#wedding in white 1972

[wildatheart2003]

Carol Kane in Wedding in White, 1972

[midchelle]

John and Yoko

The Beatles, Happiness is a Warm Gun (1968) // Yoko Ono, Play It By Trust (1966) // John Lennon, Yoko Ono, and Robert Fraser at the opening of You Are Here (1968) // John Lennon and Yoko Ono for Melody Maker (April 26th, 1969) // Tumblr screenshot // John and Yoko during sessions for The White Album by Linda Eastman (1968) // John Lennon's letter to Paul McCartney in Melody Maker (24 November, 1971) // Derek Taylor, As Time Goes By (1973) // Yoko Ono, John Lennon, and Paul McCartney at the premiere of Yellow Submarine (July 17, 1968) // George Harrison, John Lennon, and Yoko Ono during rehearsals for The Concert for Bangladesh (1971) // Lorde, The Louvre (2017) // John and Yoko for Look (March 18, 1969) // John and Yoko for New Musical Express (20 December, 1969) // Box art for The Wedding Album (1969) // John Lennon and Yoko Ono during their Bed-in for Peace at the Amsterdam Hilton (1969) // John and Yoko at a press conference at Heathrow Airport (April 1, 1969) // Lana Del Rey, Venice Bitch (2019) // John and Yoko (1971) // Bob Gruen, John Lennon: The New York Years (2005) // John and Yoko by Bob Gruen (9 November, 1972) // Yoko Ono, Death Of Samantha (1973) // John Lennon for Melody Maker (September 14, 1974) // John Lennon, Nobody Loves You (When You’re Down and Out) (1974) // Yoko Ono, Andy Warhol, and John Lennon (1971) // Yoko Ono, No, No, No (1981) // Yoko Ono for The Sunday Times (May 25th, 1981) // Twitter screenshot // John and Yoko for Playboy (September 1980) // John and Yoko during sessions for Double Fantasy by Kishin Shinoyama (1980)

[machin-egir1]

Wedding In White (William Fruet, 1972)

[dccomicsimagines]

One Day At A Time - Nightwing x Reader

Part Two 

Author’s Note - Glad I finally got this one started. It was in my head for a long time. More parts are coming.

Voices were the first thing you recalled. They were different tones, some feminine, others masculine. Screams echoed from somewhere far away. Beeps sounded near your head.

You couldn’t open your eyes. Your eyelids had been replaced by stones. “Is she going to wake up soon?” one of the voices demanded. You recognized it as you heard it often. 

“She can wake up at anytime.” This voice was recognizable as well. It gave orders a lot. “We will just have to wait.” Footsteps echoed and a door closed. You wondered if they were talking about you. Were you asleep? It was hard to tell. 

There was scraping of a chair. Suddenly, someone grabbed your hand. They cradled it in theirs. Lips pressed to the back of your hand. “I miss you, sweetheart,” the voice you heard most often spoke. Sweetheart? You felt confused. No one had called you that before. “Please wake up soon.” Something wet dripped onto your hand. 

Disgusting. You couldn’t pull your hand away. It was like your blood had been replaced with sand, holding you down. You endured it. The voice rambled on and on about things. You stopped listening and let yourself drift back into bliss of darkness.

***

Slowly, rising from the darkness and into the fresh air, you finally dragged your eyes opened. The light was bright. You closed them again, reaching up to rub them. 

Your eyes adjusted to reveal a white hospital room with flowers everywhere. The ones next to your bedside were your favorite. Those were the same ones your brother would get for your birthday every year. A smile pulled at your lips. You glanced down at yourself, the paper hospital gown scratching your skin. There were heart monitors stuck to your chest and stomach. Odd.

An IV was in your arm. You pulled at it gently, shivering from the idea of it in your arm. Biting your lip, you tried to remember how you got here. The last thing you remembered was being at gymnastic practice. It was after hours and you were breaking the rules by attempting Olga Korbut’s uneven bars routine from the 1972 Olympics. Most of those moves were illegal now days, but you wanted to try just for fun.

The last thing you remembered was preparing for your dismount from the high bar when your brother, Wally West, and your coach walking in. They startled you and you fell hard. You frowned. Was that what happened? Did you end up in the hospital?

You pulled the covers around you. Where were those voices you heard before? The man’s voice. The one who held your hand. You wondered who he was? Rubbing your hands up and down your arms, you froze when you felt metal on one of your fingers. You glanced down to find a beautiful ring. 

It was a contoured design, two rings fitted into one. You remembered Aunt Iris had one like that. Her engagement ring and wedding ring were made into one. Why would you have a ring like that? You were only nineteen and you don’t remember anyone giving a ring like this to you.

The door to your room opened. You looked up eagerly, hoping to see your family. However, there was only a strange man. He stared at you, eyes wide with a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair was dark, shaggy and falling into his bright blue eyes. You had to admit he was attractive and fit, even if it looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. 

The coffee cup dropped from his hand and splashed on the floor. You jumped only to find the man suddenly hugging you and pressing his lips against yours. Your mind shut off. You didn’t move, unsure what to do. Should you scream? Were you being attacked?

“Oh thank god, you’re awake. I thought you would never wake up.” The man sobbed, breaking the kiss to bury his face into your shoulder. His voice triggered your memory. He was the one who held your hand. 

You didn’t know what to do. Your brain was on autopilot as you patted his back. Maybe he was mentally disturbed and thought you were someone else? You noticed the call button by the bedside and tried to reach for it. 

“Woah, hey.” The man pulled away, grinning despite the tears in his eyes. “You feel okay? Anything hurt? Should I get the doctor?”

You opened your mouth to speak only for it to be dry. Wetting your mouth, you cleared your throat. “I’m fine.” You looked him in the eye for a second before quickly looking at the flowers across the room. Your eye caught a bag sitting on the chair in the corner. 

“I think my heart finally restarted. It stopped when you took that fall.” The man laughed. You looked back at him to find him studying you like you were the most precious thing on earth. It sent a warning shiver down your spine. 

You quickly looked away, eyeing the coffee spill on the floor. “Is Wally here?” 

You bit your lip nervously when the man’s smile faltered slightly. “He...doesn’t know you’re here.” The man took your hand, rubbing warmth into it.

“What?!” You blinked, heart skipping a beat. Oh god, did this man kidnap you? Were you even in a hospital or did it just look like one? Where was Wally? Where was your family?

The man played with the ring on your finger. He frowned slightly with concern in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you know he doesn’t approve of us. He won’t answer my calls, even when you got hurt, but we don’t need to worry about him. We got each other and our family. That’s what matters, right?” He ran his other hand through your hair. 

Your blood ran ice cold. You had to escape. Clearly, this man kidnapped you and was mentally insane. Why did he act like you were in a relationship with him? Thoughts about all those old stalker movies filled your mind.

“Hey, you okay?” The man cupped your cheek. “Calm down. You’re fine. Everything’s okay.” 

