbury Cottage

  RFD 1, Box 18

  Willow Lake, NC 27019

  July 25, 1976

  Veronica, my dearest cohort,

  I was so incredibly pleased for you when I saw that effervescent review in Romantic Times! If only the gal could have gotten the plot synopsis a bit less muddled—but we old hacks know how clumsy reviewers can be. I’m sure you laughed at that banal and ever so tacky line in paragraph four about “St. James’s passion for convoluted prose,” and also at the “stale predictability of the story.” Then again, she did get the title right, and what else matters?

  Although I’d intended to stay here until the end of August, we’re heading back home tomorrow. Usually I can rely on total solitude at this end of the lake, but this year the cabin just down the road was rented to a trio of college boys … from Yale, I believe. There’s certainly nothing Ivy League about them, let me tell you! They’re forever thrashing and bellowing in the lake as if they were ungainly bears, and playing loud music until all hours of the night. One of them has cozied up to Kristy and lured her to their squalid parties, which no doubt degenerate into orgies of the most primitive and repulsive sort.

  So I’m virtually getting no work done. Yesterday afternoon I ran out of typewriter paper, but Kristy was out in a battered rowboat with “her beau” and failed to return until after sunset. The beer on her breath was enough to make me quite ill to my stomach. She apologized as best she could, but I told her to start packing at that very hour and not to leave the house under any circumstances. I can only hope they’ve failed to exchange addresses. What on earth will I do if he begins showing up at Wellington House?

  Your number-one fan,

  Aurora

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  October 1, 1976

  Wee Care Animal Clinic

  454 Pathway Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  Dear Dr. Wallsby,

  Miss Wellington has asked me to express her gratitude for all the loving care you and your staff bestowed on Lady Amberline on that tragic day. We have searched the house from top to bottom, and can only conclude that Lady Amberline must have slipped out and chanced upon the poison in a neighbor’s garden shed. After some consideration, Miss Wellington has decided that a new kitten would only cause her to grieve more deeply over Lady Amberline’s untimely demise.

  Sincerely,

  Kristy Childers

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  September 16, 1977

  Dearest Tommie,

  Kristy and I had a lovely summer at the lake house. This year there was no one to disturb us, and I was able to sit on the porch all day while Kristy tended to the chores and brought me trays at mealtime, always with a little vase of wildflowers. Once a tendril of poison ivy crept in, but I spotted it and Kristy nearly cried when she apologized, and so of course I forgave her. I know you think it’s appallingly bucolic, but I get more writing done there in three months than I do the rest of the year. Whenever I need inspiration, I gaze out at the rippling azure water—and voilà! “Monica turned her azure eyes toward Dr. Bodley and the faintest hint of a smile rippled across her pale, worried face.”

  The visit was timely, I must admit. I had Kristy volunteer at the hospital last spring in order to glean some insights into the dynamics of the place. She became quite adept at sneaking into the emergency room to obse
rve the gory casualties, and came home each evening with stories both charmingly lurid and screechingly funny. All I can say is I do not intend to be placed in one—ever.

  The problems began with some shaggy young intern whom she took to meeting for coffee after his shift, and occasionally on his free days. One night she came home well after midnight, and it was obvious they had behaved indiscreetly. I said nothing, of course, but took it upon myself to have a word with the head of the program, one of Papa’s old friends who should have retired decades ago! He was quite stuffy in his refusal to take action until I mentioned the possibility of an endowment for cancer research. Our young “Dr. Kildare” has decided to complete his internship at a hospital in California.

  Don’t think for an instant that I deserve to be scolded for interfering in Kristy’s personal life. For one thing, the poor girl is technically an orphan and someone really and truly must watch out for her. If I allowed her to roam the streets when we’re in New York, I have no doubt whatsoever she’d come back with someone sleazier than that convict father of hers. Her taste in men is atrocious, and without my constant supervision, she might well become the proverbial good time that was had by all!

  I’ve encouraged her to attempt some writing of her own, but I fear it was an egregious error on my part. Only last week, she showed me the first chapter of a novel. I did my best not to laugh as I pointed out the weaknesses in her little story and the shallow characterizations.

  I’m sending a snapshot of Pittypat, who simply appeared at the back door of the lake house one morning and refused to leave. I took one look at those big blue eyes and silky whiskers, and told Kristy to fetch a saucer of milk!

  Your silly, softhearted author,

  Aurora

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  November 2, 1977

  Wee Care Animal Clinic

  454 Pathway Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  Dear Dr. Wallsby,

  Once again Miss Wellington has asked me to express her gratitude for your concern during the tragedy. I’m sure all of us are horrified that anyone could be so vicious as to strangle an innocent kitten and leave its poor little body in the gazebo. Miss Wellington was overwhelmed with shock when she found it, but she has finally recovered and is able to work.

  Yours truly,

  Kristen Childers

  From the desk of Aurora Wellington

  12-13-77

  Dearest Veronica,

  Yes, I think I will accept your kind invitation to spend a few days in Atlanta. The weather’s as dreary as my thoughts (I did tell you about Pittypat, didn’t I?), but I cherish the supposition that elegant luncheons, lavish dinner parties, and dedicated late night bouts of drinking and gossip will be my salvation.

  It’s so kind of you to consider Kristy. I must offer her regrets, alas. The deadline for the next Wells manuscript is coming up, and I’ve made so many revisions that she’ll have to retype all six hundred pages during the holiday season.

  See you in a week!

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  January 6, 1978

  Mrs. Janice O’Leod

  1477 Lakeside Road

  Tallahassee, FL 32304

  Dear Mrs. O’Leod,

  Miss Wellington apologizes for not writing herself, but the holiday season has thrown her off schedule and she is working frantically on her newest book. She asked me to let you know that she was delighted with the gloves and umbrella you sent her for Christmas, and hopes you enjoy the autographed copy of The Sins of the Whittiers.

