Confessions of the Sullivan Sisters (14 page)

M
RS. LOUISA BECKENDORF—
full name Arden Louisa Norris Sullivan Weems Maguire Hightower Beckendorf—is a philanthropist, city leader, social arbiter, and grande dame of such power that she is locally known as “Almighty Lou.” Since making her debut at the Bachelors Cotillon in 1947, she has been the most influential hostess at the top of Baltimore society. She sits on the boards of numerous charities and arts institutions, and started a fad for wearing orange feathers in the 1970s. She has a wing named after her at the Baltimore Museum of Art. It is said that anyone who wishes to be invited to the most exclusive social events in town must get—and stay—on Mrs. Beckendorf’s good side.

But now the fearsome and influential “Almighty Lou” may be cut down to size by her own granddaughter.

Jane Sullivan, 16, a junior at St. Margaret’s Preparatory School and one of Mrs. Beckendorf’s six grandchildren, has started a website called myevilfamily.com. The site is essentially a blog detailing the sordid history of the Sullivan and Norris families, from the origins of their great fortune to the petty social feud between Mrs. Beckendorf and her chief rival, Mrs. Margaret “Mame” Overbeck, to the mysterious suicide of her mother’s psychotherapist. According to Jane Sullivan, Mrs. Beckendorf
never forgave Mrs. Overbeck for stealing Junius Overbeck out from under her nose. Even now, when the two women claim to have patched up their differences, Jane suggests that her grandmother is plotting a devious revenge against Mrs. Overbeck.

This information is being gobbled up like candy by certain segments of Baltimore society—those who live and attend the posh private schools in the north of the city. “Almighty Lou has held power over us for so long that we love to finally see a crack in her perfect facade,” said one Guilford doyenne who declined to speak on the record. “This is just too delicious.”

“I’m only telling the truth,” Jane Sullivan said when asked why she was airing her family’s dirty laundry in public. “People look up to my grandmother because she’s rich. Well, if they knew how rich people got that way, maybe they wouldn’t look up to them so much. Destroy all evil! Destroy everything!”

Ms. Sullivan said she will continue to write about her family until all their secrets have been revealed. “I’m glad the
Sun
is publicizing my blog,” she added. “That way everyone will know the truth. Power to the people!”

“Almighty Lou is going to wring that brat’s neck,” said a Roland Park resident who refused to give her name for fear of retribution. “There goes her inheritance.”

Mrs. Beckendorf could not be reached for comment.

Come on, admit it, Almighty. I was right, wasn’t I?

You may not have realized it, but Norrie, Sassy, and I were eavesdropping at the top of the stairs when you came over to tear Ginger and Daddy-o a new one about that article in the
Sun
. We heard the whole thing. You were roaring mad. You know how sometimes you draw a frown on your face with lipstick when you’re angry? Well, we have a name for it: Mr. Yuck. And you were sporting Mr. Yuck that day.

I’m going to re-create the scene for you, in case you’re curious about how it looked from my point of view. Sometimes I wonder if you realize how scary you can be, Almighty.

“This is your fault,” you yelled. “You’re terrible parents! You’re not even parents—you’re glorified babysitters!”

“Marvelous to see you as always, Almighty,” Ginger said.

You’d brought Buffalo Bill with you as usual, and he was sniffing around the bottom of the stairs.

“You brought up a godless hell-raiser! At
least
one that I know about. I have never in my life felt so betrayed by a member of my own family. Alphonse, what do you have to say?”

I could hear the shrug in Daddy-o’s voice. “I’m sorry, Mother, but Jane is old enough to have her opinions. What can we do to stop her?”

“Plenty! Send her away to boarding school, for starters. A very strict convent-style school, far away, maybe Switzerland. They’ll discipline her if you can’t, and she won’t be here in town publishing nasty lies about her grandmother in the newspaper.”

“Nobody reads the newspaper anymore,” Ginger said. “If we ignore it, this whole thing will go away.”

“That is exactly the kind of lenient attitude that got us here in the first place. One daughter running around with some grown man from New York, another one hell-bent on destroying the whole family, and who knows what Sassy’s up to….”

