A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond (44 page)

May 24, 2003

Dear Juniper,

I’m once again asking for help in the way of advice. I won’t further burden you with apologies, since I know you’ll brush them aside anyhow.

You may know that I’ve asked Septic to marry me. If not, please don’t think the advice I’m asking concerns whether I should have done that.

Here’s the question. She replied that she was inclined in that direction but needed more time. I didn’t answer her letter—I’ve had it about 6 days—since I thought I might be rushing her.

Should I rush her or wait?

Love,

Barton

May 27, 2003

Dearest Barton,

Wait.

When life delivers such great news and brings together two people in such perfect symbiosis—like sharks and those little sucker fish that attach themselves to them or oaks and lichen—you just have to say, “Whoopee!” I can’t help it, Barton. I’m just so happy.

I guess I am happy for you, but it feels like I am happy for me.

Can I be your best man?

Don’t wait more than two weeks, though.

Love,

Juniper

May 30, 2003

Dear Reba,

Have I done the right thing? Barton proposed to me in such a fine letter. I didn’t say yes or no, but I didn’t leave a lot of room for no. I didn’t want to.

Love,

Septic

June 2, 2003

Dear Septic,

Of course you haven’t done the right thing. But what the hell. You’re doing what you’re doing, and I will be head cheerleader for you. (I’ll need to get new tights, though, having split mine at the big last game of the year against McKinley Heights, though that’s another story.)

Have I done the right thing?

I’ve been spending more time every day with Ralph. I thought it was just habit, that he was easy and comfy. Well, he is easy and comfy, in his uneasy and uncomfortable way, but he is so many other things. Of course he never says a word about what’s happening, but it’s almost like it’s happening without either of us bothering to mention what it is that’s happening—whatever that might be.

Am I wrong?

Love,

Reba

June 5, 2003

Dearest friend,

You’re as wrong as wrong can be.

We ought to set up as Advice Columnists.

Love,

Septic

S
IMON
& S
CHUSTER
, I
NC
.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020

I thought I had the date wrong, but I didn’t. Next week is Flag Day.

PARTY!!!!! MY PLACE!!!!! 5:30 P.M.

Costumes are required. Dress in—you guessed it—a flag. Drape yourself. Let a flag be your umbrella on a rainy, rainy day.

Flags only. No other drapery. Shoes OK and hats.

The smaller the country, the smaller the flag.

Hint—I’m coming as Monaco.

Theme of the Party—MAKE UP AND MAKE OUT.

The moon belongs to everyone—and there’s worse things in life than me.

June 10, 2003

Dear Reba,

I would really like it if you would marry me. I can’t imagine why you’d like it or why my liking it would be much of an inducement, but if you’re willing, Barkis, then WOT LARX.

Love,

Ralph

June 10, 2003

Dear Professors Everett and Kincaid,

It strikes my old pate that we should be getting this book done. You up for it?

I should ask if you are up for dinner with me. My place. Next Tuesday? That not good for you, Monday is OK too.

Devotedly,

Strom

D
INNER WITH
S
TROM

Saturday, 6:00 PM, Washington, D.C., a rental car, some kind of mid-size Ford with ice-cold air-conditioning that can’t be shut off or turned down. Everett is driving. Somewhere on Wisconsin Ave. approaching M Street:

KINCAID: God, it’s cold in here. My nipples are hard.

EVERETT: That’s a little more than I needed to know.

KINCAID: Do we really have to do this?

EVERETT: What are you griping about? You’re not the one he insults.

KINCAID: Yes, and how insulting is that?

EVERETT: What?

KINCAID: It’s like being found attractive by the ugliest girl at the party. Imagine how I feel not being insulted by the good Senator.

EVERETT: That’s perverse, but I’m afraid I get it. You know, I think we should simply publish our correspondence on this thing and call it quits. Or go on with our fake Strom voice.

KINCAID: That’s what I think. We’ll never figure out what’s in his head.

EVERETT: I have figured that much out.

KINCAID: Well, yeah.

EVERETT: A parking space right in front. That’s a bad omen.

KINCAID: Omens. I don’t believe in omens. I bet you could turn to religion in a really bad time.

EVERETT: Any minute now.

KINCAID: How do I look?

EVERETT: [nothing] KINCAID: What is it?

EVERETT: I’m looking for a hint of irony in your question.

The door is opened by Hollis.

EVERETT: Hello, Mr. Hollis.

HOLLIS: Mr. Everett. Mr. Kincaid. The Senator is in the media room. If you’ll follow me.

THURMOND: Hi, boys. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up. I’m just watching the end of
Flubber
. God, I love this picture. This and
Gone With the Wind
are my favorite movies. Have you ever seen
Flubber
?

KINCAID: I think so. Long ago.

EVERETT: No.

THURMOND: You think they could really make up some stuff like that? This is the part I really love. Ha! That cracks me up.

HOLLIS: Sir, I’ll get your coat.

THURMOND: Hollis, go get my coat. I can’t keep these boys waiting. I’m sure they’re hungry enough to eat a…a…a…HOLLIS: Cow, sir?

THURMOND: Cow. Mr. Kincaid, have you ever milked a cow?

KINCAID: When I was a boy, I did once.

THURMOND: Good man. Ever see
Gone With the Wind
?

KINCAID: Senator?

THURMOND:
Gone With the Wind
, ever see it?