12. I Want It That Way
I Want It That Way
The Emails
Two Days Later
N ovember 11, 1996
Dear Charlotte,
As expected, the proposal regarding the restoration of the theater went off without a hitch. They’ll be contacting you shortly to include you in further plans.
I hope things are going well with you and Bronnie. I can’t remember the last time we went this long without emailing each other. Have I scared you off? I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.
Unfortunately, it seems I’ve forgotten how to get through my day without reading about yours.
Missing your emails, Arden
N ovember 12, 1996
Dear Arden,
I’d be surprised if the issues with the theater hadn’t worked out. You probably just told them your name to get the owner to bend over backward to get into your good graces.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or snarky, but I don’t believe you didn’t know I was in the dark about you being famous.
Finding out who you are is freaking me out.
My parents never had cable TV. We had one PBS station and CBS. I didn’t watch it very often. We’re big readers in my family. Well, not Max or Mom, but the rest of us. I read mostly sci-fi and fantasy novels like Anne McCaffrey, NOT tabloids or (I’m ashamed to admit) newspapers or magazines.
When I was in New York, I was focused on my grades and Steve. When I moved into my trailer, I didn’t bother getting cable either. You don’t miss what you’ve never had. You must have thought I was hilarious. The stupid hick who lives under a rock.
In the library there were articles that called you the man responsible for dismantling an entire crime syndicate. I read about the assassination attempt against you. It must have been terrifying. It scared me, and it was already in the past.
Now, they say there’s nothing left of the Vinucci family in New York at all. Are they really gone? The fact that you have bodyguards makes me worry they aren’t.
Part of me wishes you hadn’t kissed me at all. You said it changed nothing, but it changed everything, Arden, in ways I don’t even know how to explain. It made me crave things I shouldn’t. I haven’t figured out how to put you back in the “friend” box. Even though you ARE my friend.
I’m working on it.
That probably sounds overdramatic for a kiss, but you were my first in years.
I understand what you meant now about what it would be like if the world thought we had a relationship, though.
There’s no way I could handle the attention you get from the press. It would be a nightmare for me. I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through and for the pressure you’ve lived with your whole life.
You do an incredible job protecting your boys. Beyond the paparazzi at the funeral when Henry was two, there are hardly any photos of them. I hadn’t realized what an incredible level of trust you were showing me by sending me pictures of your children.
Your life is hard for me to fully imagine. From the emails and photos you’ve sent me, the boys seem well-rounded and happy, though. You’re a great dad.
I’m embarrassed that I’ve been talking to you like you’re a normal guy, and not YOU.
I read something about you potentially running for president in a few years. That sounds like hell on earth to me.
Who do you unload to about all that stress?
You tell me you’re tired sometimes. We talk about kids and family. Parenting and that sort of thing. But you’ve never really talked about the public part of your life. Why is that?
Always, Charlotte
N ovember 12, 1996
Sweet Charlotte,
I realized the day of Steve’s funeral that you didn’t recognize my name or face. I hope you can forgive me. Anyone who says, “Don’t you know who I am?” sounds like a pompous jackass. Knowing you didn’t have preconceived ideas based off tabloid headlines felt freeing.
As strange as it may sound, I believe we were able to get to know each other more authentically because you didn’t know who the press said I was first.
So much of what is out there about me is misleading, if not an outright lie.
As for sharing pieces of my life, I wasn’t trying to hide from you, but there’s always a possibility of our emails being hacked. Phone conversations can be tapped.
I can’t rip out my bleeding heart and expose it in an email. Not because I don’t trust you, but because if someone stole your computer or hacked my emails, all of it would end up on national media. I’ve already given in to temptation and shared things in these emails that toe the line of common sense. The lawyer in me knows we shouldn’t be leaving a digital footprint. But I’m a man first, and some choices have to be made from the heart, not the head.
I wish I could write about what it was really like to be married to Ariana or how it felt to be left alone with a toddler and a newborn while the press crowed about her “tragic life” and overdose.
I can’t go into any details that aren’t on public record about the Vinucci family at all. Just know: No one man could ever dismantle a syndicate. Reporters like to put a “face” on these things. They want a mascot. Don’t imagine me doing anything alone. I’m not and never have been.
If I could have gone into WITSEC with my boys (who were very young at the time), I would have. That’s something the articles get wrong every time. Maybe it’s a romantic sentiment to picture a crusader or a hero. At the time, I was nothing more than a man who knew he couldn’t keep his family safe if he didn’t go on the offensive.
Giving in to their demands to throw the trial would have been unethical. More than that, it would have kept my boys in their crosshairs for the rest of their lives. There was nowhere to run that people wouldn’t figure out who I was. It left one logical recourse.
The Vinucci family was young and small, which was in our favor. Again, not something reporters tend to emphasize.
That doesn’t mean I can be lax about security now that it’s over. There are no guarantees in life. I’ve made enemies. Some are for the things I’ve done, and some are because of what I represent.
Because of who my family is, I’ve had a protection detail my entire life. The boys and I always will.
The paps are evil, soulless (to use one of your words) bloodsuckers. There’s my first official vent about that part of my life.
It’s a big ask, but I’m going to do it. Don’t watch the news when they’re talking about my family. Most of it is garbage. I can say with total honesty that I would rather stab myself in the eye with a red-hot poker than hold a high political office. If something concerns you, ask me about it.
I never thought you were stupid. You, Charlotte Miller, are a queen. I knew it from the first day I met you. Lift your chin and put on your crown. I worship (from a safe distance) at your feet.
I am a normal guy, whatever you mean by that. I’m a person, Charlotte. Not whatever those articles have you imagining. I’m a man who wants to hear about your struggles and triumphs. They’re not small or petty to either of us.