I almost laughed, but Norrie put a finger to her lips and scowled like she’d kill me if I made a sound. At the mention of her name, Sassy squeezed my knee and looked nervous. “What? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I whispered. And yet she looked worried.

Downstairs, Takey wandered over to Buffalo Bill. He had a squirt gun in his holster and started tugging on the dog’s tail.

“They’ve got your incorrigible spirit in them, Mother,” Daddy-o said. “Can’t blame them for being Sullivans.” He made a weak attempt to laugh.
La di dah, isn’t being a Sullivan such carefree fun?

But you weren’t falling for that. You didn’t yell, but we could hear the uncoiled fury in your voice. “A Sullivan does not disgrace her family. Your daughter has severely misbehaved. Grow a spine and punish her. I’d like to punish that reporter too, and whatever moron is editing the
Sun
these days. Whatever happened to journalistic standards? They wouldn’t have dared to print such trash in the old days; they knew they’d have me to answer to.”

“Well, Mother, you can sue them for libel if they printed anything untrue,” Daddy-o said. “But I don’t think they did.”

Sassy pinched me. “Ginger and Daddy-o are on your side,” she whispered.

“A lot of good that will do me.”

“Take away her computer,” you suggested.

“She needs it for school,” Ginger said.

“Do something!” you said. “She’s spreading lies about our family all over the world. I won’t have it! Where is she? I want to have a talk with her.”

Norrie and Sassy gripped my arms. “Uh-oh.”

“We’ll talk to her,” Ginger said. “You’ll see her at tea on Tuesday.”

Thanks, Ginge.
But it wasn’t enough to save me.

Meanwhile, Takey unholstered his squirt gun and shot Buffalo Bill with water, right between the eyes. Bill whimpered and ran off.

We could hear you stomping around like a bull. “Takey! Leave that poor dog alone! I’ll go up and drag Jane out of her room myself if I have to. These girls of yours are causing nothing but trouble!”

The three of us sprang to our feet and scrambled upstairs to Norrie’s room. Norrie locked the door. We sat on her bed, biting our nails as if waiting for a killer in a hockey mask to burst in.

“Jane Dorsey!” you roared. You can really be loud when you want to be. “Come out this instant! Jane Dorsey Sullivan!”

“What would Joan of Arc do?” Sassy asked.

“She’d face her persecutors,” I said. “She’d refuse to back down.” I stood up, straightened my school uniform, which I hadn’t had time to take off yet, and marched to the door. “On to
the inquisition.” I opened the door. There you were. Your tiny body blocked my way out. “Hello, Almighty. Looking for me?”

“You know damn well I’m looking for you. Come with me, young lady.” You glanced into the room and added, “You two, don’t think you’re off the hook. If I hear a breath of scandal about either of you…”

Then you led me downstairs to my room and shut the door. “Sit down.”

I sat at my desk. “Would you like a chair, Almighty?”

“No. Now you listen to me. You will shut down that clog or whatever you call it, and shut it down now. You will erase all traces of it, except for this—you will publish a disclaimer saying that you made up everything you wrote about our family. The history, everything. I don’t care if it’s true or not, you’ll do it. And you will call that reporter and tell her you were playing a prank on her and deny everything she printed. My lawyer will be in touch with her to demand a retraction. Is that clear?”

I shook with anger and fear so hard I clenched my teeth to keep them from rattling. Put yourself in my place. How dare you demand that I lie and say that everything I wrote—all that TRUTH—was a lie?

Uh, that’s what I was thinking at the time. Now, of course, I’m totally sorry about it and agree that it’s all my fault.

“Jane, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I said. “I hear you. But I won’t do it.”

“Oh yes you will.”

“Oh no I won’t.”

“Don’t play stubborn with me. I invented that game.”

“I know. It’s in my blood. I can hold out as long as you can.”

“No you can’t,” you said. “Because I have power. And you don’t.”

“Try me.”

“I will. Disobey me at your peril, young lady.”

“Come on. What can you do to me?”

“You insolent brat! I can ruin your life. You wait and see.”

“I can’t wait. I want you to ruin my life. I hate my life! I want to destroy everything!”

“You’re doing a lovely job of it.” You threw open the door and stormed out. I heard you march downstairs and through the living room. “I’m holding you two responsible!” you shouted at Ginger and Daddy-o. “Bill, come!” The front door slammed shut.