You forced a smile on your face to try to reassure him. Get him out of the room. You could escape then. “I just have a headache.” You rubbed your temple. Your chest tightened when his hand moved to rest over yours.

“Let me grab the doctor.” He leaned down to kiss you again. You turned your head, disgusted. His lips caught your cheek instead of your lips. The man frowned, but got up. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He left the room and firmly shut the door behind him.

Once he was gone, you got to your feet. Sharp pain shot through them, but you just gasped and stayed standing. You removed the IV and the heart monitors carefully before going to the bag in the corner. There were clothes inside. You ripped off the paper gown and changed into the sweatpants and sweatshirt inside. The clothes were too big, but you tightened the pants to fit you. There were no shoes, so you made do with a pair of socks.

Panic set in when you heard noise outside the door. You rushed to the window in the room. Outside was a city you didn’t recognize it. Scared beyond belief, you opened the window. The rays of the late morning sun hit your skin. Your room was two stories up, but you noticed a gutter drain nearby. 

With somewhat ease, you climbed out and down the gutter drain. Once you were a few feet from the ground, you dropped. Almost landing on your feet, you toppled to your knees. Your center of gravity was off. Did you gain weight while you were kidnapped? You shook your head, getting to your feet.

“(Y/N)!” The man shouted. You spun to see him leaning out of the window with another dark haired man with him. 

“No.” Adrenaline fueled you and you sprinted off. You were fast, but you were no speedster. Traffic was heavy in the street, but you ran out without a care, jumping over the hood of a car that slammed on their brakes to avoid you. 

You glanced back to see the man already on the ground. Panting, you ran faster down the street, dodging people as you went. You had to break the line of sight. A child ran out in front of you. You jumped, using a light post as leverage to send yourself flying into an alleyway. 

“(Y/N)!” The man was gaining on you as you fell hard on your knees again. The wind knocked out of you. Rage filled you. Why was your center of balance off? You could have landed that in your sleep. However, you got to your feet and kept running. 

Turning several corners, you saw a coffee shop filled with people. You burst through the door, the bell ringing loudly. People stared at you like you were insane. Maybe you did look it, but you had a good reason. “Can I borrow a phone?” you panted, searching the room for a friendly soul.

“Here, honey,” a middle aged woman said, handing you a phone.

“Thank you.” You glanced behind you in a panic and ducked into the hallway that led to the bathrooms. The phone shook in your hand. Every part of your body ached, completely weakened by the run as adrenaline drained into all out terror. 

Air was being squeezed out of your lungs, coming out in ragged gasps. Black swarmed your vision, but you blinked it away. The bell on the door to the shop rang. You slipped into the ladies' room and slid to the floor by the sink. 

Knees pressed to your chest, you dialed the one number you knew by heart. “Please pick up, please pick up.” The man’s voice sounded outside, asking about you. 

“Hello?” You sighed in relief, knowing his voice instantly. 

“Wally?” Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “Please help me. Walls, please help me.”

“(Y/N)?” Wally seemed shocked. “What’s wrong?” His voice deepened into that tone he used when he was Kid Flash. 

You crawled into one of the stalls when you heard someone tell the man that you went to the restroom. Reaching up to lock the stall, you got up to stand on the toilet to hide. You had to lean against the wall to stay upright. “There’s a man chasing me. He kidnapped me, but I escaped.” You held your breath when the bathroom door opened. “He’s here. Please help me.” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to come with me,” the man said loudly. He opened one of the stalls. You pressed your hand against your mouth to prevent a scream. 

“I’ll be there in a flash. Where are you?” Wally’s voice sounded distant. He was already on the move. 

The next stall opened. You whimpered softly into the phone. The bathroom fell silent until the door to your stall shook. You choked out a sob, losing your balance. Your foot went into the toilet, but you caught yourself. However, the phone slipped out of your hand and clattered to the floor.

The man kneeled in front of the door. “(Y/N), sweetheart, please tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

“Please leave me alone. I just want to go home,” you begged, ignoring your wet sock as you climbed higher on the toilet in case the man crawled under. 

“We can go home, but I need you to calm down.” The man peeked under the door. You screamed, fresh tears bursting out of you. Suddenly, a loud gust sounded in the room and the man disappeared from the door. “Wally? What are you doing here?” 

“What are you doing?! (Y/N) called me saying she’s been kidnapped and a man is chasing her,” your brother’s voice said. You relaxed slightly, suddenly concerned that Wally seemed to know the man. “And now I searched the city only to find you chasing her!”

The man gasped. “She said what?!” 

The door of your stall shook again. “(Y/N), come out. I think you’re confused,” Wally said. You slowly climbed down from the toilet and opened the door. Wally stood there in a Flash suit. Strange, wasn’t he Kid Flash? You ignored it and hopped into his arms.

Wally held you tight. “Please get me out of here, Walls. Keep him away from me.” You clung to Wally like he was your lifeline.

“What the hell is going on?!” The man stepped forward. You broke out of Wally’s arms to hide behind him, watching the man as he stared at you with his brow furrowed. “(Y/N), sweetheart, I’m Dick. Your husband.” He pointed to his chest. 

“I can’t be married!” You gripped Wally’s arms with a death grip.  

Wally’s head snapped between you and the man. “Wait a minute.” He pressed a hand to the man’s, now Dick’s, chest to stop him from coming closer. Wally spun to you and gripped your shoulders. His green eyes bore into yours. “(Y/N), what year is it?”

You frowned, blinking. Your lips trembled. Wally never talked to you like this before. “2020.”

Dick’s jaw dropped. His hand slapped against his forehead. Wally stared at you with fear in his eyes. “(Y/N), honey, it’s 2023. You’re not nineteen, you’re twenty two,” Wally said calmly. He swallowed hard and nodded to Dick. “This is Dick Grayson. You married him a year ago. Without my permission, I might add.” 

Your eyes snapped to Dick’s. “No...” Your knees collapsed. Wally caught you before you hit the floor. Dick’s hands clenched into fists, keeping his distance from you. Black swarmed your vision again. You blinked it away as Wally cradled you in his arms. 

“This is too public.” The other dark haired man you saw in the window with Dick entered, glancing around nervously. “Get her out of here.” Wally picked you up and zoomed off. Sometime along the way, you fainted.

***

You woke on a soft bed with an older man hovering nearby. He smiled when he saw you open your eyes. The lights were dim in whatever room you were in. In the distance, you swore you heard bats screeching. 

“Hello, Miss (Y/N).” He patted your arm. “Do you remember me?” 

You studied him, but shook your head. He wasn’t a threat, because you didn’t even tense when you saw him. 

The man smiled gently. “I am Alfred.” He held up his hands. “Is it alright if I examine your head?”

You nodded. A lump was in your throat, memories floating back to you. Alfred carefully ran his hands over your head, feeling for any bumps. You winced when he touch a spot toward the back of your head. “It hurts there.” 

