The Long, Long, Long Long Road

Any exchange with my sister, du Barry, is a delight and over the past two weeks we have spoken and emailed each other some thoughts and gossip. The Witches of Salem had told me they wanted help in organizing a Hookers' Ball they wanted to arrange and I immediately offered that my sister, who has often organized Newport's American Red Cross Hookers Ball, might be of help. This was one of the things we have been talking about; (I'm about to be thrust into the position of Ambassador to the Withches Council of Salem by the Social Doyens of Newport, a job I embrace.)

du Barry's inevitable return to Miami Beach before The Season begins brought some interesting statements from her. (She's not in Newport right now; no, she's vacationing FROM Newport at her family cottage on Cape Cod, orgainizing one picnic after another. She suppers so much---
I MEAN SHE SUFFERS SO MUCH.)

Anyway, in her last email some interesting statements were made. du Barry: "Yes it is true I did a Hookers Ball in Newport a few summers ago . Do you think it would be something that Miami Beach would be interested in this winter. It would be a wonderful project for me to work on. I don't know if it is something you would be willing to join me in the planning.I think with your Miami influence and my planning back ground it would be the event of the season on Miami Beach."

I read it several times. Were my eyes deceiving me? Was I being accepted back into "correct" society or only being enticed by a social carrot. I wondered: "Has THE PAST been forgiven?"

You see, during every six month stay here in winter, du Barry could always be counted upon to join my social distemperance union and start drinking at four, the acceptable hour for Northerners (1 for locals). We attended the best events and met the best people.

But, she could never get over my morally lax lifestyle. No amount of explaining that it was the Way of Life down here could
win her approval. (Again, images of my grandmother wringing her hands pop up. "You are a Rhode Islander, ACT like one!") My life of torn teagowns and tawdry tales kept her eyes rolling like a slot machine. Du barry had been brought to tears when she found out I had slept with EVERY (male) servant--well, they are actually hired help; the days of "servants" long ago went by the way of memory--. "Not the one (the gardener) with the dirty nails!?" she once shouted. Alas, yes; the poolboy was there later to clean me up.

But, now I see that I have been given a second chance to rise out of my rather-complicated and extremely comfortable GUTTER. YES, once more we will team up--"Those Rhode Island Bitches" will have everyone shuddering in their Prada. Of course, I have to live through hurrican season first; I've just started purchasing supplies. (There is a new crop of stores catering to vacuum-wrapped gourmet food and it's about time.)

Naturally,the road from immorality is a long one, but it is fortunately not like AA where you have to stop cold. Here, you just ease your way out of it, step by step, kiss by kiss, tongue by tougue, finger by finger, probing in every cavity,,,,Stop it Alexis. Stop! But I AM excited; maybe FOX can make a reality show out of it.

I'm glad she's still on Cape Cod; I hear they still don't have internet service there, so she won't read this. God, I don't even think the have an X-rated bookstore, the only place I can get leather yarn for my knitting circle.