Today I would like to welcome author Irene Woodbury to my reading blog.
This is a 'guest post' that Irene has kindly written for my blog.
thank you Irene.
Wendy’s Parents Post
“A Slot Machine Ate My Midlife Crisis”
Irene Woodbury
In
Chapter 9 of “A Slot Machine Ate My Midlife Crisis,” Wendy makes the
following comment to Roger during one of their phone fights: “I barely
knew either of my parents, even though we lived in the same house for
twenty years.” What, exactly, does she mean? Who were these people?
What kind of marriage did they have, and what kind of parents were they?
Wendy’s mother, Laura, was an artist. Her father, Charlie, owned a
successful diner in downtown Denver called Cantrell’s that his father
had owned. Both of them were very involved with their careers. Wendy’s
mother spent most of her time locked away in an upstairs bedroom
painting, sketching, and chain-smoking. Her father worked 10 hours a
day, seven days a week. Wendy didn’t see much of them, and when she
did, they weren’t very attentive. They were much more interested in her
younger brother, Tom, who started working at the family restaurant when
he was a child, and would ultimately take over when his father died.
The only time Wendy seemed to bond with her mother was on their yearly
shopping trip to New York. On these extravagant, mother-daughter
jaunts, the sky was the limit, as she explains in this passage from the
book that was cut because of length:
What
can I say? Our relationship was never a normal, day-in-day-out kind of
thing. We were either in the same house but on different planets, in
separate cities, or together 24/7. Like on our annual shopping trips to
New York during my grade and middle-school years. On these week-long
fashion binges, we were more like two little girls playing in the same
sand box than mother-daughter. After settling into a posh suite at the
Plaza, we’d spend hours each day roaming around Bergdorf’s, Saks, I.
Magnin and Bloomingdales, trying things on, and buying clothes,
handbags, and shoes. By 4 or 4:30, we’d be seated at a linen-covered
table in the Plaza’s sumptuous Palm Court for tea. As we nibbled
crustless finger sandwiches and delicate pastries, we’d chat about art,
fashion, theater. It was all so grown-up and glamorous, so Auntie Mame
meets Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Mummy would come alive on these fabulous
retail flings, morphing from a self-absorbed artist into a stylish,
vibrant fashionista..
But
the minute we got back to Denver, the glass coach would promptly
shatter and turn into a pumpkin. Mummy would cram her pretty new
clothes into her already-bulging closets, revert to her withdrawn self,
and schlep around the house in baggy pants and paint-stained work
shirts. I would basically become Cinderella again--invisible. And my
father would rant about the bills for a day or two and complain
bitterly that my mother never went to his restaurant, refused all
invitations, shunned the neighbors, and made an effort to look as
unattractive as possible at all times.
When Wendy was a teenager, she learned some things about her parents’
marriage
that helped her understand why they were so unhappy. According to
Cousin Linda, Wendy’s mother had married her father on the rebound after
her high-school sweetheart eloped with her younger sister. Laura never
spoke to either one of them again. Six months later, she married
Charlie Cantrell. It was never a happy or loving union. He may have
loved her at one time, but it is unlikely that she ever returned the
sentiment.
Cousin Linda also tells Wendy that her father had a long-term romantic
relationship with a pretty blond hostess at Cantrell’s named Kay.
Wendy’s mother looked the other way and ignored it until one summer when
she left for an artists’ tour of Europe, came back, and spotted Kay
wearing one of the designer discards from her Big Apple shopping trips.
Laura was furious. She didn’t care that Kay was sleeping with her
husband. She was more upset that he’d given her one of her never-worn
jackets.
This incident provides a glimpse into Laura’s skewed values. No wonder
Wendy turns out the way she does. She equates shopping with Mother
Love, and worships designer clothes. This makes her a brilliant success
at Panache, but it also instills values that are sometimes hard for
others, including Roger, to fathom.