Alfred hummed. “I see.” He pulled away. “I am going to alert the others that you are awake.” You tensed, scared to find out what else you didn’t remember. Three years. You were missing three years. “Don’t worry, Miss (Y/N). It will be a calm discussion. We only want to figure out what is going on.” He patted your knee and left the area. 

You pulled the sheet up and around you. Your fingers rested on the edge of the sheet, the ring on your wedding finger sparkling beautifully. How could you forget something so important? You must have loved Dick, right? You snorted. What a name. You hoped it was short for Richard.

Wally came in first. He smiled in relief, coming to your side. “Hey, glad you’re awake, sis. You gave me a heart attack when you fainted on me.” He sat on the edge of your bed. 

Dick followed him. He started toward you, but stopped and moved to lean against the far wall. The other dark haired man from before entered and took a seat on the chair at the end of the bed. 

“Here we go, Miss (Y/N). You should at least drink something,” Alfred said, appearing with a cup of steaming tea. You took it from him, giving him a timid smile in thanks. “I’ll bring a meal in a bit. Remember we are going to proceed calmly.” Alfred glared at the three men in the room. You liked him already.

“Let’s start from the beginning. What the last thing you remember, (Y/N)?” The dark haired man asked, leaning forward and studying you with an intense gaze, your hands began to shake with nerves. Alfred smacked his arm as he passed and the man’s gaze softened. 

You took a sip of tea, gathering your thoughts. Sneaking a peek at Dick, you saw the pain in his eyes. “I remember being at gymnastic practice at Central City U. Everyone had left and I stayed to see if I could do Olga Korbut’s uneven bars routine from the 1972 Olympics. Oh my god, Walls, you remember how much I loved her routine. She was moving like an angel.” You grinned, feeling relaxed for the first time since you woke up to find everything strange and unfamiliar. A small smile pulled at Dick’s lips. You wondered if he liked gymnastics too. 

“And you fell after I and your coach caught you in the middle of a high bar dismount.” Wally sighed, crossing his arms. “You hit your head, but you were fine afterwards.” 

“I don’t remember that.” You bit your lip, holding the cup of tea tightly. “I just remember falling and then I woke up in the hospital with...Dick.” You met Dick’s eye. His smile fell into a firm line. 

The dark haired man hummed. “You remember nothing else?”

You leaned into Wally. He wrapped his arm around you. “Just stuff before. Like growing up at home then living with Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry in Central City when Mom and Dad were having problems. Graduating high school, going to college on a gymnastic scholarship.” You looked at Wally. “Did I finish college? Please tell me I did.”

Wally chuckled. “You did. With top honors.” He kissed your temple. “Of course, then you ran off with Dick afterwards.” Wally glared over at Dick. Dick snorted. You glanced between the men, confused. 

“Was I not supposed to?” You bit your lip when Dick burst out laughing suddenly. Wally narrowed his eyes at you. 

“No, you weren’t. He’s older than you and was one of my best friends.” Wally pulled away from you, crossing his arms. “I made a mistake and invited him to my engagement party after working so hard to keep you away from this life, then all of a sudden, you married him.”

You looked at Dick, knowing you must have loved him quite a bit to piss Wally off so bad. “Enough.” The dark haired man got to his feet. “We need to focus on what’s important.” 

“Bruce, we are focusing on what’s important,” Dick said after he stopped laughing. “(Y/N) might remember if we remind her.” He smiled at you with a charm that made your skin tingle. Maybe there was something there?

The dark haired man, now Bruce, shook his head. “No, there is something going on here. Don’t you think it’s strange that (Y/N) happened to forget about you? Three years is specific.” Bruce pointed a finger at Dick’s chest. “It’s very specific that the last thing she remembers happened the day before you met her at West’s engagement party.”

Dick sobered. “Are you suggesting someone erased me from (Y/N)’s memory? Who could even do that?”

Wally took the cup of tea from you when your hands started shaking so hard that it threatened to slosh out. “It’s okay,” Wally soothed, rubbing your back. “You’re fine, we’ll figure this out, okay?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that a day after you two announced your pregnancy that (Y/N) takes a fall during patrol and forgets about you?” Bruce said, waving his hand in the air. “We need to open an investigation.”

Your blood drained out of your face. Pregnancy? You looked down at your stomach with wide eyes. Heart monitors on your stomach, the loss of your center of balance? Wally was staring at your stomach too. His face white as a sheet.

“Shit, Bruce. Just let the cat out of the bag, huh?” Dick rushed to your side. He hesitated before taking your hand. “(Y/N), sweetheart. Don’t freak out. You’re fine, the baby’s fine.”

“Baby?” You looked at him, chest tightening. Breathing became a struggle. Every muscle in your body tensed, trembling. “No, no, no, no. I can’t...I don’t remember anything.” Your cheeks felt wet, tears escaping. 

Suddenly, you were in Dick’s arms with your head pressed against his chest. “Breathe with me, sweetheart. One breath at a time.” His calm heartbeat loud in your ear. You fought to slow down, trying to breathe in rhythm with him. Wally disappeared from your side. Your hand clutched at Dick’s shirt. He tightened his arms around you. “There you go. You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Nothing to freak out about. We’re taking care of it.” 

You buried your face into his chest, breathing in his scent. He smelled of sweat, cologne, and laundry detergent. Your abdomen tingled as if your body remember that scent. You found you liked it. 

“I’m heading out. Call me if there is an emergency,” Wally said. You looked up at him, eyes widening. Wally wouldn’t look at you and Dick, arms crossed. “I’ll let Mom know you’re okay.” With that, he zoomed off.

“But...” You blinked, your heart felt like it was ripped from your chest. “Why?” You looked at Dick. Dick smiled sadly at you.

He kissed your temple. “I’ll explain later.” Dick kept his arms around you as you sobbed. You buried your face into his chest, feeling so cold and alone. Your head ached as you tried to remember. How could you not remember getting pregnant or getting married? Why did Wally abandon you with these strangers that weren’t strangers, but were? Dick’s chin rested on the top of your head, not saying a word.

***

Dick stumbled out of medbay, exhausted and heartbroken. The bats screeched in the distance. The cool air in the cave made him shiver. You had cried yourself to sleep. Dick wished he could have comforted you, but he didn’t know how. What do you do when your wife doesn’t remember even meeting you? 

Bruce was at the computer, working away on the theory he had throw out in front of you. Dick’s hand clenched into a fist. It was bad enough you were recovering from the news that you forgotten three years of your life and your husband, but to find out you’re pregnant and that someone may have erased your memory. No wonder you broke down. 

Dick turned away from Bruce and headed up the stairs to the manor, needing distance. The absolute terror in your face when you looked at him in that coffee shop bathroom haunted him. He never wanted to see that expression on your face again.