“Okeydokey,” Daddy-o drawled now that you were gone. “By the way, Mother, what time should we come for dinner on Sunday?”

“I wish she wouldn’t make such a fuss. So the kids are hellions. I don’t understand what she expects
us
to do about it.”

I heard ice rattling in glasses. “I suppose one of us had better talk to Jane.”

I went downstairs to save them the trouble of finding me.

“There you are, darling. What did Almighty say?”

“She said I have to stop blogging forever and take back everything I already wrote, or else.”

“Or else what?”

I shrugged. “She wasn’t specific. Something bad will happen.”

“Darling, do you really think this blog of yours is worth all this fuss?” Ginger said. “I mean, it’s just a lot of silly family gossip. Why do you care?”

“It’s the truth,” I said.

“So what?” Ginger said. Then she paused, as if something had just occurred to her. “You didn’t write anything about me, did you?”

“Oh, so it’s okay as long as it’s not about you?” I said.

“Lovebite, of course she did,” Daddy-o said. “Didn’t you see that bit about your therapist committing suicide?” He waved the newspaper. “It’s buried in here somewhere.”

Ginger went pale. “I haven’t had time to read the article carefully.” She snatched the paper from Daddy-o and skimmed until she got to the part about her.

I have to admit, at the moment I kind of wished I could melt into the carpet and drain away into the sewer, never to be seen again. Ginger put down the paper and took a sip of her vodka.

“There was a time when psychotherapy was considered a private matter.”

“It’s not like you don’t talk about it,” I said. “You told Mr. Sonnenshein at the pharmacy every detail. The cashier at Eddie’s too.”

Ginger rarely loses her temper, but I was pushing it. You should have seen her, Almighty—you would have been proud.

She slammed her drink on the side table. “Listen, Jane Dorsey, I’ve had enough of your silliness. I know you’re trying to stir up
trouble and you probably love all this attention in some kind of fucked-up way, but it’s time to stop. Now.”

“Where’d you get that theory?” I said. “Your therapist?”

Daddy-o tried to hide his whole head in the newspaper. Ginger pressed her lips together and glared at me until she looked a lot like Sister Mary Joseph.

“I don’t want to lose my composure,” Ginger said. “So you had better go to your room now.”

“Let me just get a snack first—”

“Go to your room NOW!”

I scurried to the stairs involuntarily. I didn’t mean to obey her but she scared me. Ginger hardly ever gets mad.

Still, I couldn’t resist taking one last jab at her.

“Heinie!” I yelped as I started upstairs. It was the worst word I could think of, the word Ginger hates most in the world.

Ginger’s face reddened over her freckles. “Stop it!”

“Heinie heinie heinie! Wiener! Booger! Shut up!”

She swayed, nauseated by my vulgar language. “Are you quite finished?”

“Mayonnaise!” We glared at each other. I felt tired. It washed over me suddenly, draining me of energy. I’d had enough conflict for one day.

“Now I’m finished,” I said.

That fight was the beginning of a bad mood that lasted for days. The bad mood seeped into everything I did. And Sister Mary Joseph didn’t help.

“The most important element of love is…what? Mary Pat?”

“Obedience,” the obedient Mary Pat said.

“Correct. Love is obedient and long-suffering, just like Jesus on the cross. And disobedience invites the devil into your life.”

I hate this kind of talk SO MUCH. It makes my blood boil. Do these nuns really expect us to suffer like Jesus and never fight back? To never defend ourselves? How sick is that?

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Jane?”

“I don’t understand. God spoke to St. Joan, and she obeyed. But that was her big mistake. She obeyed him right up until the end, and he didn’t save her. Why? What is the difference between burning on a stake in a village square and burning in hell?”

“Burning in hell lasts for all eternity,” Sister Mary Joseph said. “Joan suffered at the stake for a short time, but she was rewarded with an eternity in heaven.”

“You don’t know that. How do you really know that?”

“Jane, that is what is called faith.”

“I call it stupidity—”

“God’s mercy is mysterious to our weak human minds. St. Augustine said that we can’t understand God any more than a hole on the beach can understand the ocean.”