My little sister Pam always wanted to be a princess. She would make crowns from construction paper, and gowns from whatever old stuff was laying around the attic, and she would talk me into pulling her around in the wagon like she was Cinderella and we had to get back before midnight or the wagon would turn into a pumpkin. Which would have been about the only thing to grow on the place.
We're growing up on a shit-poor farm outside Perris; what my stepfather is mostly growing is withered lettuce, withered corn, and a few withered tomatoes because he doesn't have the money to irrigate. We have a few cows, some sheep, and 'Dad' even tried raising goats for the milk products but the dairy equipment is too expensive so that goes bust, too.
I'm the tomboy and Pam's the princess. I want the Chuck Taylor high-tops and she wants the glass slippers. I want to dunk, she wants to dance.
Stepfather drinks and mi madre works: a workaholic and an alcoholic and it's sort of a dysfunctional trickle- down theory: I catch the work thing but the taste for the booze trickles down to Pam.
But I loved her, Letty tells him, and this you must understand, Jack: Pam was a wonderful person.
A loving, giving, dear, and wonderful person.
When Dad and Mom would fight, like eight nights a week, I'd be upstairs in our bedroom trying to block out the noise and Pam would come up and tell me stories to get me out of there, you know? It's like I took care of her physically, she took care of me emotionally. She'd tell the greatest stories about princes and princesses and fairyland and monsters and dragons and wizards and handsome knights. As we got older the details changed but the basic plots stayed the same. She'd say how we were going to go off to college and join the same sorority and meet these totally wonderful guys and get married.
We'd get out of Perris and come here — Letty waves a hand around the harbor and the ocean — to the gold coast, where the money and the good times are, and we'd have money and good times.
And looking at her, you'd believe her. For one thing, she was drop-dead gorgeous — have you seen any pictures of her? She was so beautiful, Letty says. The kind of striking looks that made you think she could come out here and get guys. Guys with looks and money.
And she did, Jack says.
She did, Letty agrees.
She's seventeen when she splits. A junior in high school. I'm already with the Sheriff's when she takes off. For a long time I blamed myself, because I got my own apartment and left her alone out on that farm. Anyway, she can't take it anymore so without a word to anyone she splits for L.A.
Gets herself a shitty little place in Santa Monica she shares with four other girls and gets a job serving drinks at some yahoo bar. Gets hit on a thousand times a night but she's not about to go out with — never mind go to bed with — the young guys who take turns buying pitchers.
She saves every cent she can and buys one good bathing suit, one good day dress, one good evening dress and then she hits the beach. She has that jet-black hair and Liz Taylor eyes and the big boobs and little butt and she goes out trolling for the A-list guys. She's on the beach in this little black number and she gets attention, she gets invited to parties and if she likes the address, she goes.
Pretty soon she's hitting so many parties, she cuts her work nights down to three a week, and no weekends, thank you very much. All she needs is rent money, really, because she's eating at the parties, she's going out to lunch, she's going out to breakfast.
She's hitting parties in Hollywood, in Brentwood, in Beverly Hills. She's sailing to Catalina, she's doing day trips on fishing boats, she's cruising down for dinners in Newport Beach and Laguna.
And the girl's not putting out.
You gotta get this, Jack. Pam's not giving it up, for anyone. And the guys put up with it, they're so smitten. She has the face and the body and the personality. And she's funny and warm, she has the whole package, so they keep chasing.
And she's not getting caught.
Pam's waiting for the real thing.
She wants the whole Cinderella deal. She wants the prince, and the money, and she wants love.
She's not a gold digger, Jack. She has plenty of opportunities, but she tells me, I have to love him, Letty. I have to love him.
She's at a party at Las Brisas in Laguna Beach when she meets Nick. The restaurant sits on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. The jacarandas are in full scented bloom, lanterns glow from trees, a Mexican guitar plays love songs, and the moonlight sparkles on the water.
Nick sees her and walks her outside.
First words out of his mouth?
You look like a princess.
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His mother didn't approve, Letty says.
No kidding? says Jack.
They've finished lunch and they're walking along the marina. Hundreds of sailboats and motorboats bob with the outgoing tide.
A twenty-two-year-old high school dropout? Letty says. From some farm? Mother Russia hated her. If you have to marry a shiksa, you can't find a rich shiksa? From an established family?
'Good thing she didn't know Pam was half Mexican,' Letty says. 'She would have had a stroke. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing…'
Anyway, Mother Russia hated her.
But Nick knows he's holding the trump card.
'Grandchildren,' Jack says.
'You got it.'
Nick is getting up there and Mother Russia is getting nervous that the family name will die with her bachelor son. And also, the usual rumors are going around: He's thirty-five and unmarried?
Anyway, Mother Russia summons Pam and Nick into the living room of the living dead and says, 'My son is infatuated with you, but that's just because he can't get into your pants.'
Pam says, 'Mrs. Valeshin, if he ever does get into my pants, he'll be more infatuated than ever.'
This makes Mother choke on her tea and gives old Nick a woody that lasts at least until the honeymoon.
Huge wedding, held outside at the House. They have a rabbi and a minister, who talk a lot about how they share a common cultural heritage and after all, Jesus was a Jew. It's plain that Nick's paid them not to step too hard on the religious thing, so they're a little vague on the details but very heavy on the humanism. Anyway, Nick and Pam exchange rings and step on glasses and they're pronounced man and wife.
'Wait a second,' Jack says. 'You were invited?'
'As her friend' Letty says. 'I'm ashamed to tell you that I went. Mi madre had already worked herself to death, stepfather too drunk to give a damn. And I didn't want to ruin it for her. She was happy. Christ, Mother Russia was freaked she wasn't Jewish — if they'd found out she was half Mexican they would have annulled the marriage and made her do the dishes. Or half of them, anyway.'
Splashy reception, of course, right there at Monarch Bay, and I was hoping for balalaikas and guys doing that dance where they squat and kick but there is none of that. This party is so Orange County money you could fall asleep standing.
But Pam, she is a princess.
To the manor born, like she's taken lessons or something.
What I kept hearing as I wend my numbed body around the party: Where did he ever find her?
And it's said in admiration.
Envy.
Pam's a star.
If the movie ends there, Letty says, you have fucking Sabrina.
