From: David Pacheco <firstname.lastname@example.org> Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: My life with Dee Dee Myers Date: Wed, 1 Dec 1999 14:27:03 -0000 Organization: NO CARRIER Lines: 124 Message-ID: <MPG.email@example.com> X-Trace: 944058315 LGTBT6QCL04CBD48CC uk26.supernews.com X-Complaints-To: firstname.lastname@example.org X-Newsreader: MicroPlanet Gravity v2.20.1575 Fiddle, Dee Dee! A Memoir By David Pacheco The following are excerpts from the forthcoming book, "Fiddle, Dee Dee!" by David Pacheco (Simon Anschuss Ler, 1999, oil of olay on canvas, $12.99). The story of one woman's struggle against sexism and prejudice in the world of bluegrass music, as told to her biographer and sometimes lover, David Pacheco. Illustrations by the author. Translated by accident. "...as we lay in bed, naked, panting, exhausted." (p.19) "...Dee Dee's face fell: all her life she had been used to rejection, living as she had in a political world dominated by men. She had had to work twice as hard as anyone else around her just to stand still, while men half her age (and not even half as competent) coasted by on good looks, good connections, the right friends." "But this was her arena, the world of banjo, tambourine, bone castanets, and fiddle: the world of bluegrass. It was the first time she had been turned away when the game was being played on her home turf." "Dee Dee got home that night, locked the front door behind her, collapsed and wept like a baby, her Stradivarius thrown into a corner of the room. I should have been there to comfort her, to hold her, but that night fate had dealt us an unlucky hand: three aces, two kings. Unfortunately we had been playing blackjack." "By the time I got home the next morning, bombed out of my skull on cheap tequila and even cheaper laudanum, she was already asleep. I wish I had known she had collapsed behind the front door, as we could have avoided the hospital bills, not to mention the concussion and selective memory loss." (p. 42) "...Dee Dee spent the rest of the night on the phone with Mike McCurry, her successor as Press Secretary in the White House. She couldn't help but second-guess her decision to leave the White House, and all the close friends she had made in the press. How would history remember her now? As one of the best female press secretaries ever to grace a pressroom lectern, the first ever capable of making Wolf Blitzer blush bright crimson and leave a press conference to go to the "little boy's room"? Or that she had failed as a bluegrass musician?" "Mike said very little during that seven hour phone call, partly because he was fast asleep at the time. But thanks to his unjudgemental attitude, the next morning Dee Dee had recovered some of her lost sense of purpose: as usual, it was the last place she looked, behind one of the cushions on the sofa." (p. 108) "...Dee Dee's idea was to bring together some of the best-known press secretaries in the world to stage a concert benefiting the American society of compulsive talkers, 'On and On Anon'. When I got home that night, she had it all mapped out on giant sheets of paper across the living room floor: Bill Moyers, press secretary to Lyndon B. Johnson, on the mandolin. Jerald terHorst, Gerald Ford's press secretary, would play second banjo. It was well known in diplomatic circles that Benjamin Mkapa, press secretary to Tanzania's President Julius Nyerere, had played folk guitar as a young boy, singing Indigo Girls' tunes for spare change with Reagan's press secretary Dana Rohrabacher at coffee shops around the nation's capital." "Of course, Dee Dee would play fiddle. But then she informed me, with conspiratorial grin, of the coup: Adlai Stevenson, press secretary to the U.S. delegation to the 1945 United Nations Charter Conference in San Francisco. Apparently, his tenor was so sweet it caused convulsions in diabetics, and he played a mean five-string banjo too." "Of course, Adlai was dead by that time. In fact, he had been dead for over twenty years. But I loved her so much, and the look in her face was so filled with hope... it was the first time in over eighteen months I had seen her without a noose around her neck, (ostensibly for 'decoration'), the first time I had arrived home without having to avoid withering crossfire. So I said nothing." "Later on, when she found out I already knew Adlai had passed on, she hid behind our bedroom door and, as I unsuspectingly walked in, stuck my head in a bucket of ammonia for thirty minutes. To this day I can't blink both eyes at the same time unless someone is humming Bill Monroe's 'White House Blues' -- a classic of the bluegrass genre -- in the background." (p. 183) "...Several weeks after Dee Dee left me, I heard through a mutual friend that she had moved in with Bob Schaffer, press secretary to the Republican members of the Colorado Senate in 1985. I hear he has an extensive collection of Daniel Decatur Emmett albums. I wish them the best of luck, but... I can't help thinking it won't last." (p. 201) "THE END" (p.322) "This book was printed on 30% post-consumer waste paper. No trees were harmed during the production of this book, except those that were cut down and pulped." (p.323) -dp.