biz. Instead, Roz would
be busy with her new assignment as the Senator’s Washington hostess and co-campaigner.
“Anyway,” she added delicately, “Howie
doesn’t think it’s seemly for me to stay in show business— given the upward
momentum of his political career, that is.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to
point out that— seemly or not—one recent show business president had ridden his
upward momentum right into the Oval Office. And never even unsaddled his
horse. But Ronald Reagan wasn’t a deacon, and some people might suggest that
there was a difference between “Do it for the Gipper” and “Let’s all do it with
StrawBerry Bear.” Not to mention Roz’s legs, up there on the screen where
Baptists and non-Baptists alike could get an eyeful. I knew several Southern
Baptists who were exceedingly moralistic about women’s bare legs—in public,
that is. A little leg in private was a different matter.
I thought back to the fragment of
argument I had heard that morning. Now I understood why Roz was able to shrug
off a four-million-dollar contract. Even the Disney sale must be small potatoes
compared to the Keenan treasure chest and a stay in the White House.
Roz’s announcement was the high
point of the evening. We’d already said everything there was to say, and
Meredith was still clearly angry. What’s more, the mariachis were warming up.
So when the waiter brought the dessert cart around, we turned down his
blandishments, Roz paid the tab, and we left.
We dropped Roz off at the cottage
and then I drove Meredith home. The drive was silent until we arrived.
“There’s still plenty of Mother’s
birthday cake left,” Meredith said. “Come in and have some.”
I’d already said no to dessert, but
I had a fondness for Adele’s chocolate cake—it’s worth the cost in calories—and
Meredith seemed to want to talk. Meredith cut two generous slices of cake. “I lied,”
she said, putting mine down in front of me with a thump. “There might be some
letters. I found a couple of boxes when I was going through Mother’s closet.”
“Might be?”
Meredith handed me a fork and sat
down. “The boxes are taped up, and I didn’t open them. There’s a note on top.
It says that you’re supposed to have them.” Her tone was corrosive. “It’s the
same old thing, isn’t it? Mother could write hundreds of letters to some friend
in New York, but she did everything she could to keep her daughter out of her
personal life.” Her mouth wrenched with bitter irony. “In the end, all she left
me was a lousy three-line note.”
I touched her hand in silent
sympathy. “I’ll take the boxes when I leave,” I said. With Meredith feeling
this way, it was better to get them out of her way.
Meredith pulled her eyebrows
together in a resentful scowl. “I just don’t get it, China. I can’t fathom what
Mother saw in Rosalind Kotner. The woman is totally arrogant and egotistical.”
She flung her fork down. “What makes her think she can come over here and poke
around in Mother’s papers?”
I tried to make a joke out of it. “Watch
it. That arrogant, egotistical woman may be our next First Lady.”
Meredith made a gagging noise.
“Anyway,” I said more seriously, “just
because we think she’s egotistical doesn’t mean that your mother saw her that
way. Maybe Roz showed Jo a different side.”
“Maybe. Or maybe Roz Kotner, ego and
all, appealed to a part of Mother I never knew.” She put her hands up to her
face. “Oh, God, China, I thought it would get better. But it doesn’t.” Her
voice dropped, grew ragged, barely controlled. “I know she wouldn’t want me to miss
her, but I do, damn it.”
I took her hands across the table. “I
know,” I said. It wasn’t enough, but there wasn’t anything else to say.
Meredith’s grief, her anger, went so deep that words couldn’t reach it.
“If only she’d let me in,” Meredith
whispered, fighting tears. “If I’d known what was
be busy with her new assignment as the Senator’s Washington hostess and co-campaigner.
“Anyway,” she added delicately, “Howie
doesn’t think it’s seemly for me to stay in show business— given the upward
momentum of his political career, that is.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to
point out that— seemly or not—one recent show business president had ridden his
upward momentum right into the Oval Office. And never even unsaddled his
horse. But Ronald Reagan wasn’t a deacon, and some people might suggest that
there was a difference between “Do it for the Gipper” and “Let’s all do it with
StrawBerry Bear.” Not to mention Roz’s legs, up there on the screen where
Baptists and non-Baptists alike could get an eyeful. I knew several Southern
Baptists who were exceedingly moralistic about women’s bare legs—in public,
that is. A little leg in private was a different matter.
I thought back to the fragment of
argument I had heard that morning. Now I understood why Roz was able to shrug
off a four-million-dollar contract. Even the Disney sale must be small potatoes
compared to the Keenan treasure chest and a stay in the White House.
Roz’s announcement was the high
point of the evening. We’d already said everything there was to say, and
Meredith was still clearly angry. What’s more, the mariachis were warming up.
So when the waiter brought the dessert cart around, we turned down his
blandishments, Roz paid the tab, and we left.
We dropped Roz off at the cottage
and then I drove Meredith home. The drive was silent until we arrived.
“There’s still plenty of Mother’s
birthday cake left,” Meredith said. “Come in and have some.”
I’d already said no to dessert, but
I had a fondness for Adele’s chocolate cake—it’s worth the cost in calories—and
Meredith seemed to want to talk. Meredith cut two generous slices of cake. “I lied,”
she said, putting mine down in front of me with a thump. “There might be some
letters. I found a couple of boxes when I was going through Mother’s closet.”
“Might be?”
Meredith handed me a fork and sat
down. “The boxes are taped up, and I didn’t open them. There’s a note on top.
It says that you’re supposed to have them.” Her tone was corrosive. “It’s the
same old thing, isn’t it? Mother could write hundreds of letters to some friend
in New York, but she did everything she could to keep her daughter out of her
personal life.” Her mouth wrenched with bitter irony. “In the end, all she left
me was a lousy three-line note.”
I touched her hand in silent
sympathy. “I’ll take the boxes when I leave,” I said. With Meredith feeling
this way, it was better to get them out of her way.
Meredith pulled her eyebrows
together in a resentful scowl. “I just don’t get it, China. I can’t fathom what
Mother saw in Rosalind Kotner. The woman is totally arrogant and egotistical.”
She flung her fork down. “What makes her think she can come over here and poke
around in Mother’s papers?”
I tried to make a joke out of it. “Watch
it. That arrogant, egotistical woman may be our next First Lady.”
Meredith made a gagging noise.
“Anyway,” I said more seriously, “just
because we think she’s egotistical doesn’t mean that your mother saw her that
way. Maybe Roz showed Jo a different side.”
“Maybe. Or maybe Roz Kotner, ego and
all, appealed to a part of Mother I never knew.” She put her hands up to her
face. “Oh, God, China, I thought it would get better. But it doesn’t.” Her
voice dropped, grew ragged, barely controlled. “I know she wouldn’t want me to miss
her, but I do, damn it.”
I took her hands across the table. “I
know,” I said. It wasn’t enough, but there wasn’t anything else to say.
Meredith’s grief, her anger, went so deep that words couldn’t reach it.
“If only she’d let me in,” Meredith
whispered, fighting tears. “If I’d known what was
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