The strange life that you have chosen to live is a strange comfort to me, though. I don’t miss the housekeeping money I send you and it’s like a secret joke when your father reads my itemized household expense lists with large
“miscellaneous” amounts that I refuse to explain. He, of course, considers you just someone in hiding from the real responsibilities of life. I know that the circumstances of our family life and theirs too has done something to you. You cannot live the way other people do and I love you for not pretending to. Your musical interests must give you comfort and I always buy the records you tell me to buy even though the music is not normally the type of music I enjoy. Your father and sisters ignore the records and suspect that I buy them only to be in touch with you in this difficult absence of yours, but they don’t know that they are direct recommendations! I only listen to them when the others are out and with all the lights off in the house. Every day I intercept the mailman before he gets to our house so the others will not know that you are contacting me.
This is our secret. We are new to living this way, you and me, but even if we have to live this way always like long lost pen pals living in the same city I will do it because I understand the terrible things this long history of insanity both our families has endured has done to you. I understand and I don’t judge you. That is my Christmas gift to you.
Love,
Mother
Side 112
Ellroy – White Jazz
Neat handwriting, ridged paper–non-print-sustaining. No Richie confirmation;
“Long history of insanity/both our families.” My peeper: mother/father/sisters.
“Circumstances of our family life and theirs too has done something to you.”
December 24, 1957
Dear Son,
Merry Christmas even though I don’t feel the Christmas spirit and even though the jazz Christmas albums you told me to buy didn’t cheer me up, because the melodies were so out of kilter to my more traditional ear. I just feel tired.
Maybe I have iron poor blood like on the Geritol TV commercials, but I think it is more like an accumulation that has left me physically exhausted on top of the other. I feel like I want it to be over. I feel more than anything else like I just don’t want to know any more. Three months ago I said I was close to doing it and it spurred you to do a rash thing. I don’t want to do that again.
Sometimes when I play some of the prettier songs on the records you suggest to me I think that heaven will be like that and I get close. Your sisters are no comfort. Since your father gave me what that prostitute gave him I can only use him for his money, and if I had my druthers I would give you all the money anyway. Write to me. The mail gets bollixed up at Xmastime, but I’ll be watching for the postman at all different times.
Love,
Mother
Sisters/music/well-heeled father.
Mother suicidal–close three months before–“it spurred you to do a rash thing.”
“Your father gave me what that prostitute gave him.”
The peeper tape, Trick Man to Lucille: “that little dose you gave me.”
Doug Ancelet fires Lucille–“She gave these tricks of hers the gonorrhea.”
Snap call:
The peeper taped Lucille and _his own father_.
“Insanity.”
“Both our families.”
“Our family life and _theirs_ too has done something to you.”
I drove home, changed, grabbed the tape rig, extra sketches and my john list. A pay-phone stop, a call to Exley–I pitched him hard, no explanation: Leroy Carpenter/Steve Wenzel/Patrick Orchard–I want them. Send squadroom men out–_I want those pushers detained_.
Exley agreed–grudgingly. Agreed too: Wilshire Station detention. Suspicious: Why not 77th?
Unsaid:
I’m having a cop killed/I don’t want Dudley Smith around–he’s too close to this fur-thief cop–
“I’ll implement it, Lieutenant. But I want a full report on your interrogations.”
“Yes, sir!”
10:30 A.M.–Premier Escorts should be open.
Side 113
Ellroy – White Jazz
Out to Beverly Hills–Rodeo off the Beverly Wilshire. Open: a groundfloor suite, a receptionist.