The Emilé Hour

Subject: Re: Thoughts...

from: Emilé Delacaur <EmmieDee@yahoo.com>

to:     Kirsten Jackson<KikiKats@aol.com>

date:  August 18, 2004, 2:20 PM

subject:       Frankie Sinatra was right

Kiki,

You will never believe what this place is like. There are people…everywhere. And no one looks the same! No one gives a shit if I’m wearing the Hollister or Abercrombie. I feel like even on campus, I’m walking around a city. I wish you could see it. I miss you already. When are you visiting??

xoxo,

Emmie

from: Kirsten Jackson<KikiKats@aol.com>

to:     Emilé Delacaur <EmmieDee@yahoo.com>

date:  August 20, 2004, 6:30 AM

subject:       First Day Jitters

Dearest Emmie,

I don’t know how you’re so brave, moving to the city like that. I could never. The campus here in Maryland is BEAUTIFUL. So much architecture and trees and bricked walkways. I feel like I’m in an old movie. The girls are all so prim and proper, the boys reek of money and yacht clubs. I’m scared they’re going to see right through me. But I know I’ve got my girl on standby, so I’ll put on the big girl panties and tough it out. Can’t wait to start classes Monday, can you believe I’m going to be a lawyer some day??

The only news I can share is that sadly, Jake and I broke up. I really thought we were going to try to do the distance thing, Duke isn’t that far. But he said he was worried I might not see him enough with basketball training and his scholarship requirements. I think he just didn’t want to try the minute he saw the pretty Duke girls. How can I compete with debutantes and such a fancy school? Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I can focus on my studies now, maybe even join a club or two? Tell me everything you’re doing and who you’re with! Hold off on the face tattoos for at least a month please!

Love,

Kiki

…

from: Emilé Delacaur <E.Delacur@nyu.edu >

to:     Kirsten O’Neill<JordansMom4516@gmail.com>

date:  November 23, 2040, 5:20 AM

subject:       Re: Square One

Kiki,

I wish you had come with me. Paris is breathtaking in the Fall. The leaves are littering along the Seine, the soft jazz that plays in open cafes just makes more sense. I swear I breathe differently here. Every time feels like the first and the last. A shocking discovery of this sweet beauty, the simple glide of people around you, the history of blood between the cobblestones. You need to see Paris at least sometime in your life, dear Kiki. You’re not getting any younger.

You’d be so proud of me Keeks. I’m walking along the seine every day, 5 miles. I’ve never felt more energized and ready for this life. Can you remember when we were in our twenties, thinking that we knew everything and if we didn’t experience it all, we’d just die? God what intensity does youth bring. All I can say is that I feel a happiness in my heart that I just never quiet knew at 23. My looks might have gone and there are definitely more lines in my face than a folded road map. But there is so much content that washes over me almost daily. I still get those dark days. Probably will until the day I let them take me. But they are so few and far between, that I just can’t fathom how much they owned my life at one point.

Forget Henry. He was always a loser if he believes that women don’t age beyond 30. You’re more beautiful each year and he’s an asshole that doesn’t deserve you. I’m sorry that you’re going through this, maybe reach out to Jordan and spend some time with her. It’ll give you an excuse to get out of the house.

I miss you. Sending you lots of love and hugs and strong French wine.

J’taime,

Em

P.S. Don’t read my latest book. It’s fucking rubbish. Who the hell do I think I am? Virginia Woolf?

P.P.S. I don’t think I am Ms. Woolf. Do not fear of me plunging into the river.

from: Kirsten O’Neill<JordansMom4516@gmail.com>

to:     Emilé Delacaur <E.Delacur@nyu.edu >

date:  November 30, 2040, 10:04 PM

subject:       Re: Re: Square One

Sweet Emmie,

Thank you for the kind words, but I know that it’s all my fault. How can I at 64, be divorced not once but TWICE??? I’m far too old and tired to start again. It’s exhausting, dealing with men past the age of 50. And don’t get me started on the prospects. Balding, beer bellies, bad manners. Men age worse than women and WE are the ones always tossed aside for youth. It just doesn’t make any sense.

How is your sabbatical going? I already read your brilliant book, you noob. Stop drop and roll, because you’re on fire girl. Too corny? Sorry, ever since Joe bailed all those years ago, I took up the father slack for Jordan. And that included bad Dad jokes. But in all honesty, I really do know how to pick them, huh? First Joe, the deadbeat drunk. Then Henry, the schmuck who falls for gold diggers. I guess my eye for taste only goes as far as interior design.

Speaking of which, the business is really taking off. I know I got into the game a tad later than your average businesswoman, but 50 was the new 30. And 60 is just as good. I just wish I could tell that girl who felt trapped in her own skin and marriage that it got better. Despite the two divorces, I look around and think I made it out okay.

Sometimes when I’m walking through shops or out for a coffee, I see these young women all chatting or diligently working away. Views of living in a college town, I guess. I just want to walk up to them and shake them and say you’re doing the best you can. I want to sit down and explain how it’ll all change and twist and turn and being young doesn’t always equal successful or confident. I wish I could hand them out little cards keep in their wallets: Put Yourself First, Dream Always. Or something cheesy like that. I wish I had an older woman knock some sense into me at 20. Or 26. Or 35.

If only I could afford the time to come to Paris, I would love nothing more to walk the Seine with you. Although 5 miles seems a little excessive. You nut.

Love in English,

Kiki