Delicious smells came from the kitchen, drawing Dick toward it. His stomach growled. The last time he ate was that sandwich Alfred had brought him in the hospital. Dick ran his fingers through his hair. Was that a day ago? Time went by so fast after you woke up.

“Hey, Dick,” Tim said as Dick entered the kitchen. Alfred was over the stove, stirring a pot of what looked to be his special chicken noodle soup. Tim sat at the counter with a sandwich and a bowl of soup. 

“Hi, Timmy.” Dick collapsed into the stool next to Tim and took half of the sandwich from his plate. 

Tim watched him worriedly. “So how’s (Y/N)?”

Dick took a big bite of the sandwich. “Not great.” He mumbled with food in his mouth. Alfred turned to glare at Dick before going back to the stove. A jolt ran through Dick. Dick waited until he swallowed to continue. “She just cried herself to sleep in my arms. Bruce let slip that she’s pregnant, then Wally got all mad again and ran off.” Alfred poured another bowl of soup and set it in front of Dick. “I’m worried what the stress is doing to her and the baby.”

“This is why I suggested a calm discussion.” Alfred set a spoon next to Dick’s bowl. “Is she asleep?” 

“Yeah.” Dick finished his sandwich and started on the soup. His eyes caught the ring on his finger. The one you had specially made for him. His heart broke once again. 

“Well, I’ll prepare a tray and take it down. She needs to eat.” Alfred moved to grab a serving tray. 

Tim eyed Dick and Alfred. “So it’s true then?”

“What’s true?” Dick glanced at Tim, frowning at how pale he was. 

“(Y/N) doesn’t remember you or us or...anything?” Tim swallowed hard. The food in front of him forgotten. 

Dick took another spoonful of soup, pushing away the urge to cry. “No, she doesn’t.” He froze, noting the shifting shadow by the kitchen door. “Damian, come on out.”

“TT.” Damian stepped out and came over to sit beside Dick. Alfred raised an eyebrow and quickly served Damian a bowl of soup too. “Can I see her?”

“Let’s give Miss (Y/N) space for now.” Alfred picked up the serving tray. “I’ll bring this down to her.” He left the room.

The three ate in silence. Dick slipped into his own thoughts, your face flashing before his eyes again. He dropped his spoon and buried his face in his hands. “It’s probably not permanent,” Tim said, biting his lip. 

“Or it is.” Dick groaned, dropping his hands. “Do you know how it felt to see her so scared? She climbed out the hospital window and ran out into the street. Then she called Wally. Wally! They haven’t spoken in a year.” 

Tim laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Dick glanced at Tim. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything, Tim.” 

“No, but I’m sorry just the same.” Tim pulled away to play with his spoon. 

“TT.” Damian jumped off his stool and took his bowl to the sink. 

Dick watched him. “Damian, you okay?” It helped to focus on something else. He’d rather comfort his brother than deal with his own emotions at the moment. 

Damian spun and glared at him. “You are weak.” Dick and Tim flinched. Damian shook his head. “You are just giving up. If (Y/N) doesn’t remember you, then make her remember you.” 

“It’s not that simple, Dami.” Dick got to his feet and came to kneel in front of Damian. “This isn’t something you can just fix.” He rested his hands on Damian’s shoulders. 

“TT, then you take it one day at a time until (Y/N) remembers everything you had, everything we all had.” Damian jerked out of Dick’s grip and walked away. “Fool.”

Dick stayed on his knees. His body froze, shocked to his core. “So you’re saying I get (Y/N) to fall in love with me again?” He turned to look at Tim, who was nodding. “That’s not going to work. I don’t know how we did, it just happened.”

“You mean you don’t have any idea how you fell in love with (Y/N)? Come on, that’s not true.” Tim chuckled, getting to his feet and started to clean up the dishes. “You told me how you saw her from across the room and basically drew to her like a starving man to bread.”

“I didn’t say that.” Dick got to his feet and started to wash the dishes. Tim grabbed a towel to dry. 

“Yeah, you did. It might have been after your wedding night and you were half asleep, but you did.” Tim smirked. “(Y/N) said you drank too much, but then Jason made that crude comment and you whaled on him.” 

“Okay, I remember that. (Y/N) made me sleep on the couch until our honeymoon.” Dick felt a smile pulled at his lips. It felt wrong. Why should he be smiling when he lost the love of his life?

Tim laughed. “I didn’t know that part.” He dried a bowl and put it away. “I think if you help (Y/N) relive those moments, it might spark her memory.” Tim shrugged. “Unless Bruce’s theory is right.” 

Dick choked, dropping a dish into the sink. “I pray he’s not. Who would do such a thing?” He grabbed another dish towel to dry his hands, shaking. 

“Don’t think about that now.” Tim grabbed Dick’s arm. “Calm down.” 

“How can I be calm, Tim?! My wife doesn’t remember me at all!” Dick threw his hands up in the air. 

“Quiet.” Dick turned to see Cass staring at him, silently appearing like she always did. He should have heard her. Suddenly, her hand shot out and Dick fell limp to the ground.

“Cheap trick.” Dick mumbled, his cheek rested on the floor. HIs body paralyzed from the nerve strike. 

Tim knelt down next to Dick’s head. Dick felt Tim’s thin fingers checking his pulse. “Little much, Cass, don’t ya think?”

“He needed rest. No sleep for days. Sloppy.” Cass grabbed Dick’s arm and pulled him up. Tim grabbed Dick’s other arm and they drag him out of the kitchen.

Dick closed his eyes, letting the darkness of sleep take him. The last thing he remember was being flopped down onto a couch.  

***

You leaned against headrest, keeping your eyes on the city outside. “So we live in Gotham?” The car was clean and smelled like mint from the bat shaped car refresher. 

“Well, no.” Dick cleared his throat, keeping one hand on the wheel while rubbing the yellowing bruise on his neck. You asked him about it, he just said it was what he needed. Whatever that meant. “We live in one of the suburbs between Gotham and Bludhaven.” He glanced over at you somewhat nervously. “Bruce bought us a house for our wedding gift. Decked it out with everything, even added a secret tunnel that would take us straight into Gotham or Bludhaven in minutes.” 

“And Bruce is your adoptive father and Batman.” You frowned, playing with the sleeves of the sweatshirt you were wearing. Apparently, it was yours, but you don’t remember seeing it before. You sighed. It was a common occurrence nowadays. “Damian, Tim, Cass, and Jason are your siblings. Tim, Cass, and Jason are adopted while Damian is Bruce’s biological son.”

Dick nodded. A smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah, that’s right.” He glanced over at you. You met his eye. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Over the last few days, you noticed you were feeling those shivers more and more. You played with your wedding ring, unable to take it off. It felt wrong to remove it.

“You’re Nightwing and I’m...” It was on the tip of your tongue. 

“Redwing. Red from the Flash and wing from me,” Dick said after several seconds of silence. “You didn’t go out too often. Mostly to help me out if I needed backup.”

