My first boyfriend had a very interesting background. He “came from” money – but his parents were hippies and alcoholics – who had had massive trust funds – and a lot of that money was squandered by the generation before my boyfriend really came into the picture. Yet, he grew up surrounded by big money Newport people, with yachts, etc. However – he always had to have summer jobs, he bummed around with his skateboard, his parents were always living on the edge of financial destruction. Yet my boyfriend was sent to one of the most expensive boarding schools in New England. You know … one of those weird situations that only haapen in families who once were wealthy.<\/p>\n
I’m strictly middle-class. That’s my background. I didn’t grow up knowing rich people. Not like THAT anyway. Most of my friends growing up were middle-class, too. We would take field trips to Newport to gape at the mansions, so we knew, obviously, that there is massive wealth in Rhode Island – but it just wasn’t my crowd.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, with the first boyfriend – I was introduced into that world.<\/p>\n
I wasn’t always comfortable. It takes a bit of getting used to. At least it did for me. I felt, at times, like Julia Roberts in the scene in Pretty Woman<\/i> when the wonderful Hector Alizandro shows her about silverware. I mean, I wasn’t THAT out of it, but there were times … hanging out in those crowds … when I figured the best possible way to deal with it would be to hang back, be silent, and just do what everybody else did. I had no experience with people like that.<\/p>\n
People who knew about wines, and knew how to order them. People who ordered wines and then sent them back<\/i>.<\/p>\n
People who owned lots of toys. 6 mountain bikes in the garage – for one person. And a yacht.<\/p>\n
People who were always suing their interior decorators.<\/p>\n
This is another world for me. I don’t mean to sound like a little country mouse, but that was kind of the situation.<\/p>\n
I felt intimidated.<\/p>\n
Luckily, the first boyfriend had a healthy contempt for all of it, and he also had a wonderful sense of humor. (Has.)<\/p>\n
One of his best friends from childhood (whom I had met many times, and this man – this man-boy, really – was OUT OF HIS MIND. Like Robert Downey Jr. With unlimited amounts of cash. He never had to work. He had a pretend job. He was absolutely insane, and a lot of fun – I really liked him – for about 5 minutes at a time) – Anyway, he was getting married.<\/p>\n
My boyfriend was in the wedding.<\/p>\n
So, by proxy, I was involved in the entire thing. The rehearsal dinner, the wedding brunch, the wedding … It was 3 days out of my life. The whole thing happened in Newport. This is old old old money. The groom was Newport money and the bride was Texas money. Two different types of wealth which came into stark contrast over that weekend.<\/p>\n
What ended up happening was: the two rich families ended up competing with one another, in terms of who paid the most for which event. Which, of course, meant that it was a lot of fun for us – the guests. The reception was at the Sakonnet vineyards and was one of the most elaborate gorgeous events I have ever gone to. There was no love lost between the 2 families. As a matter of fact, they despised one another, and felt competitive with one another. Also, there was actually no love lost between the groom and the bride. I caught him, during one of the toasts made at the rehearsal dinner, give her a look of such contempt that it made me catch my breath. (They were divorced within 8 months.)<\/p>\n
I had “borrowed” all of my outfits for the weekend-long extravaganza from the costume shop at the university where I went to school. I was terrified of what all those rich Newport and Texas girls woudl be wearing. So I “borrowed” a Jackie Onassis-inspired little black cocktail dress, and a vintage black hat with a little veil – I “borrowed” a black alligator-skin purse. I felt like a little girl playing dress-up. There was a lot of southern belle action going on around me, and I looked like no one else there … but at least I looked pretty fabulous. I got a lot of compliments. Phew. I was relieved.<\/p>\n
