Mrs. Duncan Fitzhugh
from Unseen Character
(A woman who vaguely resembles Amanda Wingfield sits at the head of the table in the dining room.)
I am so glad I married your son, Mother Fitzhugh. I nearly married that Wingfield boy. Can you believe that? He had neither money nor looks. I don’t know what I was thinking.
He was a good salesman all right. He promised me a new pair of high-heeled shoes every month. He would massage my feet and caress my ankles and tell me my well-gifted calves were perfectly made for the elevation of high-heeled shoes. He said that I would make the perfect Cinderella. His perfect Cinderella. He said that I had the desire for transformation just bubbling under my translucent skin. I may make a fine Cinderella, but he sure was no Prince to me.
I love being a Fitzhugh. Can’t imagine the life of being a Wingfield.
I like signing my checks now. Such power in signing a check! The cursive signature is becoming second nature now. The capital F and lowercase z and then followed by the two curly h’s. I feel as if I am writing poetry every time I sign my name.
And sometimes I write, in the memo line of the check, “Just Because.” Just because I can.
I was born to be a Fitzhugh.
“It fits you, being a Fitzhugh,” your son told me on our honeymoon night. He picked me up and carried me over that threshold, and then I gave him more woman than a woman should be allowed to give a man.
I feel as if I am living a fairy tale, living out in Connecticut. I take the train on Wednesdays to have lunch with him. Wolf of Wall Street is what they call him. I married the Wolf of Wall Street!
You raised a fine specimen of a son, Mother Fitzhugh. You shine in the mothering department. I’d like a big, strapping son. I’d like three sons. I want to be the type of mother who raises three handsome sons, like you did. I don’t think I have it in me to raise a daughter. Such devotion in raising a daughter. I do not want to abandon my extraordinary life in order to raise a daughter. That might sound selfish, but truly I am only looking after her. She would demand so much of my attention.
Listen to me! Going on and on about the daughter I’ll never have! 