Doctor Sylvia Bancroft,
366 Summerview Way
Greenbelt, ID
6/22/99
Dear Dr. Bancroft,
I realize that you are not currently practicing because of your recent difficulty, but you are the only doctor I trust with my problem.
My wife Rita is suffering from uncontrollable itching. Nobody takes it seriously. It is not an allergy, or at least none of the doctors we have seen have diagnosed it as an allergy. There is no relief. We have tried all manner of creams, even used magnets. She is irritable all the time, and for her it is a very serious problem.
I read about a new practice called hair burning on the Internet. They burn certain patches of hair to cure certain ailments. Several people reported relief from cancer and other serious illnesses. What I’m wondering is if you know anything about hair burning and if they are considering it as a treatment at the St. John’s Arms hospital. I am willing to try anything, but we are getting low on money.
If I could just find out which patch of hair to burn, I think this is a procedure I could perform at home.
Please write soon.
Sincerely,
Frank Allen
Miss Anne Johansen,
366 Summerview Way
Greenbelt, ID
6/22/99
Dear Anne,
Am concerned about your surgery. Is that why you’ve moved to the boonies? Are you alright? My brother has a lake house in Michigan that we’d be happy to put you up in for as long as the recovery may take.
I realize that this may seem a little bit forward, but after having received your last letter, I’m thinking you feel comfortable with our friendship. I have just completed the course to become a certified nurse’s aid, and I could be on hand to help you in any way that you need. I can’t dispense drugs, but assuming that I pass the test, I can lift, bathe, feed, and assist with enemas and other forms of evacuation. Our relationship will not prevent me from behaving in a strictly professional manner.
I am really concerned about you.
Please write soon.
Mike
Doctor Bancroft,
366 Summerview Way
Greenbelt, ID
Dear Doctor Bancroft,
I was so sorry to hear about your surgery. I am furious that the attending physicians could make that kind of mistake. To a famous surgeon, no less!
I don’t know what I can say that may help you through your recovery, but let me say that what’s inside--your spirit and the loving, caring person that you have always shown yourself to be—will never change, no matter what is on the outside of the package.
If you don’t mind my asking, will you be having the surgery reversed, or will you go on as a man? I need to know because—to be frank—I fantasize about you quite a lot, and now I don’t know whether I’m lesbian or straight. Not that it really makes a difference. I’m too old to do anything about it.
I really think you are making a mistake if you don’t sue about the botched surgery. Sometimes we just can’t let family ties get in the way of what’s right and wrong. I’m sure your brother in law carries plenty of malpractice insurance.
With sincere concern and all my love (and lust!),
Edith Flaherty
Anne
366 Summerview Way
Greenbelt, ID
Geeeezus Keeryste girl,
I saw the last episode. That is nuts. So does this mean you have a lot of free time now, or are you still in flashbacks? What the hell are you doing in bumfuck, Idaho? Will you tell your assistant to stop sending me form letters?
Call me!
Janie
Candy’s brow furrowed as she read this last line. With her free arm extended out of the tub to tip the carton of chocolate milk dry, she expertly tossed the letter into the smallest of five rather large piles. Her toes were turned to prunes, but they were still dexterous enough to manipulate the water taps. As a hot stream curled its way up her leg and along her back, she raised the wine glass. The overly sweet milk had lost its chill, and its thick taste made her grimace. Just a few more minutes. Then she really had to get out. She had to admit, she was lucky to have a job that she could do in her pajamas. They didn’t even have to be sexy ones.
Steadying herself on the edge of the tub, she hauled herself out and dripped her way over the piles of paper to a large coral colored bath towel that was still wet from two previous baths that morning. She pulled on the flannel pajamas, a fleece sweatshirt, and over them a tired-looking wool cardigan. She fumbled to assemble the middle pile of paper into a stack. Then, wiggling her wet feet into a pair of pink faux fur slippers, she walked sloppily to the kitchen counter, where the laptop was set up. She wondered where Haines was right now, the prick. But she stopped herself from reliving the months that had ended up landing her here.
She opened a mail merge document and started to format her reply. Then she searched her database for Mike Smith. Holy Cow. In the “number of replies” field he was at 16 with a bullet. He was a good producer, but she felt a little creeped out by the enema thing. She decided to take a cautious approach this time.
March 16, 2001
Mike Smith
400 Prince Avenue
Green Bay, WI 98202
Dear Mike:
Thanks so much for your concern, but I’m really just fine!
My friends and I at St. John’s Arms would like to thank you for your continued support. It’s people like you that make it all worthwhile!
Now, please don’t worry about me, and tell your brother that I appreciate the offer but I’m as cozy as can be with my boyfriend and my guard dogs, right here in Greenbelt.