At the rehearsal dinner I was separated from my boyfriend, who sat at the bridal table. I cannot explain the WEALTH on display. It was out of control. And this is old classy money. Huge difference and (to my taste then) much more intimidating. And because I was separated from my rock, my anchor, I had no one to talk to – and I was sitting next to the sister of the groom – who apparently was an amazing artist but was so intensely shy that she would literally begin to weep during conversations.<\/p>\n
I am not exaggerating. She was obviously terrified of people. There was a schism in her somewhere. The truest part of herself was in deep hiding. She would never let it out.<\/p>\n
I tried to talk to her about her art. She sat there mutely. I wanted to put her out of her misery. In a good way. Let her know I was safe. But she was paralyzed with fear. I felt a kinship with her. I was a little girl playing dress-up, sitting at the Newport Yacht Club. She was extraordinarily rich but couldn’t speak. We both were outsiders.<\/p>\n
But we could not break through.<\/p>\n
She began to weep maybe 2 or 3 exchanges into the conversation.<\/p>\n
I gave up and then proceeded to get VERY DRUNK ALL BY MYSELF.<\/p>\n
It was awful. I guzzled 4 glasses of wine in a 45 minute period, and then suddenly – voom – I was WASTED. I suddenly channeled my ancestors, many of whom had come over on the boat from Ireland, and worked as maids in the houses of the ancestors throwing this party!! I became the Irish maid guzzling the wine in the rich people’s kitchen.<\/p>\n
I sat in my chair. Afraid to move. I thought I would fall down if I tried to get up. I was WASTED. I never get wasted, but there I was. Jackie Onassis get-up, little black veil over my face, WASTED. It was terrifying.<\/p>\n
My boyfriend kept throwing me sympathetic glances across the room.<\/p>\n
At one point, I mouthed at him, very very slowly, “I …. am …. waaaaaayyyyy … too drunk … right now…”<\/p>\n
When you’re drunk, sometimes the truth comes out. Or sometimes you see things that otherwise you might gloss over.<\/p>\n
I witnessed a moment between the bride’s mother and her 2 children which was so awful – so cold – that I felt frozen in my seat. I looked at her face and saw Satan. It was like Cathy in East of Eden.<\/p>\n
The bride and her brother had a big long gushy hug. They were siblings, and they were hugging. Whatever, it’s a wedding – completely normal.<\/p>\n
I was very moved by it. I sat there, drunk, watching the hug, in a daze of tears. Glad I didn’t have to talk to anyone, because I was way too wasted to be of use to anyone. So I just people-watched, and got all misty-eyed watching the siblings hug.<\/p>\n
Then it all turned evil.<\/p>\n
I glanced directly at the mother – hoping to bond with her – I thought I would be the little supportive Irish maid – and we would share a glance of, “Oh, isn’t it nice to see them hugging?” – but instead I saw this look of absolutely stiff-jawed mortification on her face. She was in a rage. In a rage at the public display of emotion. The bride’s mother sat in her chair, she had her hand up against her chin, and …. Okay, here’s what I saw.<\/p>\n
Even though it was a private moment between brother and sister (the rehearsal dinner had broken up into a party, with different conversations going on, people milling about, lots of different stuff happening) – So even though, NOBODY was even paying attention to the bride at this point, the mother was a TOTAL narcissist – and believed at all moments that all eyes were on her. So she FELT like everyone was looking at her. She felt that everyone was looking at the gushy hug of her children, and judging it, and then looking at HER to see how she would take it. I saw all of this on her face. Paralyzing awareness of everyone looking at her (even though nobody was – well, except for me). Second of all, she was obviously tremendously embarrassed (and not only embarrassed, but offended) by emotion, and she could not wait for the hug to end.<\/p>\n
I then heard her murmur, again – to herself – but it was really for the invisible audience that she has watching her at all times – she murmured, with this frozen smile on her face, “Break it up … break it up…”<\/p>\n
I was way too drunk, people. I felt a veil being drawn back so that I was staring directly into the heart of darkness. I couldn’t speak. I clutched my stolen alligator-purse. I felt a breath of cold wind flow over my drunken soul.<\/p>\n
