Fourth Monday Susan Speaks: Pammie Story #2

Setting the stage: Family life and quirks

By Susan C. Price

[Sequel to “Pammie stories,” published on July 22]

As I mentioned before, Pam was a friend of mine. We met in the early 1970s at work, during her first marriage, to Doug. At this time they lived in Long Beach, and Pam and I worked for the State of California in offices in Downtown Los Angeles. Pam was a very intelligent, educated, cultured, stylish woman of taste. And some refinement. And...not.
    Pam was known for sexual escapades, style, fine clothing, art collecting, her love of Opera, interior design, business ideas, cooking, gardening, a great sense of humor, buying and selling homes, home remodeling (I lost count of the number of times she would say, “Well, I have to get back to sanding the baseboards”), cats, love of wine, “love” of men, surprisingly enduring friendships, judgmental attitudes, and hating to be judged by anyone, least of all, friends. Convinced of her own superiority, she had many ideas and interests...and, ultimately, great sadness. But then, that’s my view of her.
    Pam drank...occasionally to excess and later, daily....as in all day long. Pam said, when I questioned her with concern, “I am self-medicating, I KNOW that!” Pam claimed that both the “self-medication” and her frequent sexual affairs, were the result of dysfunctional parenting (her first ex-husband described her parents as “...the coldest people I ever met!”). Pam would recall bitterly her mother, Gertrude’s strict and mean standard of serving leftovers on Sunday. “You will sit there until you finish that leftover liver!” Pam says she sat for two days. Pam also said that her mother was institutionalized when Pam was about 3 ...for “post-partum depression.”

To me, one of the interesting parts of this is that Pam idolized her father. She seemed to think he was something of a saint. She always referred to him fondly as “Mr Sleep.” His ashes were still in their shiny box on the bookcase in her home in Ashland when she became ill and died. I never met the man, but several of her friends did, found him “skeevy” and wondered about exactly what had taken place in that Father-Daughter relationship. Some sort of impropriety would make sense with Pam’s issues with men, but Pam told EVERY story about her life, and that story never surfaced.
    I don’t think Pam ever told me what her therapist had to say about it all. After some years of therapy, Pam determined that the therapy was not worth the cost. Later, when I asked if she didn’t perhaps need some help again, she claimed she had an online therapist/card reader.

BABY: Pam of course had affairs and romances in college. In fact, she became pregnant by her college boyfriend, and her folks made her hide out at an out-of-town home for unwed mothers for six months, and required her to give the baby up for adoption. Some of that was simply the times, that is what many did.

GERTRUDE’S REVENGE: After Pam’s mother died in a nursing home in Orange County, her ashes were sent north to Pam. Finally, after over a year, Pam decided that she wanted to spread the ashes on Mt. Tamalpais. A female friend and Pam made the walk up Mt. Tam, one of their favorite hikes. As Pam opened the urn...a breeze came up, neatly spreading the ashes all over her. Pam screamed, “Goddammit Gertrude, YOU ALWAYS SPOIL EVERYTHING!”

TO-GO GLASS: One of the first of Pam’s “quirks” I experienced was that she always took a “to-go” glass of wine when she drove—including the 60 miles from her house to my house and back. I thought it dangerous, of course, illegal no doubt, and just a little...daring. Once, Pam asked for a to-go glass from my home. When shown all the options of available glasses, she un-erringly picked the most expensive and most stylish glass...of which I only possessed ONE. I was annoyed, thinking she should have picked an inexpensive glass, both to be polite, and to guard against the cost of replacing a lost or broken glass. I said...nothing. And that tells you probably all you need to know about our relationship, and Pam’s expectations of fine things and fine service.

Our frequent phone conversations through the years were always studded with Pam’s no-holds-barred comments on race, money, manners, etc. In and after the San Francisco years, she became devastatingly bitter about “The Castro” area of the city and its gay inhabitants...not to mention Asians. Also, any female she did not like was a “cunt.” I ultimately asked her to stop using that word, as I found it so offensive. Pam was an expert and inexhaustible complainer.
    Pam was also known for endlessly creating ideas to make money. Lots of ideas and schemes...some follow thru...but little persistence of effort. This quirk of endless ideas and jobs became the strange and probably dementia-heralding hallmark of her final years.
    In the cocaine trade referenced in the next Pammie story, Pam was a tad reluctant to participate, but was mostly bragging about the daring of it all. And, of course, she liked to use it, too.
    In one of her Long Beach area homes, she raised geese in the back yard to make foie gras. The eggs were a bonus, but she complained mightily about the goose poop. She never sold any of it, finally getting rid of the geese (I don’t think they were “served” to us?) when she moved out of that home.

Pam left State Service for a number of private sector jobs in San Francisco: including working as a general “factotum” to a chef who was trying to write a cookbook. Inspired with her talents, she had cards printed with FACTOTUM to attract other clients, but did little marketing. I heard endless details about the selection of the card paper and fonts, and little if any about marketing. One time she called gleefully to say she was going to make and sell “Roman” shades for windows.
    She conceived, wrote, and produced a “mystery” party game and actually sold one. She donated one such game to a charity auction, hoping to find more interest and buyers. Typically, she found the demands of the auction winner for explanations and alterations tedious and stupid. She wrote a fine piece on a Thanksgiving Goose episode with friends, and began (and paid for writing coaching) on a mystery novel about her final affair with Nick. But she never finished it.
    In the early years of our friendship, Pam’s cooking and hostessing talents were legendary. The rest of us were just learning, she seemed the expert. She certainly thought of herself as one. One holiday season, she held a “Ladies Night” in her home that became an annual tradition: lots of food and liquor (I still make her “takes-two-days-to-prepare” Eggnog), stringing of popcorn and cranberries for the tree, and the singing of Christmas carols. One weekend Pam joined us in Santa Monica to cook for a small dinner party with mutual pals. She began to cook her Pasta Puttanesca recipe (according to Wikipedia, the name “derives from the Italian word for whore, puttana”—appropriate for Pam somehow). Pam succeeded in over-salting a salty recipe to the point of inedibility, and over-drinking to the point that she went face down in her plate at the dinner table.

FRIENDSHIP: In a surprising way, Pam was quite a good and persistent friend. She was a constant caller. Occasionally, she called too much and while I was working in a “regular” 8-5 job, she did not understand why I needed to get off the phone and back to what they were paying me to do. “What!” she exclaimed, “don’t you understand that the remodeling I am supervising on my home, is my WORK? This is how I make my income. I am just on my “break,” and YOU should respect THAT!” she complained. Her friendship could also be withdrawn for a period. If you offended her or disagreed with her, you would not hear from her for a bit. She referred to this as “putting you in drawer 12.” But, eventually, either the friend (yup, sometimes me) or she would “break.” If it was me, I would find a way to semi-apologize (if I could figure out what pissed her off), or she would get bored and call to resume without any explanation. Another old pal judged Pam harshly for having an affair with a married man. Pam cut her off and out of her will, “Hell,” Pam whined, “she had an affair with a married man, even slept with him the night before his wedding! What’s she doing judging ME?!” They never spoke again.

Next time: Pammie Story #3—Sex
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Copyright © 2013 by Susan C. Price

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