In 1980, when Wendy is 20, she leaves Denver and moves to Los Angeles
to pursue a career as an actress. Before she can achieve any real
success, she takes a job at Panache so she can pay her rent and meet
expenses. At Panache, she bonds with Carol and Paul Guthrie, the
store’s owners, who become her surrogate parents. Years go by before
she sees her mother and father again. When her mother dies of lung
cancer in 1989, Wendy is in Paris for Fashion Week and can’t get back to
Denver for the funeral. Her brother criticizes her to the family for
not attending, and Wendy cuts all ties to him. I think she’s hurt
because they always favored him, so this is the final straw for her.
As Wendy experiences a period of confusion with her marital problems
and the loss of her job and friendship with Carol, she finds herself
looking back on her unhappy, unfulfilled relationship with her parents.
In the following excerpt, she fantasizes about what it would be like to
have loving parents to turn to for guidance and support.
As
I tried to cope with the loss of my job, my marital problems, and
Carol’s disappearing act, my gaping lack of parental support was
especially painful because there was nowhere to turn for guidance,
perspective, reassurance. My father, who died in 1995, and I hadn’t
been close either, and now, for the first time, I found myself longing
for a warm and loving fantasy-surrogate who would put his big, strong
arm around me and say, with absolute conviction, “It’s their loss,
sweetheart. You’ll find a better job with more money. Just wait and
see, they’ll be sorry.”
Standing
beside him would be this equally mythic gray-haired maternal being with
my eyes and bone structure, a Miss-Manners-type swathed in comfy
cashmeres and tweeds who would pat my hand reassuringly and whisper in
sweet, dulcet tones, “Don’t worry, honey. You and Roger are going
through an awkward period of adjustment. He loves you. You love him.
Everything will work out. You’ll see. Now come into the kitchen and
I’ll make us both a nice cup of tea.”
Did
anyone actually have parents like these anymore? Or were they
nostalgic relics from some bygone era? Mythic figures from a lost
civilization? Maybe it would have been more realistic to conjure up
some Botox-Babe-Collagen-Cougar with a better body than mine who
wouldn’t hesitate to seduce my husband just for kicks while I was out of
town?
My
neediness frustrated and disgusted me. I couldn’t believe how
vulnerable I still was in the parent department. When would it end? I
was a 45-year-old newlywed. Why couldn’t I just get on with my life
and be happy? Why did I still long for parents, or my fantasy-version
of them: endlessly warm, loving beings who would advise, support, and
comfort me forever?
As 45-year-old Wendy suddenly finds herself without the comfortable
world she has thrived in for 25 years, she feels the need to reach out
for support from the people she has always been too busy to contact,
Now,
years later, with my personal and professional lives in flux, I felt
vulnerable, isolated, and more aware of my lack of family. Without
parents to lean on or children to nurture, I was a member of the
sandwich generation--without the bread. Where was my support system?
Friends, bosses and co-workers had always filled the void, but now
they, along with my career, seemed lost, scattered, elusive.
Illusions, really. I suddenly felt the need to get in touch with people
who’d been important to me--to reconnect with them and find a part of
myself that I’d denied and neglected for years.
It
was sad, but true, that as I pursued my career and my relationship with
Roger, I failed to maintain regular contact with family and friends. I
didn’t make enough of an effort to let them know what I was doing, or
to find out what they were doing. Maybe I was busy? Maybe I was
lazy? Maybe I didn’t think it was important? Maybe I was waiting for
them to make the first move? I don’t know. But whatever the
reasons, it had gone on long enough, and I now felt the need to get in
touch.
In
the next chapter, Wendy makes an effort to contact Cousin Linda; her
childhood best friend, Erin, in Denver, and Kelly, her former assistant
at Panache in L.A. The results are dismal. In these tragically comic
phone calls, Linda, Erin, and Kelly bombard Wendy with their problems,
while she never brings up hers. She’s too embarrassed to even admit
what’s going on with her and Roger—and they won’t let her get a word
in. Each call makes Wendy feel more lost and alone. A darkly funny
chapter that helps propel Wendy into her midlife crisis. She’s not
totally comfortable in Las Vegas yet, but she doesn’t know where else to
go. Maybe you really can’t go home again?