BREAK IT UP? You want to BREAK UP a loving embrace between YOUR TWO CHILDREN??? What the hell is wrong with you? What happened to you that has made you SO miss the point of life? You are embarrassed because your children are hugging? Wow, lady. You’re a loser.<\/p>\n
I just … my mind blanked.<\/p>\n
My boyfriend, bless him, saw that something was happening with his girlfriend across the room. I was horrified. I couldn’t stop staring at the bride’s mother, and how her jaw clenched, and how she smiled a little bit, and glanced around the table (and nobody was looking at her – but she thought they were), and how her eyes were cold as ice … I felt like I was going to lose it. I must have looked a fright. My boyfriend basically got up, left his table, and came over to me.<\/p>\n
I tried to keep it together. I was WASTED. (Have I mentioned how WASTED I was? I only keep mentioning it because it is such a rarity. I was suddenly sloshy falling-down drunk. I didn’t know what I was going to do. And I also was … I couldn’t believe how that mother looked at her own children … I couldn’t get over it …)<\/p>\n
My boyfriend sat down next to me, and I grabbed his lapel and pulled him close to me so I could hiss in his ear. “Help. Me. Help. Me. For God’s sake. Help. I am too drunk to be in public right now.”<\/p>\n
“Okay. We’ll leave soon.”<\/p>\n
“And I just saw something so horrible … so horrible … when I’m not so drunk, I have to do an imitation of it for you.”<\/p>\n
(Later, once I sobered up, I did an imitation of the “break it up” moment for him, and it very quickly has passed into folklore. He would make me do it for EVERYONE. “Do ‘Break it up’ Do ‘Break it up’!” Mitchell still references “the break it up lady”. As long as one can turn horror into comedy, life is worth living!)<\/p>\n
Finally, my boyfriend said goodnight to the groom (who had completely ignored his bride-to-be the entire night – I felt like I was surrounded by lunatics) … and came to help me back to the car. I was afraid to stand up. I was at the Newport damn Yacht Club in a cocktail dress I had, let’s face it, STOLEN from the costume shop at the university … and I was afraid I would fall down, or puke … in front of all those people. I’ll be honest: I felt like I was a better person, emotionally, than most eveyrone there. I felt so THANKFUL that the “break it up” lady was not my mother. I felt like I was glad I was ME and not THEM. But at the same time, they intimidated the SHIT out of me. I felt like they could SMELL my lack of money on me. I don’t care about that stuff … but it matters to those people … and so anyway. I felt like I would never recover if I made a drunken slobbery fool of myself. My boyfriend, though, just like Cary Grant helping Katharine Hepburn leave the club in Bringing up Baby<\/i> when her dress was ripped – made it seem like we were having a normal exit, he shielded me from having to walk out by myself … I kept murmuring, as we walked out of that echo-chamber room on the Newport Bay: “Holy crap … I cannot believe how drunk I am … I am … help … how did this happen … I have to tell you about the break it up lady …”<\/p>\n
Finally, we were out in the crisp salt air. We drove home with the windows wide open. I drank a gallon of water. I felt much better.<\/p>\n
The wedding the next day was a whole other nightmare.<\/p>\n
The groom’s sweet pathologically shy sister had a nervous breakdown at the brief rehearsal at the church – and NOBODY WAS SYMPATHETIC to her, NOBODY helped her – except for my boyfriend and my boyfriend’s beautiful brother. She was supposed to do a reading (which just goes to show you out of touch with reality this family was – you ask her to do a reading??? She can’t even have a conversation and you ask her to do a reading??? I’m a STRANGER and I know she would not be capable of that!!) So she at the rehearsal she walked up to the pulpit, but she literally was shaking so hard that you could hear the paper in her hand fluttering.<\/p>\n
I felt … I wanted to stand up and scream STOP! I felt like I was surrounded by a bunch of lunatics!<\/p>\n
She stood there for an interminable amount of time – and then – completely cracked – in front of the entire crowd – sobbing, sobbing into her hands.<\/p>\n
I began to cry myself. I felt horrible. I felt angry.<\/p>\n
The second she started to cry, I saw “Break it up” lady shake her head disapprovingly, and turn to her husband and murmur, “I told you she wasn’t up for it.”<\/p>\n