“And we both run a trapeze and gymnastics school?” You folded your arms across your chest. Your heart glowed with joy at having your dream job of teaching gymnastics. 

Dick nodded. “And dance and boxing.” He looked back at the road. “We added those recently, wanting to reach out to more kids.” 

Your eyes fell to the ring on his finger. “Did I give you that ring?” 

“You did.” Dick’s hand left the wheel and was held out in front of you. You took it, feeling the calluses that were very similar to yours. The ring was a dark gray metal with no scratches or marks. “You had Superman make it out of some kind of Kryptonian metal, so it doesn’t wear or tear.”

Tracing the ring, you frowned. You tried to remember, pushing your brain until a headache blossomed in your temple. “I’m sorry.” You let go of his hand and turned away to look out the window. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Dick rested his hand on your knee. You tensed. Dick flinched his hand away. “Sorry.” He bit his lip. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re figuring this out. One day at a time.”

Tears filled your eyes. He had been saying that a lot over the last few days. One day at a time. Like that was supposed to help you get three years back. “Are Iris and Barry really gone?”

“Yes, I don’t understand it all myself.” He looked at you as if you were going to break into pieces. “Apparently, they got sent to the future. Wally’s the Flash now.”

“Wally married Linda and had two kids who I’ve haven’t seen in a year because Wally hates that we’re together.” You took a deep breath. “Mom remarried after Dad disappeared and now lives in Europe. She agrees with Wally. Not surprising. She always liked him more.” 

“That’s not true.” Dick drove down a street of very nice houses. Suddenly, he turned into a driveway of a beautiful huge white house. It was surrounded by trees, offering privacy from the neighbors. “Here we are.” 

Your jaw dropped. “This is the house?” You quickly got out of the car to get a better look at it. Dick followed you.

“You like it?” He came to your side.

“Yeah, I just didn’t expect something so...large.” You walked ahead to the front door and took out a key from under the mat. It didn’t occur to you until the key was in your hand that your body must have remembered the motion. You looked back at Dick to find him staring at you with hopeful eyes. A lump formed in your throat.

“Go on in, sweetheart. I’ll get the car in the garage.” Dick climbed back into the car and opened the garage door. You pushed open the door and walked into the quiet, dark house. A motion sensor light clicked on along with a soft alarm. Your heart stopped.

Dick suddenly ran in behind you. “Sorry, forgot about that.” He typed in a code into the box in the corner by the door. A sensor popped out and Dick widened his eyes for it to scan his retinas. “There you go.” He turned back to you and started to lean forward, but stopped when you backed away. His face fell. “Don’t worry. It’s just our security system.” With that, he went back out the door to the car. 

You watched him go. Blood rushed to your face when you realized you were looking at his butt. You covered your eyes, telling yourself that he was your husband and you probably could look at his butt. However, the embarrassment didn’t go away. It was a very nice ass though.

Slowly, you wandered through a beautifully decorated living room and dining room, stopping to study the pictures on the walls. There were a few of you as a child, along with you assumed were Dick’s childhood photos. You stopped at a picture of you and Wally as kids. Both of you were in swim suits with the blow up pool behind you. Wally’s arms were around you, both of you grinning as your mom snapped the picture.

Tears filled your eyes again, but you pushed them away. You had enough of crying for one day. 

You explored the rest of the ground floor, finding the kitchen, pantry, office and a bathroom. It was so beautiful that you felt out of place. This was something you always dreamed about. Your own home, a place where you always belonged. You went upstairs. Another bathroom and three bedrooms. Two were empty, one made up into a guest bedroom. At the end of the hall, there were double doors. You swallowed hard and opened them.

The master bedroom was decorated by you. That you recognized right away. It very close to the bedrooms you designed as a teen when you couldn’t sleep after gymnastic practice. You would cut out photos from home magazines and print out pictures from the internet to paste together a mock room design for your dream home. 

The bed looked so comfortable, you went over and laid down on it. It was as soft as you liked it. The comforter and sheets smooth on your skin. You stared up at the ceiling. Your dreams really came true, didn’t they? Maybe this was some form of karma. You got what you always wanted, but now you can’t remember the pieces that made it all happen.

“Hey, you found our room,” Dick said, coming in with the bags. You recognized one of the bags as the one you stole clothes from at the hospital. He set the bags on the armchair in the corner. “You picked everything out in here, I was just along for the ride.”

“So we’re both sleeping here?” You asked, stomach twisting with nerves. Dear god, it felt like you were about to have your wedding night with this man. 

Dick paused, smile faltering. “No, I’ll be in the guest room.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to rush things for you. It wouldn’t be healthy for you or the baby.”

Your hand went to your stomach. There was a slight bump, which you only noticed after you found out you were pregnant. Dick’s eyes watched your hand. “Right, sure.” You got up from the bed and wandered toward the door in the corner. It led to a master bathroom with a walk in shower and giant tub in the corner. “Bruce really went all out, huh?”

“Yeah, he did.” Dick followed you, leaning against the doorframe as you peeked into the shower. “You told him about the house you dreamed about as a child and he made it for you and me.” 

“I told him about it? But I never told anyone about it. Not even Wally.” You spun to look at Dick. That pleasant shiver went up your spine as he smiled at you. His eyes sparkling with what seemed to be love. 

“You told me on the night we met. It was after Wally and Linda’s engagement party. Everyone was passed out drunk or left. You and I stayed to clean while Wally took care of Linda. We got to talking and I offered to take you out for breakfast at three am.” Dick sighed. “We talked until seven am, telling each other everything.”

You blinked. “Everything?” Your eye caught the photo on the wall. It was of you and Dick standing in front of the Golden Gate bridge. The two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, foreheads pressed together. “Like this? Is this our honeymoon?”

“No, that was a trip we took the summer after we met.” Dick came to your side. He kept a safe distance between you and him. “We were keeping our relationship a secret. Linda and Wally’s wedding was a month later and we didn’t want to cause trouble.”

You hummed, noting how happy you were in the photo. “I wish I remembered.” Dick hesitated before gently reaching over to rub your shoulder. You forced yourself not to tense. His touch felt nice, warm.

“You will, but for now, I’ll remind you.” Dick smiled. His pain was almost hidden, but you could see it in his eyes. He took your hand. The contact alone made you want to cry. Dick tugged you. “Come on, let me show you the basement.”

“That’s not creepy at all.” You laughed halfheartedly, letting Dick lead you down the stairs to a part of a wall with a framed poster of the Flying Graysons on it. “Is it hidden for a reason?”

Dick winked at you. A jolt ran through your abdomen. “Remember that tunnel I told you about? Well, we don’t want that out in the open.” He touched the side of a frame and a fingerprint scanner popped out. “Always use your thumb.” He pressed his thumb and it dinged. The wall swung open revealing a staircase. “It scans you as you walk. If it doesn’t recognize you, the alarms go off and you’ll get sealed in the stairwell.” 