The very best to you and yours, and remember,
“St. John’s Arms, bad things happen to people like you—weekdays at 10”
Luck, Love and Laughter,
Annie
Dr. Sylvia Bancroft
(Anne Johansen)
The laptop’s hard drive was making strange humming noises that Candy hadn’t heard before. She wondered if toast crumbs could make their way through the keyboard and into the works. She knew damn well that she should be backing up the mailing list every week, but ugh. She wandered into the pantry and returned with a box of saltines. Maybe she should call this Mike guy sometime. He seemed pretty nice, really. She fiddled with the remote until she managed to get and Ella Fitzgerald CD playing. Okay. One down, only 523 left in this week’s batch.
At 62 cents a letter she’d better hurry up if she wanted to make her rent this month. She would sooner consider having a hair burning treatment than move back in with her mother. Maybe Mike will write back soon. She toyed with the idea of using the standard form letters to finish up the big pile.
The mound of letters seemed a daunting task, like when she let her ironing pile up for five years. She remembered the sense of satisfaction when she had finally taken all of the wrinkled clothes to Salvation Army. Well, she had better press on. She grimaced at her own pun and started typing. She spent a few extra minutes making the letter chatty to keep the chain of fan mail going. Sixty-two cents wasn’t much per letter, but it might make the difference between being able to go on the trip or not.
Edith Flaherty
1600 Honeysuckle Terrace
Miami, FL 22366
Dear Edith:
Thanks so much for your concern, but I’m really just fine!
My friends and I at St. John’s Arms would like to thank you for your continued support. It’s people like you that make it all worthwhile!
Now, please don’t worry about me, and remember that things aren’t always what they seem. I might just end up coming out on top. You’ll have to watch a few more episodes to find out for sure.
And by the way, just how old are you?
The very best to you and yours, and remember,
“St. John’s Arms, bad things happen to people like you—weekdays at 10”
Luck, Love and Laughter,
Annie
Dr. Sylvia Bancroft
(Anne Johansen)
Candy shuddered to think how Mrs. Flaherty (now on reply level 8) might take off on this one, but she was secretly amused that Edith was hot on Anne and that she, the lowly Candy, had the power to fan the flames. On one hand, it was important for her to keep the flow of letters up in the off season, so she felt justified in keeping Mrs. Flaherty at least slightly titillated. On the other hand, she had more than an inkling that the glamorous Anne Johansen herself would shit a brick if she knew that she was carrying on a flirty mail relationship with a lesbian granny. Somehow, this didn’t bother Candy much. In the months since she had first met Anne on the set of St. John’s Arms, she had felt less and less affinity for her.
Anne had seemed nice at first, but there was something about her that made Candy wary. When Candy had been on the show, and going out with Haines, Anne had been all buddy-buddy. But after Haines dumped her and her character got axed, Anne had turned all “poor tragic Candy.” Every time Anne called to check on her fan mail numbers she would say things like “When are you going to come see us, honey? You are such a sweetie. I just love you. You know why I love you? Because you are such a sweetie.” This before she broke the news that she was getting so much mail that she could no longer afford to pay 75 cents per reply. There was a Japanese firm called Heartlove, Inc. that replied for 65. At that moment, Candy would have loved to personally step on Dr. Bancroft’s ruptured pancreas, but she couldn’t afford to lose the income. She counter offered 62, and it was all lovey, lovey sweetie again.
It wasn’t like you could find any line of work that was much easier. Besides, she wanted to have enough money to take a trip to L.A. this summer. Maybe she would have more luck this time finding an acting job. Candy thought back to her last part as a stewardess on a doomed flight. She had tried to look professional and yet still sultry in the blue uniform and red and blue silken scarf. But she had only been on the screen 30 seconds before her character was sucked out of the open door due to the failed locking mechanism. None-the-less, she felt sure that the director noticed that the delivery of her single line, “Would you care for a beverage this evening? –Aaaargh….” was completed without a single retake.
She had always wanted to be an actress. Ever since the fourth grade when she had played the part of the mother in Mrs. Wiggleby’s Silly Spelling Bee, she had dreamed of standing up in front of the footlights and holding audiences spellbound. She wondered if she would have been successful already if her parents had only encouraged her more. Her mother was happy now that she was back in her hometown in Idaho making a meager living answering fan mail. At least it was some form of creative outlet. Actually, sometimes she thought it took more talent for her to compose replies to fan letters than it took Anne to play a female surgeon who worked nights as a drag queen. It wasn’t even original. Anne’s phony English accent was a direct takeoff of Julie Andrews, and she had had her upturned nose surgically down-turned to look more like Glenn Close.
March 16, 2001
Frank Allen
1213 Potsherd Lane
Chandler, AZ 56208
Dear Frank:
Thanks for writing! I am so sorry to hear about Rita’s medical problems. St. John’s Arms does not recognize the efficacy of any hair burning treatments. I suggest you treat Rita to a manicure at her favorite beauty parlor if you want to do something nice for her. She may want to consult a specialist for her medical problems. It sounds like you have done all you can do as a concerned husband. Do write and let me know how she is getting on. And keep me updated on your research into hair burning treatments.
The very best to you and yours, and remember,
“St. John’s Arms, bad things happen to people like you—weekdays at 10”
Luck, Love and Laughter,
Annie
Dr. Sylvia Bancroft
(Anne Johansen)
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