It's my sister's birthday. I know most of you don't even know I have a sister, as it's one of the things in my life that has least factored into it, my life that is.
My mother got pregnant in her affair with Puggy, whom I came to adore, I think while Elizabeth, his wife, was still alive. Puggy and Elizabeth pulled up to the front of the hotel where my mother was social director, a position she had worked up to by a cleverness had she used it to the extent she was able but had no idea she could, she might have been the first woman president, though obviously that will not easily or perhaps ever happen, the way the world is.
She thought Elizabeth was his mother, and social director that she was, made them her closest friends. So close that at the end of the summer, Elizabeth, knowing she was dying, invited my mother to come live with them, and the rest is, though not quite history, my probably best book, the one that would have been a great bestseller except the country had to be saved, so there was ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN. It hurts me to put it in caps.
Something in my mother was definitely off, so even while she loved him and got to marry him when Elizabeth died which was not long after, she could not help tormenting him, driving him crazy, being cruel to his son, a genius but off, (she despised him) and punishing my half-sister Jessica who came not long after from that union, for just about everything, driving her even crazier than Puggy's son, Mickey. It is all so sad, but made a wonderful novel.
Puggy left Helen, my mother, for Mickey's girlfriend Kathy who dumped him because he was a Jew, married the Gentile heiress, and died in the bathtub, right after we had a loving conversation on the phone. I never have to make anything up.
I hope to have the opportunity to write most of these things in story form somewhere before I die, though am not sure any of it will matter when Trump destroys the book market which will probably be soon.
