Chapter 7
Frida Rodriguez ... En Route
December 21, 1991
Paris, France
Joyeux No?l Kate, although it might be Bonne Année by the time you get this letter!
First things first. Obviously Frida Rodriguez LOVES rambling! Ramble on Fair Bookseller. Ha! Are you fair Kate Fair?
I’m sorry about your novel not being published but you got an agent and a big publisher was interested. I bet that’s more than most novelists get on their first try and who cares when you learned about Virginia Woolf – you know about her now and you know about Miss Twiggley. I bet no one at the bookstore can say that. To hell with quivering V lips! You’ll never write a book that’s worth being nailed down forever if you don’t get yourself writing again. What do you love? Write about that!
I can’t believe my moolah covered the postage for Black Lamb – it weighs ten tons – I have to read it propped on a pillow in my lap but tell your pal Roy beaucoup thanks. It’s perfect timing. Kirby’s studying the effect on a culture when its architecture is destroyed in a war, and he interviewed a couple foreign correspondents covering Yugoslavia. He’s going to introduce me the next time they’re back in Paris. Now I won’t sound like a greenhorn when I pick their brains. Sarajevo? Why yes, says Well-Versed Frida leaning back in her chair at Chez Lisette and gazing thoughtfully into her wine glass – I believe the capital of Bosnia was founded by the Ottoman Empire in the 1400s. Indeed, say the foreign correspondents in response – how knowledgeable you are – you should come to the front lines with us. Daydream much Frida?
Speaking of Chez Lisette – Kirby started calling it our Cheers because we spend so much time there. I can’t get enough of the house Beaujolais and Lisette’s potatoes dauphinoise are out of this world. Forget any scalloped potatoes you ever ate at Thanksgiving. She throws in Jerusalem artichokes – that nutty flavor with the Gruyère – swoon! Especially in this weather.
You’re right about books never changing – but people sure do. Case in point – moi! Wuthering Heights used to be my all-time favorite novel. The other day I needed a break from Black Lamb so I got myself a copy at Galignani – another notch on my bookstore list – and read it again. Geez Emily Bront?! Cathy didn’t stand a co-dependent chance. Heathcliff was a total jerk. It made me realize books can also show us how we move on in life. Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad I moved on from thinking all that damage was romantic – but it made me nostalgic too. Like I outgrew a childhood friend.
Au revoir and Have a Nice Day – I mean it,
Frida
P.S. I meant to write this up above – someone at the bookstore must take you seriously or you wouldn’t have been hired.