At the risk of sounding dramatic myself, when you offered me your kiss, I knew if I stepped away without accepting, I’d regret it until my last breath. For the rest of my life I’ll remember I once tasted Charlotte Miller’s smile.
Arden
Approximately Five Weeks of Emails Later
D ecember 20, 1996
Dear Aren,
I made the dean’s listt! I dint know ifI had it in me. but it I did it
Mom and I hit the eggnog pretty hard tonight. I never drink. Well hardly ne er. Not even once a year. So If I'm not writting right you know why lol. Heres a picture of Bronnie and me at the tree fRM PICKING OUR CHRISTMAS Tree today.
We found a five foot tree. I don;t ave an way to get a bigger one home and a big one wouldn’t fit. THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. HAHAHA
No sorry. Inappropriathumor. It woundlent fit in my trailer is what I meant.
I decided that someday Bronnie and and I will live in a huge house with soaring ceilings and Ill get a 12 foot tree. (Maybe even taller). I want something I have to stand on a a ladder to decorate. That’s after I become a worldfamous artchitect. I feel like I have too mcgh audacity but I cdecided to do itbecause you said to put on my crown and I think you’re not just a hot man, Arden, but ou’re smart also.
I might change my mind domorrow. Not about you being smart and hot because you’re unfailrly hot and smart. I bet youwear glasses when you read in bed odn’t you? It’s my kriptonite.
I have Catholic guilt that I imagineyou naked, but I don’t care. You’re one of thooose people who are too hot for their own good. How is any man who looks like you a nice person? It’s. Miracle.
After the tree farm, we decorated teh tree and mom and dad came over to hepl. Mom and dad are sleeeping on mg pullout couch bcd. Dad took care of bbronnie. Hes such a good dad. It makex me wantto cry when I thinj about what a good dad he is. I’m glad brinnie has him as her grandad. My spelling is so bad tonight.
BTW, I’ll send you and the boys an invitation to a cookie decorating party at my big beautiful house whn I get one. You have to ask Henry if he
’s wiling to adjust his party requirements up to five PEEPOLE (HAHA so cute!) Henry can wear wone of his bow ties.
In the meantime, early Merry Christ.as! Watch for a package in th mail!
HOHOHo, CHARLOTTE
D ecember 21, 1996
Dear Arden,
I apologize for last night’s email. Dear God in Heaven, please don’t read it. If you already have, please forget you did.
Regretfully Yours, Charlotte
D ecember 21, 1996
Dear Charlotte,
Too late. And I have a great memory so I couldn’t forget it if I wanted to. (I don’t.) As a matter of fact, I've read it six times. I plan to read it again when I'm done sending this one. I do wear glasses when I read in bed. Usually in nothing but drawstring pajama bottoms. Do with that information what you will.
Congratulations on making the dean’s list. I won’t pretend I’m surprised.
I printed the photo of you and Bronnie at the tree farm and framed it on my desk in my home office next to a picture of Henry and Gabriel. I love the idea of you laughing with your cheeks flushed pink as you decorated your tree.
I don’t have any recent photos of me and the boys to send to you. I take snapshots of Henry and Gabriel all the time, but I’m rarely in them myself. That’s a huge gift you’re giving future Bronnie. I’m going to get better about it for my boys.
For now, I’m sending you a snapshot of the three of us on the beach at our home in the Hamptons last summer. In the fall, we pack up and go to the brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, but we summer in the Hamptons.
I’d love to transition to living there year-round, eventually, but, at the moment, it isn’t practical with my schedule.
We received your card and the package of homemade candy today. Thank you! Bronnie’s little handprint Christmas tree was adorable. The candy is delicious. You may be the boys’ new favorite person.
Henry is all in on the five-person party in your high-ceilinged home if it involves cookies and candy.
It’s not audacity, sweetheart. It’s a beautiful dream.
Love, Arden
Six Emails Later
D ecember 25, 1996
Dear Arden,
Merry Christmas! I hope you and Henry and Gabriel are having a wonderful holiday.
I have to ask you something. Someone covered my porch last night with huge bags of gifts for Bronnie and me and put up a giant decorated tree in my front yard.
Nobody has a clue where they came from. You’re always asking me if I need anything, so I wanted to double-check that it wasn’t you.
If it was, thank you, but we already got your card and chocolates. We don’t need anything else. Bronnie and I are doing great, and I really don’t like the idea of being beholden or that I can’t do anything like that for you and the boys in return. I’d like to send them back to you.
And if I’m being weird by guessing it was you, and it wasn’t, I apologize.
Love, Charlotte
D ecember 25, 1996
Merry Christmas.
Sweet Charlotte, you dip french fries into chocolate ice cream. Don’t even try to pretend you’re not weird. (For the record, I’ve always loved weird.)
I think Santa brought the gifts on your porch, and there’s no such thing as being beholden to Santa.
My boys’ lives are already inundated with stuff. They don’t need or want more. Something that would excite them would be seeing some photos of a little girl (and a big one) opening gifts they helped Santa choose. You and Bronnie would make their Christmas. They’re practically bouncing with anticipation.
That’s what I’m asking from you for Christmas. For you to believe, just for today.
Love, Arden
D ecember 25, 1996
Dear Arden,
I’ve never had a Christmas anything like this one. I wish you’d been here to see Bronnie’s face in person. (Mine too, probably, because I squealed out loud more than once.)
Santa and his elves spoiled us rotten. I’ve been practically giddy all day. It took us hours to open everything. I’ll have to send these photos in batches. There are too many for one email. Bronnie’s favorite gift was the tricycle. Mine were the earrings. But all of it was amazing.
If you see Santa and his elves, tell them we said, “Thank you.”
Love, Charlotte