Desperate For Help

Last year I wrote a monologue to be considered for publication in a online magazine. The guidelines wanted a piece about a woman – the mother, a sister, a wife talking their famous son, daughter, husband, wife. I wrote my monologue about Janet Lee Bouvier, mother to Jackie and Lee Bouvier. It was rejected. I wasn’t given a reason why, so I thought I’d post it on medium and ask for feedback. If you take me up, I beg you to be honest.

Monologue

My daughter Lee often accuses me of loving Jackie, more than her. Not true, I love both my girls equally. I probably went too far though when I told Lee, she was fat, and not a patch on Jackie, but seriously Lee needs to take stock of her life. She doesn’t want to become known as the socialite’s pudgy little sister.

To be fair, I am just as harsh with Jackie as I am with Lee. I am their mother, it’s my job to see they grow up and mix in the right circles, meet the right type of boys. Lee sniggered when she heard me say that. Trying to be funny, she asked, “And what type of boys would that be mother, a prince, or perhaps the future president of United States?”

I wish. Nothing but the best for my girls. That’s why I am so firm with them, sit up straight girls, shoulders back girls, smile girls, hat and gloves girls, study hard girls. Lee, of course, always one to pick a fight, said my constant demands were driving her wild, and that I acted more like a battle axe than a loving mother.

She can be such a little witch at times. I am still furious about her antics at Jackie’s debutante ball.

I’d pulled out all the stops for the party, inviting the crème de La crème of New Port society, hired the best caterers, fitted Jackie out in a gorgeous white tule dress. To make an. impression I suggested she appear at the top of the stairs thirty minutes into the party, wait till she had everyones attention, then throw her arms up in the air in a carefree, isn’t this the best moment of my life fashion. Straight after the photo opportunity, her next move was to continue down the stairs. Once at the bottom, she’d again pose for the cameras, and while all the guests clapped, oohed and aahed, I’d move in beside her, followed by her father and lastly, Lee. That was the plan, and on the actual night, it all played out like clockwork, until Lee failed to show-up.

A quick scan of the vicinity and we suddenly discovered her dressed in a loud pink, off the shoulder, rhinestone dress, at the top of the stairs. She, as Jackie had done only minutes before, began her downward journey. All around camera’s flashed, and. murmurs such as, “Look, it’s little Lee. What a doll,” filled the room. If I hadn’t been surrounded by hundreds of guests, I might have screamed.

I couldn’t believe she’d be so nasty as to deliberately try to upstage Jackie on her special night. Later after everyone departed, I pulled Lee aside and accused her of such. She threw back her head and said, “Well, I guess Mother you’re the only one now who thinks I’m not a patch on Jackie.”

I stared at her, my jaw dropping. What a slap in the face!