Oh, Mindy.

I’m sorry to inform you.`

[Part One, Seven]


I  hurt for Mindy in her condition, and I wish her the best. I am sorry to inform you this did not reach Sam. Sam has entered into rehab again. I am handling all his affairs while he focuses on getting himself together. I can help you get in contact with a therapist Mindy, and I shared when we did ‘TomTom’ together.  I attached the number:

Dr. Hedina Moore

555 293 9439

Best of Luck,



P.S. Please, never contact Sam again. I know you’re trying to help Mindy but the press is going to be massive, and I don’t need any more salacious headlines about Sam in the news, you know what I mean? I’m sure you do.






Oh, Mindy

“I don’t know what to do.”

[Part One, Six]


I don’t know what to do with this point. I tried to get her to see her self-destructive ways are harming not only herself but her business and brand.  She still treats me as if I am the bad guy. I wouldn’t spend this much time with her if I didn’t care, but I do care. At this point, I don’t know what to do anymore. She called me a social climber, me? Can you believe it?

I am reaching out to you that maybe you can talk to her.



Oh, Mindy.

You’d think there would be some common ground…



[part one, five]




You’re a piece of trash. That’s how I feel about you, and not even recyclable. You’re the kind of garbage that is harmful to the environment.

It’s hard to trust these days, everyone is out to make a name for them on the back of hurting you. I know about you. I see the kind of friend you have been to me and others. You are no friend of mine. You like to pretend you have my best interest at heart, but depending on who else is around you, that interest changes.

I remember you left me to defend myself against my attackers while you and your little crew recorded my trauma for your hilarity. When I told you how I felt about it, you dismissed me, only to casually promise me that those men were not “actually” going to hurt me. In fact, I’m still dealing with the anguish to this day. I can’t even go to awards after-party anymore because of it. You, on the other hand, you’re out celebrating each year as if you won an award for your local mediocrity.

You’re a social climber and a sellout. I have nothing but the worst intentions for you in past, present and future endeavors you may have. If you’re looking to be this person who claims they care about me. Turn yourself in and admit what you did, and what you’re hiding.


Otherwise, don’t ever contact me.



Oh, Mindy.

Lawernce can care less what Mindy feels. Or can he?

[part one, four]



You’re way off center, and your balance is off, even from afar, I can tell you’re not doing well. Despite this all, I love and care about you. I want you to get the help you need. I phoned you three days ago, it seems you instead have my calls go straight to voicemail. I am trying to do better for you now, forget about what I did and didn’t do in the past, that is behind us. I want you to be better for you and for your career. Think about the fickle public, do you think they’re going to forget that you’re making this break up messier than it has to be? This will forever be on your “celebrity chat” even if you change and you reconcile. They’re never going to live this down.

I hope you take warning. You’re slipping down a dangerous slope



Oh, Mindy.

Mindy has had enough, apparently.

[part one, three]



I saw your email; my assistant read your correspondence to me out loud.

You’re some piece of work.

Your concern although appreciated is as fake as our friendship and partnership.

Admit it, we are friends out of convenience, not that you really have any love or respect for me. You’re the same you that will gladly throw me under the bus to advance whatever status you think your pathetic career has. You were the one who sold salacious stores about me in the media, only to act like you had no idea why I was so upset with you or what was going on. I wonder, who was around you when you wrote that piece of shit you, call a letter. Do yourself a favor; stay out of my business like you visit out of my life unless there is a movie’s premiere you want to go.

If you had half the energy begging for me to stop what makes me feel good, and put it in that pathetic stage career you have. You’d be doing bigger shows instead of being left out in local theater runs.

If you’re that concerned about me, stop dropping my name to gain access to exclusive clubs and events. I’m tired of hearing about you and that washed up the career you tote around.

Now that I think about it, you name drop me way more than you call me.


Shush it,




Oh, Mindy.

[Part One, I.]
Mindy didn’t think she had to write this letter, but it served well.


I’ll never get to say this to you, but I wanted you to know. You were unfaithful. I know you have a baby with your mistress.

I understand celebrity marriages fall apart. I didn’t think we would fall apart like this.

Didn’t I give you everything you could of wanted and more? I don’t want to call her names because she didn’t take vows with me, but how can you leave me for the washed-up teenage icon next door?