  I regret that I cannot give you our new unlisted telephone number, as per your request, but once it’s been given to someone, it seems to spread like a virus until we’re literally inundated with calls. I am under order to guard it as if it were a Vatican treasure.

  As much as Miss Wellington would love to see you this spring, her dubious health dictates that she must decline your invitation to meet at your hotel for lunch. Due to time restraints, she is unable to entertain guests here at Wellington House.

  Yours truly,

  Kristen Childers

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  September 18, 1983

  Dear Traci,

  I was thrilled to get your letter after all these years. I would have sold my soul to go to our tenth reunion, but Miss W. was so sick that there was no way to leave her for even an hour. She’s had this problem for years, on and off, and it flares up at the most inopportune times. Did you hear why I wasn’t at the fifth reunion? While I was getting dressed, I heard a noise and discovered Miss W. lying at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t until the next day that I finally persuaded her to go to the emergency room for X-rays. Nothing broken, thank God, but she hobbled around with a cane for months.

  My glamorous life? Get real—your carpools and babysitting crises and burned pot roasts sound a lot more exciting than what I do. You would not believe the amount of paperwork involved in being an author. It takes me all morning to sort through requests for personal appearances, send photographs to fans, respond to queries from the editorial and publicity departments, answer sweet little letters from junior high girls, and fend off supplications from “wannabee” writers who’d like Miss W. to critique their thousand-page manuscripts. Miss W. ordered me to fire the cook after an heirloom ring vanished, so I fix lunch and when the weather is nice, we eat in the gazebo. She dictates until it’s too dark for me to see, and after I fix dinner, we spend our really “glamorous” evenings in the parlor. Miss W. can be somewhat funny when she’s talking about some of her rivals, especially after she’s been cooing on the telephone with them for hours.

  I’m glad Heather saved the postcard from the Plaza, but the inside of the room’s about all I see when we’re there. Miss W. insists that I bring the portable typewriter and do revisions or work on the newsletter. Want to be on the mailing list so you’ll know what Miss W. has for breakfast and what inspired her to write Vanessa’s Folly?*

  Enough of this dazzling lifestyle. So Charlie’s getting bald, and his wife resembles a tugboat? Three children can do that. I almost threw up when I heard Sam Longspur’s a dentist—I went out with him our junior year, and he spent so much time poking his tongue down my throat that I still get queasy just thinking about it. I knew Heather was pregnant, but I agree that I wouldn’t have dared put on a bathing suit if I were such a blimp (don’t you dare repeat that!).

  I must stop. Miss W. wants me to pack for our annual jaunt to New York, where she will wine and dine with her editor and agent, and I will merely whine. Thanks so much for all the luscious gossip from the reunion. Maybe I’ll make the next one and Charlie will be as bald as a persimmon.

  Love,

  Kristy

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  November 10, 1984

  Thomas Domingo Literary Agency

  188 W. 79th Street

  New York, NY 10122

  Dear Mr. Domingo,

  I have reviewed the royalty statements of 10/31/84 and have found serious discrepancies either in the publisher’s computations or in yours. Please note return figures for Summer of the Shadows and the lack of information regarding foreign sales of same. Also, in that Cape Serenity has gone into a third printing, I find it curious that no sales are reported for the six-month period prior to the statement.

  I am hesitant to bring this to Miss W.’s attention. For the last five years she has relied on me to handle all of her business affairs, and trusts me to do so with meticulous care. Frankly, she is unable to work more than three or four hours a day as it is. I cannot allow her to lose that precious time by concerning herself with financial matters.

  Please respond to this within ten days.

  Yours truly,

  Kristen Childers
<
br />   From the desk of Aurora Wellington

  Tommie, dearest:

  I am at a loss for words—after having written millions of them over the last twenty years! Apparently you are, too, in that you’ve failed to answer my last two letters. But if what Kristy has shown me proves to be true, then I can never forgive you. How many years have I trusted you? Now Kristy has told me that you have systematically stolen thousands and thousands of dollars from me. Tommie, dear Tommie, you must come down immediately after the holidays and review all this over a civilized glass of gin, not in the gazebo at this time of year, but surely in the parlor.

  Yours in bewilderment,

  Aurora

  Wellington House

  #1 Wellington Road

  Hampser, NC 27444

  December 10, 1984

  NC State Correctional Facility

  Raleigh, NC 27603

  #1987-431-1

  Dear Dad,

  So they’re letting you out after all these years, are they? I’m sure their rehabilitation efforts have taken effect and you will enter society determined to lead a blameless life. It must be hard to imagine yourself living on the outside, but let’s hope you’ve had enough vocational training to find a job—even in these economically depressed days. I realize there’s still a lot of discrimination against convicted felons, and it’s really not fair to send you out onto the streets with only a few dollars and a new suit. Anyway, good luck job hunting and don’t faint when you see how expensive everything is out here!

  As you know, I live with an incredibly rich old woman who’s written best-selling novels for thirty years. I hate to say it, but she’d be utterly helpless without me. She’s small and frail and her hearing seems to get worse every year, but thank God her mind is quite sharp and she has a fantastic memory for details. She never forgets a face and can describe it with astonishing preciseness—as can all writers. On the other hand, she can’t remember to put away her jewelry in the box on the dresser in her bedroom, and last week on her way to bed, she left the kitchen door ajar and the house was freezing by morning. We’re lucky that she’s too miserly to install decent locks; she’s misplaced the keys so often that I’ve become quite adept with a hairpin. I guess that’s one talent I inherited from you—ha, ha.