“So this is like the safe room then?” You went in first, scared but comforted by the fact Dick was right behind you. 

“Yeah, this would be the place to go if we have a situation like that. Of course, they’d have to try to get into the house first. I’ll show you how to lock down the house too.” Dick slipped around you once you reached the bottom of the stairs and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. The weight of his arm felt right.  “What do you think?”

It was a huge underground base with big computer on one side. Costume displays were build into the wall. Three motorcycles and one military looking car sat at the far end. You pulled away from Dick to look at the workout area. There was a lot of equipment, but the only thing you focused on was the uneven bars.

You broke into a run toward the uneven bars and glide kipped onto the lower bar before doing a flip to the high bar. “Careful,” Dick chuckled, leaning against one of the punching bags nearby. “Your balance is off because of the baby.” 

“Right.” You did a few backward giants before slipping into a few piked Stalders. A laugh escaped you. You couldn’t even begin to describe the joy you had. Your body ached for this. 

You did a tucked Jaeger release before flipping down the lower bar. It felt unsteady, but you quickly adjusted to your change in weight. You did a toe-on release back to the high bar. Gaining momentum with a few more backward giants, you did a layout Jaeger release. Your grip slipped slightly, but you held on with one hand. 

A scream slipped out when you tried to gain control. Suddenly, arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled down from the bar. “It’s okay, I got you.” Dick pressed you against his chest until your feet were on the floor.

“I should have chalked first.” You bit your lip, face burning. Dick’s arms stayed around you. The walls felt like they were closing in. Reality sunk your stomach to the floor. Who were you if you couldn’t remember?

“You were amazing.” Dick started to lean forward, but froze when you pulled away from him. You avoided his gaze.

“Right.” Hot tears filled your eyes, out of your control. “I’m tired. I’ll go lay down for a while.” You walked away briskly, head down.

Dick sighed loudly behind you. “Okay, I’ll wake you for dinner.” You glanced back at him to give him a quick nod before disappearing up the stairs. 

***

“I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t get up from bed and only eats what I bring her.” Dick stood up from the kitchen table and poured himself another cup of coffee. “I thought coming home would help spark her memory or at the very least cheer her up, but she’s depressed.” 

Alfred hummed and sipped his tea. He settled back in his seat at the table in your kitchen. You were upstairs, still in bed despite it being two in the afternoon. “Well, that is not healthy.”

“No, it’s not. I’m scared for her and the baby.” Dick sank back into his seat. “I don’t know what to do, Alfred.”

“Have you tried talking to Mr. West again? Perhaps Miss (Y/N) needs someone familiar around?” Alfred crossed his arms, pursing his lips.

“Wally won’t answer my calls. I tried calling him, but he won’t pick up.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I called with her phone to see if he would pick up for (Y/N), but nothing. Her mother is not answering either, which isn’t a surprise. I debated calling Bart Allen or Jesse Chambers or even Jay Garrick, but I don’t know if it would be a comfort to her. She wasn’t very close to them.” 

“I swear that man and his mother are almost as stubborn as Master Bruce.” Alfred stood up and moved around the kitchen. “Did Miss (Y/N) have any cravings?”

Dick smiled halfheartedly as Alfred looked through the cabinets. “Well, not recently, but before everything, she was dying for pot stickers and refried beans. We had them every night for two weeks.” 

Alfred shook his head. “I suppose we can add a salad on the side.” He started to cook, gesturing for Dick to get out. “Now I need you to come up with a plan to get Miss (Y/N) out of bed. It’s best that we don’t have to force her out.”

“Right.” Dick sipped at his coffee and left the kitchen. He racked his brain. There had to be a way to get you out of bed on your own. He was a fool for expecting Alfred to come over and magically fix everything. Dick smiled. However, if he figured out a way to get you up, Alfred’s food would probably keep you up. It was going to be way better than the food Dick had made for you the last few days.

Dick wandered upstairs and stopped outside an empty bedroom. This was the room you planned for the baby. Nothing was in it yet. In fact, it wasn’t even painted. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Dick’s head. After all, you were still you, even if you didn’t remember the last three years. 

***

“Oops.” You jerked awake, sitting up in bed. Your eyes felt sticky, your body more tired than you ever felt before. The master bedroom was empty, but the doors to the rest of the house was open. “Damn, which color was it supposed to be again?”

It was Dick’s voice. You frowned. Curiosity tickled you. You felt the urge to get up and see what he was doing. Honestly, you were waiting for something to happen. Wallowing in self pity and sorrow only seemed worthwhile for so long.

You pulled back the covers and got to your feet. The pajamas you wore were a little tight around your stomach, the baby bump revealing itself. You still couldn’t believe you were pregnant and married. How do you forget something so important? It was like you were living someone else’s life.

“It couldn’t be black, could it?” Dick’s voice echoed down the hall. Your heart jolted. Why did you have a sense of dread? 

You went down the hall, not caring that you were walking around in pajamas and bed hair. Dick was in one of the empty bedrooms surrounded by boxes and paint cans. He was holding up paint sample cards to the wall, clearly deep in thought. “What are you doing?” you asked.

He flinched, dropping his sample cards. “(Y/N)? Oh, good. I was thinking of painting this bedroom. We were going to make this the baby’s room, but white walls are just so boring. I was trying find a color that matches those decorations.” He nodded to the boxes. 

You knelt down to look through the box, getting curiouser by the minute. Inside was a ton of baby decorations, all circus themed. “Wait, you were thinking black for the walls?” You looked up at him in disbelief. Your eye caught the black paint sample on the floor. “Black? For a baby’s room?”

“Yeah, it would really bring out the circus theme.” Dick’s eyes were wide with innocence. You swore you saw a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“No, that’s not happening.” You got to your feet and took the paint samples from him. “I mean what are you thinking?” 

“I don’t know. This is more your thing.” Dick shrugged as you tossed the black sample over your shoulder while keeping the others. You held them against the wall and glanced back at the decorations in the box. “I think we should go with this blue.” You handed him the right sample.

Dick grinned. “Yeah, I can see it now.” He came up behind you and held the paint sample to the wall. “I’ll go buy the paint.” You shivered, feeling his breath against your neck.

“Miss (Y/N), Master Dick, dinner is served.” Alfred appeared in the doorway. You crossed your arms.

“I’m not very hungry, Alfred. Sorry.” You moved away from Dick and toward the door.

“That’s too bad, because I made pot stickers, refried beans, and a green salad.” Alfred sighed and headed down the stairs. Your stomach growled. You found yourself following him.

“You did?” Wrapping your arms around yourself, you licked your lips. “When did you get here, Alfred?”

Alfred shrugged. “A few hours ago.” He disappeared around the corner. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Dick came up behind you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders to lead you toward the kitchen. “We’ll finish the baby’s room later.” 

You frowned, glancing back at the room. Did you really marry a man who thought black was a good color to paint a room? No wonder most of the house was your designs. “I suppose I could eat. Since I’m up and all.” 

