Dear Joanie,

Moving dr. Veltman, and taking driving lessons. I don't know where to start - all this has taken quite a toll on me.

The Floozy (dr. Veltman's girlfriend) has decided he must move closer to her. I don't know why. She says it's because he is old, and starting to become a little infirm. (Starting...?! The man was infirm at 35. How poorly does this creature know him.) She "wants to be close so that she can help when he needs it". 

I resent this. Helping dr. Veltman is my task, isn't it? And I take it seriously. I remember 20 years back he ran for a bus - it was the first time he had run, or walked briskly, since his high school days (when the unfortunate event occurred in which he knocked out a girl while throwing to the ground his bat in a game of softball - he cleared a full home run before he realized everybody else had stopped playing, to gather around the poor girl), and he of course broke his foot, the metatarsus to be precise. He didn't tell me about it for a week but when I found out I went all the way to the Bijlmermeer area with a pan of soup - not an easy trip! Usually dr. Veltman drives me everywhere, but for the first time in my life I had to take the subway. Can you imagine it? Me in those filthy carriages? But I did it, when there was no floozy around to pretend to care about him. Someone had to step up to the plate.

Haven't I always been there for him, Joanie? I can't count the number of times I've offered to buy him oranges when he had the flu. Of course dr. Veltman always has the flu. You know what he's like, such a drama queen. He won't eat fruit for the life of him, so there was never any point in my going, but I'd have gone to the Bijlmermeer on the bus and then the subway just to give him those oranges. Because I care.

And now suddenly, after decades, this Floozy steps in and pretends to know what's good for him. He has to live close to her! Which of course means she's simply too lazy to take her ass to the Bijlmer. Some people want to have everything in life handed to them. Sorry to be so rude, my dear - the floozy's very existence has a coarsening effect on me. Even my hands seem to feel less smooth, these days.

Well, I won't make a scene. That's just not me. I suspect she is in it strictly for the money. My, will she have a rude awakening when she inherits all of 350 Euros. All he possesses in the world that's of any value is his collection of Märklin miniature trains. And which child wants those, in this computer age? I'd love to see the look on her face, oh, Joanie, it will be hysterical!!

Love,

Lisa

Dear Joanie,

Sorry, darling, I was a little grumpy, yesterday. And Dr. Veltman says his sansevieria are not plastic, although the difference is hard to spot. What he likes about them is that these plants actually die when you water them. Which makes them better than the plastic plants he used to own, which deteriorated from the water he sometimes poured on them, erroneously. He likes to get the cheapest of plastics.

Well, I hope that sets the record straight…

He’s been quite a handful, lately.

Love,

Lisa

Dear Emma,

Back from France! A brief thrill of excitement as I made ready for Amsterdam in my Paris-bought outfit, and then the inevitable disappointment and tedium of Dutch Social Life. Party in the famous Schreierstoren, a 15th century tower overlooking Amsterdam harbor and the Central Station – very poor service, as one is used to in Amsterdam, rain (also used to in Amsterdam) and, at dr. Veltman’s party: old people practically disintegrating into their constituent parts, increasingly many of which are made out of durable plastics.

Did give me a chance to see Donald S., former ambassador to Albania, who as you know has had his eye on me for many years. Have you seen him around at all, lately? His conversation centers primarily around the visual arts, and culture in general, which is painfully boring - but I do rather like him, mostly at the moments I am able to interrupt him and talk about myself. So much more rewarding, as a subject.

I was glad to see him looking so good, and not at all surprised that his crush on me hasn’t abated since my torrid affair with Burke (now so much less torrid.) It’s not exactly that he’s one of those men who desire one the more hotly if one is ‘romantically attached’, as the horrible cliché goes (there isn’t all that much of romance anymore between Burke and me, after eight months), but he simply does not view relationships or marriages as legitimate obstacles to his sexual feeding frenzy. He’s been married to Marjory for positively decades,  but the two of them don’t live in the same country. In fact, as he likes to say, enjoying his wine and his popularity amid a small group of devotees at social do’s: “No wonder marriages fail. People insist on being in the same country. I wouldn’t even want to share the same continent with Marjory!”

So he shoots off on a plane to her a few times per year, never mind the hours it takes him to get to Belize. Did you know, by the way, that Belize is one of the most dreadful places to live in the world? According to a survey into World Happiness, anyway. Supposed to be at or near the absolute bottom. I suppose it’s a matter of personal taste? Marjory is apparently perfectly happy, living there. Sunny weather, lovely house, staff entirely devoted to her…It’s what you make of things, isn’t it? I think one can be happy anywhere.

Oh darling, more tomorrow – just got another call from Moffat, the unhappy artist. Insists on seeing me today, because he happens to be in town. Well, there are about 700,000 people in town, right now!

Oh well, I suppose I’ll let him take me to the seaside. Will have to listen to more griping about his personal and financial hardships…I do so hate it when people complain. If they only knew how unbecoming it is…

More about the Schreierstoren party will have to wait! Will get back to you soonest, off now, love,

Lisa