I was kind to you. Wasn’t I? I almost died to have your child. Didn’t my family turn their back on me when I said ‘yes’ to you? I gave my time, the most precious thing of it all. Only for you to throw it away for a someone who could never work in this town again.

Your mid-life crisis destroyed our union. I hope it was worth the pain, embarrassment, and agony you caused.

I can’t get back at you because I don’t have that kind of power. All I can do is sit and wait for you to know the truth about your mistress.

That’s all I can do.





Flora Mill had always loved the quaint courtyard with it’s weak, tame trees. It was an excellent place for her to feel sad peacefully alone.


She was a cunning, snotty, drunk with dark eyes and a stout, hairy body. Her paid friends romanticized her rude, snappy ways as her being curt and to the point. Once, she saved a kitten stuck in her tree. That was her saving grace for the rest of her life. Otherwise, she was unbearable at most.

Flora walked over to the bench to reflect on her elegant surroundings. The clouds danced like drunk people only looking to have a fun time on the dance floor and nothing more.

Then Flora saw something in the distance, no, someone. It was Wendy Golora, a tight bodied author with toned arms.

Flora gulped. She was not prepared for Wendy

Flora stepped toward her house as Wendy stormed closer, Flora could see the mad gleam in her eye.

“I am here because I want revenge,” Wendy bellowed, in a brash tone. She pushed her hand against Flora’s chest with all her might. “I hate you, Flora Mill.”

Flora flung back, keeping her pride and her clothing together. She crashed hard on the ground. “Wendy, I wanted to be friends,” she replied.

They looked at each other with remorse feelings. They were like two adventurous, afraid mice hopping from corner to corner at a crowded party looking for food droppings, which had jazz music playing in the background and two friendly cats each hunting to the beat of the mouse.

Flora regarded Wendy’s softened brow and toned arms. She held out her hand. “Let’s not fight,” she whispered, gently.

“Hmph,” pondered Wendy.

“Please?” begged Flora with puppy dog eyes.

Wendy looked defeated, her face blushing like a rosy, bottom kettle.

Then Wendy came inside for a nice glass of wine.

The wave of desperation.

She says shes’ going to take him back because what else does she know. The man in a monster but she’s the kind to think just because he’s unfaithful sometimes doesn’t mean he’s not a loyal man. I can’t help but look at her like she’s crazy, but what do I care? I don’t have to subject myself to that kind of strain just to say I have someone who smells like outside all the time to lay up next to me. I have standards.

Standards that have to allow me to have seen my best life pass before my eyes. The ones I miss that interaction with human beings because put up a front that I somewhat am alone. The kind that has me wishing I had a family of my own. The type of standards that have scared me away from thinking I can’t get anyone at my age because I am too harsh and old to be loved by another human being. The kind that has to be relishing and embellishing my humor in my loneliness. The humming wail of my fan is the closest I have with interaction, with the noise that fills dead space.

I was thinking about my loneliness as I spent my day with friends and family, I wasn’t alone that day, but the creeping feeling of the not unspoken social contract all women are assumed under. That nuanced pressure I had in the back of my head had me feeling as if I am on a remote island, stranded. I was relishing my humor when I was visiting friends. It wasn’t the desperation of not having a partner that was killing me, but the question of why and if I should. Another calm in my waves of desperation.

8:07 P.M.

“Get over it!” is what she says out loud when her brain overloads with thoughts. She can’t forget about the things she should have said and the things she should have kept to herself. All she really wants is a redo to curse people out when she felt powerless and bullied into dignified silence. She is usually up all night going over fake, triumphant speeches in her head. The way she would let them have it if she had to do it all again.

Deep down she feels silly for not jumping when she knew the ship was going under. The times she never listened to her intuition when it was begging her to be herself. The fake relationships kept up for appearances, her logic knew she should have left alone. However, she also has blame in it too. She stayed in the planned destruction, knowing the kinds of animals she was training. But see, she wanted to be entertained. She wanted things to report back to any gossiping hen that would listen.

She didn’t want to make a change because that would be too hard. Instead of letting go and getting on. She knew what to say and do in order to retell victimhood stories filled with unbeknownst deceit and betrayal to any blathering hen that would let her belt it out. It is ironic she is upset when the chaos goes her way. She is in denial, she is a foolish woman who always plays the victim; remember what I said about people who gladly walk in the fire? She’s the kind to let things burn, as long as she can cry on the news how she lost everything including her lighter.