Dick hummed. You glanced at him, wondering once more what you saw in him. He was hot, you admitted to yourself, and kind. You pondered some more as you both joined Alfred for dinner.

***

With your stomach full and satisfied, you ended up in the baby’s room again. You offered to help with dishes, but Alfred refused your help, instead making Dick do them as Alfred had to head home to take care of Bruce. 

Kneeling down next to the box of decorations, you sorted through it. There was were pictures of circus animals, a worn stuffed elephant, a circus mobile, crib sheets with lion and lion tamers on them etc. You noticed a lack of clowns, but then remembered the Joker and thought it was for the best. 

“We have the crib, but it’s still in the box in the closet. Bruce and Alfred sent it over once we told them the news.” Dick’s voice made you flinch. You forced yourself to relax as he slowly made his way to sit down next to you on the floor. He kept a nice distance between you, sensing your unease.

“That was nice of them.” You bit your lip. Dick reached over to take the worn stuffed elephant, smirking at it. “That was yours, wasn’t it?”

Dick looked up at you in surprise. The hopefulness in his eyes panged your heart. You didn’t remember that, you just guessed. “Yeah, I grew up with Sikta. She’s named after one of the elephants we had in the circus.” He chuckled, glancing back at the stuffed elephant. “She used to tease me by spraying water on me when I was close by and I would sneak her peanuts.”

“Wow.” You felt a smile pull at your lips. “We didn’t have any pets when I was little. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us and with Wally being a superhero. No one had the time I guess.” You shrugged, taking out a few classic children books. “These were mine.” You opened them to see your messy three year old handwriting inside. “I wrote my name in them because Wally always did it to his.”

“Is that your name? Wow, your handwriting has gotten much better.” Dick teased, leaning closer to look at the book with you. You got a whiff of his cologne, faded, but still there. 

His words gave you pause. “Did I take your name?” You looked at him, blinking when you found him only inches away from you. He turned, his lips almost brushing yours. 

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “You said your name sounded better as (Y/N) Grayson instead of (Y/N) West.” A blush came to his cheeks. “I was quite flattered.”

“Is that why Wally doesn’t approve?” You took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. It made your body relax. Your abdomen buzzed with excitement. 

“No.” Dick sighed. He paused before slowly wrapping an arm around your waist. You found you didn’t mind the touch. “I don’t know for sure to be honest. He hated that we were together and that we kept it a secret for so long. Wally always said that he worked hard to keep you from this life. I think he didn’t want you to be apart of the superhero life and by being with me, you joined it.” 

You pursed your lips. “Right, so I should be the one left out? It’s bad enough that I spend holidays alone with Mom and Dad when Wally ran off to save the world. At least with Aunt Iris, it was just me and her when Wally and Barry ran off. Less fighting and passive aggressive comments all the time.” 

“Do you want to try to call him?” Dick looked at you with those sparkling blue eyes. You found yourself awed by them. Hopefully, the baby would get his eyes. They were so much prettier than yours. 

“No.” You turned back to the books, picking up the Peter Pan book. Opening the cover, you smiled sadly when you saw Wally’s name crossed out and replaced with your own. Dick’s chin rested on your shoulder, looking with you. “I don’t think it will do any good.”

“You don’t know that.” Dick pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “But I’ll support whatever you want to do.” You felt him smile into you, feeling it through your pajamas. 

You felt yourself crack like the ground during an earthquake. Your emotions swelled to the surface.

“I’m sorry.” Tears welled up in your eyes uncontrollably. You turned away from him. “I’m sorry I don’t remember. I’m sorry I don’t know you like you know me.” A sob slipped out. It was unstoppable. You felt like there was no way to put a lid on your emotions. “It’s horrible to see the hope in your eyes, but the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever remember because nothing here triggers anything for me.” You glanced around the room. “I don’t remember buying this stuff, I don’t remember anything of the photos of us, or decorating this beautiful home.” You choked, wiping your tears with your sleeve. “It’s hopeless.”

Dick pulled you into his arms, letting you rest your head on his chest. “It’s not hopeless and you don’t need to be sorry. You can’t help it. I understand that.” He kissed the top of your head. You relaxed, soothed by his scent and warmth. Your body certainly remembered him, but why couldn’t the rest of you? “I love you, (Y/N). During our vows, I promised to be with you even after death parted us. We’ll work through this.” He chuckled softly. “If anything, we’ll just have to make new memories and stop focusing on remembering the old.”

You looked up at you, smiling at his goofy grin. “Did we really promise each other that in our wedding vows?” 

“We did.” Dick leaned down. His lips brushed softly against your cheeks, making your entire body light up in pleasure. “We’ll just have to get married over again, so you can have new memories.”

You blinked. “Do you really mean that?” His lips left you aching for more. He got to his feet and held out his hand. 

“Yeah, I do.” He winked at you. “Come on, let’s get out of here and watch a movie or something? Maybe we can discuss what kind of memories we want to make while we do it?” 

You nodded, starstruck. Now you could see how you fell in love with him. He was just so...charming. You took his warm hand and got to your feet. Hope was reborn inside you.

***

To say Dick felt great would have been an understatement. He was practically skipping through patrol. Many of the criminals he found were quite surprised by the happy Nightwing who wouldn’t stop smiling as he knock their lights out. 

He finished up patrol early and picked up a few things. Dick couldn’t believe he was so stupid. You needed to make new memories instead of him trying to force the old on you. Yes, it hurt him to know you didn’t remember the first time you met, the time he proposed, the wedding, you telling him you were pregnant... Dick swallowed hard, pushing his own feelings aside. He had to focus on you.

Dick took the tunnel home and quickly changed out of his suit. He showered quickly before the food he picked up could melt. Jogging up the stairs, Dick felt like he could do anything. 

The kitchen light was on. Dick frowned slightly, wondering if you were up. He knew he turned that off.

As he stepped inside, he froze when he saw a tall, masculine figure leaning inside the fridge. Dick carefully set the bag down on the floor and crept up behind the figure. He grabbed the figure by the back of their leather jacket and pulled them back out of the fridge. The figure grunted, elbowing Dick in the stomach. 

Dick groaned before using his strength and position to push the figure into a hold over the kitchen counter. “What the hell?” the figure said. “You greet all your visitors like this, Dickhead?” 

“Jason?” Dick blinked, feeling stupid for not recognizing the brown leather jacket that Jason always wore. He let his brother go. Jason groaned, stretching his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I got back from four months in space yesterday, so I decided to stop by and get something to eat while on my way back to Gotham,” Jason said, glaring at Dick. “(Y/N) said I was always welcome. She even gave me a key.”

Dick sighed. He rolled his shoulders to try to relax. “Right.” He took the groceries out of the bag and slipped around Jason to put them away in the fridge. Jason licked his lips at the sight. “It’s not for you. Don’t touch them.” 

