Hello, Columbus
TO: SHARKEE@CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU (STOCKER VIDRA)
FROM: DOLPH@AOL.COM (KATHERINE GROSSECK)
Am cut to the bone. What did I do to invoke such rage? That was a love letter, anyone could see! The only “hidden agenda” was how I hate that you’re in Ohio, Vidra — hate being apart. Staring at the stupid laptop for hours, wondering where I went wrong, pathetically looking for my hidden agendas. So tired of being the victim…sitting here with my Wheat Thins, Cherry Coke and Percocet, Powerbook a gray grave, headstone scrolling its digital glow-in-the-dark epitaph. Does that make you happy? Isn’t it obvious that I feel nothing toward Donny? And I was teasing about Phylliss. Hanky-panky with Phylliss Wolfe? Jesus, Vidra! “Dolphina will swim away” was flirty and frolicsome; to you, it was a “passive-aggressive doomsday scenario.” Hel-lo? Are you seeing someone else? Kinda sounds like it, no? Like you’re looking for the egress. If it’s true, Vidra, let me know; I’ll stay on my perch awhile before climbing down. Tough finding trapeze work these days.
Sight Unseen
MEMO: To Oceanspray Strongboy Sam
NBC’s doing Daddy’s series, Palos Verdes. The announcement buoyed him — for a few days, we were a happy TV family again. He snuggled you. But now he’s back to five A.M. workouts and coming home so late. Did you know your daddy was cross-eyed when he was just a tiny boy? They corrected it with surgery before his teens but I think Jeremy actually feels he “passed something on,” though the doctors say there’s no connection whatsoever. One of those crazy macho things — he’s convinced your sightlessness is on account of his weak genes. We both went and saw a therapist, Mitch Markowitz, recommended by — guess who? — your godmother, Holly Hunter (who’s coming all the way from Warsaw to see you soon, ya know). A very empathetic man. There’s evidently a long waiting list (he’s married to a famous “shrink to the stars”) so we were lucky Holly got us in. Sure helps having a godmother who’s an Oscar winner. Ain’t nothin’ but a g-mother thing! Jeremy was uncomfortable being there and I thought he (Dr. Mitch) did a bang-up job at setting him — setting us both at ease. I think he’ll draw Daddy out of his shell.
Wouldja like to be in motion pictures? Or do you just want to swing on a star? I’ll be taking you on casting sessions soon — to give you the lay of the land. Shelby says I should wait awhile but I’m feeling housebound and want my Gregor Samson to see the world. Gregor Samsa was a big old bug. Phylliss Wolfe hired a director for Teorema named Pargita Snow. Par-gi-ta Snow—isn’t that strange and lovely? Seems I’m the only one who never heard of her; then again, I’m the only one with a big butterscotch ball in her lap, too. Holly’s dying to meet you, did you know that? She might have to go to Boston first, though — maybe she’ll bring some baked beans for the Beanbag.
Hello, Columbus
TO: SHARKEE@CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU (STOCKER VIDRA)
FROM: DOLPH@AOL.COM (KATHERINE GROSSECK)
Crying for two days…Pink Dot keeps delivering blue ice masks. Haven’t left the house — all dressed down, with no place to go. Dreamed I was in the hospital (for some reason, it was the Writers Guild) and they were tying me to the gurney. I asked why and they said because of your “restraining order.” My dreams always did tend to lean toward the literal (littoral?). Have you forgotten St. John’s, Vidra? You said you’d kill yourself if you ever hit me again. You promised and you never reneged…but can’t you see, Vidra, how this is the same? Out of nowhere? It’s been so wonderful — until now. I’m beat up all over again—
Now I am your mother, your daughter, your brand new thing — a snail, a nest. I am alive when your fingers are. So tell me anything but track me like a climber for here is the eye, here is the jewel, here is the excitement the nipple learns. I am unbalanced — but I am not mad with snow. I am mad the way young girls are mad, with an offering, an offering…I burn the way money burns.
That’s Anne Sexton.
TO: SHARKEE@CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU (STOCKER VIDRA)
FROM: DOLPH@AOL.COM (KATHERINE GROSSECK)
The Dolphin lies at the bottom of her tank, tangled up in blue fisherman’s net, with her Dolores O’Riordan. Does anyone care…Does anyone care…Does anyone care…
*** The THIEF of ENERGY 
A two-hour, in Benedict. A mid- to well-known screenwriter named Katherine Grosseck. It seems apparent, from Buzz magaine and other gleanings/cullings — and copious ads in Variety and The Hollywood Reporter—that she is more than likely to be nominated for an Academy Award for Imitations of Drowning, the filmed bio of Anne Sexton (poetess) that starred Emma Thompson. Not very many people saw it (including me!) but I told her I loved it anyway. No harm done. They are all such egoists, but pretend to be humble. They’d never ask, ‘Oh really? Which part did you love?’ instead taking your comment as one of countless myriad laurels thrown at their well-deserved feet. I think she’s an important person for me to connect. I told her I wrote, and she seemed interested rather than on the dismissive. She’s cute (gay, I am sure) and I think with some money reserves, but maybe saving it for the Big Purchase because the house, though rustic, is a tad dilapitated. There is a creek, though, and the most beautiful old green Jag in the Garage — two flat tires. I want it!
She screened her calls during the rub, and one came in from Jodie Foster — I egregiously pantomimed if she wanted me to leave the room but she shook her head so I kept on. She put it on the speaker. I think she got off on that, like people do — you know, playing the pragmatic syabarite mogul in front of me, Gina Tolk, lowly flesh kneader. (It made me think of I Love Lucy when Lucille Ball was rubbing John Wayne. Wanda and I watched that together, a lasting, laughing memory of my beautiful sis.) Katherine and Jodie were talking about some script, obliquely kissing each others asses (they wished), that predictable, always fascinating Tinseltown dance. Later, I circumlocuitously asked what she was working on, and she said, ‘A few things.’ She wrote something new called — I don’t remember the name, but it was Italian adaptation. Carte blanche, I asked if she knew those from the creative side of Melrose Place. She didn’t, she said. She asked why and I said some of them were clients. I further inquired if she knew anything about Palos Verdes, newly created by one of the architects of 90210 and Melrose, named Jeremy Stein. She said she was ‘confined’ to features and I sensed it wasn’t the appropriate moment to pursue — her energy suddenly diffused, becoming straggly — and I hoped she didn’t take my query as too much the grievance-based non-sequitur. Though she could not have known any details as they were not forthcoming! I’m glad not to have continued in the line of questioning re: Chris Carter, forty-year-old executive producer of The X-Files—or wife Dori, too, a scenarist.