From the 1930s to the 1960s, Reno, Nevada was America’s Divorce Capital. A married person could set up temporary residence at a boarding house or a pricier “divorce ranch” and, in as soon as six weeks, file for divorce quickly, privately, and without fuss.
Dear Jim,
Checked into the Cavell Ranch this AM.
Soon, we’ll both be free.
Don’t touch my things.
Lana
Dear Lana,
Free? The only thing more expensive was the marriage.
How can I avoid touching your things, scattered as they are across my house like a toddler’s toys on the nursery floor?
Jim
Dear Jim,
What would your house be without my taste, my “things?”
Reminds me of that review of our first picture: “Jim may give Lana height, but Lana
gives Jim depth.”
Go cry to your lawyer,
Academy Award Winner Lana Montaine
Lana,
Too much time with cacti? You’ve grown prickly.
Academy Award Attendee Jimmy Greengrass
Jim,
Frankly, I miss my things…but I can act civil if you can.
Shall we show up Lombard and Powell and show them what a chic divorce really looks like by coordinating our outfits for the premiere?
My burgundy Chanel stands at the ready.
Lana
Dear Lana,
I’ve already chosen a forest green cummerbund. Brings out my eyes.
Jim
Jim,
You know when I wear dark green, I look like a Christmas tree. Be serious.
Let’s call the whole thing off—
Lana
Dear Lana,
I thought that was the plan: to call the whole thing off.
How is Reno? Don’t skimp on the literary detail.
Jim
Dear Jim,
The weather is too dry for my liking; the martinis are never dry enough.
I eat a grapefruit for breakfast every morning and spend my evenings playing checkers.
You’d barely recognize me.
L— M—
Dear Lana,
I’d recognize you anywhere.
With love,
Jim
Please, Jim,
Don’t.
Lana
Dear Lana,
Fine. New topic.
Do your fans recognize you?
Respectfully,
Jim
Dear Jim,
I try to go incognito – head scarf, bug-eyed sunglasses, all that. But everyone spots me – and asks after you. Drat. It’s always: “Where’s Jim?” or “Is Jim here?” or “Where’s your lesser half?” (I paraphrase.)
So far, I have tried:
– “Oh my, he was just here!”
– (sweeping arms around, mystically) “He’s all around us.”
– (pointing to a fire hydrant) “There he is! I know – he looks taller on camera.”
It is easier to stay in, touring the ranch and mooing at the steer.
Yours,
Lana
Dear Lana,
Are all the other inmates boarders witchy women like yourself, putting spells on Awful Men and doing mud masks?
Bubble bubble,
Jim (is Trouble)
Dear Jim,
It’s middle-aged corn-fed sexpots and disillusioned college girls as far as the eye can see. My bosom friend is a wronged schoolteacher who wears her hair in a graying chignon. I call her S & P.
Young actresses need not bother with Juilliard: there’s a veritable masterclass in character right here at the ranch. All one must do is get married and regret it.
Yours,
Lana
Dear Lana,
I’m glad you found some real respectable dames to pal around with.
Salt & Pepper sounds like a bore.
Yours,
Jim
Dear Jim,
Do leave the unsinkable S & P out of it. She wouldn’t hesitate to give you detention, which you heartily deserve.
Best,
Lana
Dear Lana,
Not long ago I was “yours,” now we are back to “best?”
Don’t you want to know how Los Angeles is faring in your absence?
Jim
Dear Jim,
I suspect LA is as I left it.
Palm trees: check.
Oranges: check.
Aging actresses with at least one broken marriage behind them: check (minus one).
Am I wrong?
Lana
Dear Lana,
True, Los Angeles is much the same.
I go to the same restaurants. The waiters ask for you.
I go to the parties we used to go to. Our friends miss you.
I take my dear mother for steak at The Palm. She asks how I let you get away.
How did I?
Yours once,
Jim
Oh, Jim,
What a laugh. We both know your mother despises me.
Lana “That Horrible Woman” Montaine
Well, Lana,
I was referring, of course, to the blue-haired woman I hire to play my mother when I’m feeling lonesome.
Don’t avoid the question.
Jim
Dear Jim,
I was tired of going to soirees and being asked, “Are you here with Jim?”
I felt like I was lying when I said yes.
My grandmother taught me that when marriage gets hard, give your husband some room to walk and walk, and he will find his way back to you.
Maybe I gave you too much room.
Lana
Dear Lana,
So much room, it’s drafty.
Jim
Dear Jim,
Last night, the girls and I went out to a country western bar. We were, I confess, on the prowl. I figured I deserve a man who is nice (don’t say anything), because I’m nice (DON’T). I even dressed the part and wore boots embroidered with cactus blossoms.
We ended up huddling around the table, weeping as we listened to a song about loving a truck that can’t love you back or some such thing. S & P vomited into her clutch purse.
I’m running out of space, so, in summation: I’m a fragment of my former, unflappable self.
You’ve ruined me, you truck,
Lana
Darling Lana,
For me, you could never be anything but impossibly, perfectly whole.
I’m flying into Reno tomorrow.
We can drive into the desert, bury our rings in the sand, and howl at the moon.
Or…we could find a little chapel and mean the vows this time around. I’ll be the Something Old, You the Something New – or vice versa, whatever you prefer. We’d both wear yellow instead of blue, so you’d look garish, I’d look sallow, and there’d be no delusions from the start.
Love always,
Jim
Dearest Jim,
I suppose we’ll never be free of each other, will we? Thank goodness.
My sympathies to your poor mother,
Lana ◆
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