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14 May 2008 @ 03:24 pm
Letters Sent to Pia Doisneau, Room 1801, Schoonmaker Hotel  


New York again. I’m sure you’re enjoying the wonder that is the Family Doisneau and honor of their presence on you. They’ve given you something and you should be grateful. Of course.

If you’re as bored as I am, come to the bar at eight tonight and have a drink with me. For some reason, I want to talk to a black sheep again. It’s just an impulse and I’m sure I can stamp on it if I need to. I don’t want to, though. Empty shell and angry at the world, even if we’re not on a ship this time.


No key is enclosed.

Dear Pia,

I request that you dine with us the day after tomorrow. This is not a formal invitation and neither your cousin Olivia nor your Uncle Robert will be present---only myself, your Aunt Elizabeth and a friend of ours, Edmond Cole. I believe you are acquainted with his ward, James. Please come alone. Your father will be made aware of this meeting and I am sure, will understand.

Please cancel other appointments, if any. I can assure you this is more important.

Catherine Doisneau


I sent this note over to the Schoonmaker since we’ve hardly had a chance to speak to each other alone this morning. I watched you while we were receiving visitors and thought you did fairly well (although, what was that woman you spoke to so offended by?).

My mother was watching you. I saw her eyes slipping round to where you were and when you looked in her direction she’d smile again. What did the two of you talk about? I saw her draw you aside to speak to you. You seemed a little nervous during the talk, though your hand was on your hip and your eyes rolling as ever.

The walls are crashing. Jean Pierre and Georgette are not in the intended mourning spirit. It’s a good thing, when it comes to it I need noise.

Cornelia is here too looking after them but I haven’t seem much of her. She consoled me for my loss and told me many uncomforting things about God.

She’s amusing, in her unintentional way.

I don’t know what I really think about Grandfather’s death. Mother came in the room to tell me with her Bad News and I thought it would be someone else. And when she told me it was him, I was relieved. I shouldn’t have been but I was and I haven’t told anyone but you.

It isn’t that I don’t care. He’s lived near me for years but he never liked me and death won’t make me like him. He was just a man in his study. I don’t know.

I can’t bring myself to care more than being sorry, only sorry.

I feel a little guilty. I’m not used to that and I don’t like it.



If we’re on conversations I didn’t hear, what were you and James talking about? You said you didn’t know him but you certainly seemed to.
on the map: School Computers
in my heart: artistic