She wasn’t just disapproving of the choice of the shy girl as a reader – she disapproved of the public-ness of the breakdown. She also was visibly triumphant because she had been RIGHT. She had “I told you so” written all over her. She had contempt, as I said before, for emotion. No compassion. Not one drop of it in her veins. I’m telling you. She was an anomaly as a human being. Like Cathy in East of Eden.<\/p>\n
Shy girl’s family abandoned her up there. Nobody moved to help her. If I saw one of my sisters crying in public, even if they were speaking at a presidential feckin’ inauguration – nothing would stop me from running up there, and helping them. I don’t care if a gazillion people see! But she started crying, and nobody moved. Everyone was just stiff and mortified. Her brother didn’t move to help her, her parents didn’t move, and Break it Up lady judged, yet also SEETHED with triumph for having been right. It was horrible. There was something seriously wrong with all of these people. My boyfriend and his brother both immediately broke out of the groomsmen line and walked over to her, and helped her away, sobbing. Later, I saw my boyfriend’s brother sitting with her – and he was such a sweetheart – so nice – he was one of the only people who get her talking about her art, about her life – she trusted him – and he even got her laughing about the breakdown. He read over her reading and said, “I don’t even know what half of these words mean. It’s a stupid reading. I wouldn’t even know how to have it make sense.”<\/p>\n
See what I mean? He was a good person.<\/p>\n
The whole thing was a travesty.<\/p>\n
And yet: because I am who I am: HIGHLY enjoyable. In a weird way.<\/p>\n
It was rich rich stuff. (Rich, in terms of people-watching, and rich, in terms of the money poured into this wedding between 2 people who didn’t even like each other all that much!)<\/p>\n
When the 3 day event was finally over, my boyfriend and I shrieked out of Newport in our Honda Civic, blasting Elvis Costello, and howling with laughter about all the lunatics. Thanking God we had escaped. “Do ‘break it up’ again – oh come on – do it again!” he would shout. I would tense up my jaw, make my eyes small and lizard-like – and I wouldn’t even have to SAY anything … I didn’t even GET to “break it up” in my imitation – the second I would tense my jaw my boyfriend would GUFFAW with laughter. He was an awesome audience.<\/p>\n
I had to have a private moment with her … I just HAD to. I wanted to test the boundaries. I wanted to see if her evil really went that deep. I wanted to see if I treated her with kindness, openness, and gratitude if she would melt a little bit. You know how some bitchy people can be completely disarmed if you do not meet their bitchiness head to head and continue being kind and sweet? Sometimes they even start to apologize immediately, because you have disarmed them. “God, sorry … I’m having a crappy day …” Suddenly, their humanity comes out? You know how that happens sometimes? I just wanted to see what would happen if I did that with her. A little experiment.<\/p>\n
So at the end of the reception, I went over to her to thank her for a lovely time. And, actually, we had had a lovely time. The reception was a BLAST. I walked over to her, and said, “Thank you so much … I have had such a great time …” She looked up at me with her cold lizard eyes, and again her jaw tensed, and she said, “The caterer is going to hear from me tomorrow, you had better believe it. The incompetence has been outrageous.”<\/p>\n
Wow.<\/p>\n
Okay.<\/p>\n
That’s all the confirmation I need, lady! You’re rich, but you’re a loser, and you’ve missed the point of life!<\/p>\n
Thanks!!<\/p>\n
I have nothing against wealth, by the way. I’d like a little bit myself. But I walked away from that event feeling like I had been in a crazy fun-house. I knew what I had seen had been distorted – by my own intimidation, not to mention my drunkenness at the rehearsal dinner – I couldn’t tell what was real, and what was my own projected anxieties – but I’ll tell you one thing: I know what I saw on her face when she said “Break it up” – I don’t care how drunk I was. I know what I saw.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My first boyfriend had a very interesting background. He “came from” money – but his parents were hippies and alcoholics – who had had massive trust funds – and a lot of that money was squandered by the generation before … Continue reading