Subject: Remembering Desireé Ferguson
Hello friends,
I am Carmen Taylor, Desireé Ferguson is my sister. I recently saw some of the pictures that my father had taken of Desireé and I thought his pictures were an excellent tribute to her. But pictures need words. In the coming months I will begin compiling a pictorial memoir to my sister. If any of you, her friends, would like to contribute some memory of Desireé or a story, or a picture you'd like to contribute, please e-mail me. It is my desire to create something that is Desireé. So keep it real.
Carmen Taylor
With that out of the way, Carmen flipped through the pages of Desireé's phone book. Axle Grant, Robert Pettibone, Ira Stinson, I remember those names.
Carmen laid across her bed and began to read the mail that she took from her sister’s drawer and the files she'd copied from her computer. By a quarter to four it had stopped raining and Carmen was tired of reading and tired of being cooped up in that room. She hated living out of her suitcase and she was beginning to miss cooking for herself. She decided to look for some place to move to.
A furnished one bedroom, maybe.
Carmen picked up the paper and headed for the door. She would look through the classified section once she was out of the room. She opened the door.
“Hello, Carmen,” Dominique said standing in the doorway. “I was just about to knock.”
“What are you doing here, mother?”
“I knew you wouldn't come to see me. Can I come in?”
“No, mother you can't come in. I was just about to leave. I can't spend another minute in here,” Carmen said, closing the door. She gently pushed past Dominique and began walking down the hall. “I was about to go hunt for a furnished one bedroom.” Carmen stopped and turned to face Dominique. Maybe I just need to forgive her and move on. “Why don't you come with me, mother? You always did have good taste.”
“I would be honored, Carmen,” Dominique said, and her face lit up the hallway.
“Good. You drive.”
“You still don't like driving, do you, Carmen?”
“I hate it, mother. And traffic has gotten so bad here. I don't know how you stand it.”
“Like everything else, you get conditioned to conditions.”
Once they were in Dominique's car, Carmen looked at the ads for furnished apartments.
“Here's one, Virginia Highlands, fully furnished, one bedroom with a den, one bath. AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY, it says in capital letters, I guess that was to get my attention. Maybe the owner will be motivated enough to do a week to week.”
“Why do you need an apartment?”
“I may be here for a while.”
“You know you can always stay at the house. Your father and I would love to have you.”
“Mother, I need my space and I like my privacy.”
“I didn't come here to argue with you. It's just an offer. You can stay there until you find something.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Carmen said, realizing she was getting defensive.
“And you need to start calling me Dominique. Every time you call me mother, it makes my flesh crawl. It's like you hate me.”
“I think that's why I started doing it.”
Dominique smiled at Carmen. “I was hoping that if you called me Dominique, maybe we could start over and maybe we could become friends.”
“I'd like to try, Dominique. But I need to talk to my Mommy one more time first. I want you to know that I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused everybody. And to thank you, Mommy, for all that you tried to do for me.”
“Thank you for saying that, Carmen. It means a lot just to hear you say that.”