“Why not?” Jason snorted, opening a cabinet to take out a bag of chips. 

“Jay, did you get any news while you were away?” Dick closed the freezer and leaned against it with his arms crossed. “I’m assuming no, because you wouldn’t have sneaked in here if you did.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I know you spawned. Tim sent me the announcement card.” He shrugged his shoulder, shoving a chip into his mouth. “Congrats, I guess,” he mumbled with his mouth full. 

Dick held back a wince. That felt so long ago. You were so excited to send out those announcements. “Something happened with (Y/N).” He swallowed hard when Jason suddenly froze, staring at Dick with wide eyes. “She’s fine, physically at least. The baby is too.” Dick held up his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jason finished chewing and swallowed before he spoke. “So what happened?” His eyes darkened. Dick almost smiled. He always found it funny how protective Jason became of you once you joined the family. Then again, everyone in the family felt the same way. 

“(Y/N) took a fall during patrol a few weeks ago.” The memory flashed before his eyes. He had to blink it away. “She was in a coma for about a week. When she finally woke up, she didn’t remember me.” He bit his lip, hating the horror dawning on Jason’s face. “She doesn’t remember anything from the last three years. The last thing she remembered was the day before Wally’s engagement party.”

“Shit.” The color drained out of Jason’s face. “I’m sorry. Geez, I could have scared her to death if she found me, huh?” He ran a hand through his hair at the same time Dick did. Dick noticed, but Jason didn’t. 

“It’s okay, you didn’t get the message.” Dick rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “If you want to crash on the couch, I can introduce you. She’s met the others again already.” 

“Why can’t I take the guest room?” Jason met Dick’s eye, having a ‘duh’ moment. “Oh, right. I suppose if she doesn’t remember you at all, you won’t just jump into bed together.”

Dick hummed, tensing when he heard a creak from the stairs. “So the couch is what I can offer you. We’re going to make up the other bedroom, but we haven’t got to that. I was going to set it up before...” 

Jason snorted, tilting his head. He heard you too.

Dick sighed before turning to meet you as you entered the kitchen. You took his breath away even with bedhead and those pajamas that were getting too small for your growing belly. “What’s going on?” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. You saw Jason and jumped at the stranger in your kitchen.

“Sweetheart.” Dick soothed, reaching out to take your hand. You relaxed slightly. “This is Jason, my brother.”

“Oh.” You laughed slightly. “Hi. Dick told me you’re the one who causes the most trouble.” You waved at him shyly. Dick could see the grief in Jason’s eyes once he realized you didn’t recognize him, but only knew of him. 

Jason quickly hid his feelings. “Nah, Dickhead is the troublemaker. Isn’t that why you’re knocked up?” He smirked when you seemed slightly taken back by the comment. 

You blushed, taking a step behind Dick to hide your pajamas. A somewhat awkward silence filled the room. Dick cleared his throat, squeezing your hand soothingly. “Can Jay stay the night on the couch?” he asked you. 

“Sure.” You bit your lip. “That would be fine. Sorry that the guest bedroom is already taken.” 

Jason shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve been sleeping on a rock floor for the past week, so this will be luxury.” He shoved more chips in his mouth. 

“I’m going back to bed.” You slipped away. Dick turned, but you were gone as quickly as you came. 

“Wow, so you weren’t kidding. She doesn’t know us at all. Otherwise, she would have yelled at me for eating chips and insist I eat some leftovers or something.” Jason sighed, rolling up the chip bag and wiping his fingers on his jeans. 

Dick held his breath, listening to your footsteps as you moved around upstairs. “I have a plan though.”

Jason snorted, shaking his head. He grabbed a can of soda out of the fridge. “What? You’re going to hit her on the head again and see if it all comes back?” 

“No!” Dick punched Jason’s arm. Jason winced, rubbing his arm. “I thought I could trigger her memories with the house and photos, but it’s not working.” Dick bit his lip. “So I decided to make new memories with her. Tomorrow, I’m going to make her breakfast.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Right. Well, don’t mind me.” He waved a hand and brushed past Dick to go to the living room. Dick snorted, holding back a yawn of his own. He turned off the lights and headed upstairs to the lonely guest bedroom.

***

You stood in front of the full length mirror in the huge bathroom, studying yourself. Three years didn’t change much overall. Sure, your hair was different. Maybe your face thinned out a little, losing the bit of it’s childishness. 

You turned to the side. The baby bump was new. You remembered Dick said you were almost at the end of your fourth month. Running your hands over it, you smiled. Children had always been something you considered. Tears filled your eyes as you thought about finally having your own family.

Of course, you didn’t remember anything about your husband or the act of getting pregnant itself. You took a deep breath. “New memories,” you said to yourself. Dick was supportive of it and honestly you felt it was the only way to move forward.

The house was quiet for five in the morning. You had been awake since you heard Dick and Jason downstairs. Moping and sleeping for the past week left you full of an energy you weren’t sure what to do with.

After leaving Dick and Jason, you explore every single drawer and storage container in your bedroom. It was like shopping, discovering you still had amazing taste in clothes. Dick had nice clothes too. You blushed at the thought.

You rocked on your feet. Boredom was your problem now. 

With a sigh, you left the bathroom and collapsed onto the bed. You reached for your phone and started to look through your pictures again. There were a lot of selfies of you and Dick, a picture of an ultrasound, shots of Dick’s family doing silly things, and lots of kids and people you didn’t know. You guessed that they were people from your gymnastics school.

 But there was one person missing from your recent pictures. Wally.

Tears burned in your eyes. “New memories, but without my family.” A shaky breath slipped out of you as you opened your contacts and hovered your thumb over Wally’s name.

You remembered how Wally wouldn’t look you in the eye once he found out you were pregnant. How fast he ran out of the batcave, leaving you alone with people you didn’t know.

Your Wally wouldn’t do that. Never.

You hesitated, hovering your thumb over the call button. He probably wouldn’t be awake if he answered at all. You bit your lip.

Melancholy ate at your heart. You wanted to just see someone you knew. Uncle Barry, Aunt Iris, Wally. Even your mother or father would be great right now. 

Your stomach growled. A blush came to your cheeks. You sat up and looked at the double doors to the rest of the house. “It’s your house, you can go eat, you can do what you want,” you told yourself softly. Blueberry muffins with strawberry smoothies sounded good. Very good.

You stood up and went to the door. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped into the hallway to shuffle your way to the kitchen.

***

Dick woke to the smell of freshly made muffins and coffee. He opened his eyes and jerked up to his feet. “Crap.” He checked the clock only to find it to be seven in the morning. Blinking, he rubbed a hand over his face. Did he make the muffins already? Why would he be in bed though?

He grabbed a shirt from the foot of his bed and headed downstairs. Your laughter drifted from the kitchen along with Jason’s low chuckle. 

You and Jason were at the kitchen table with muffins and smoothies in front of you. Jason had a grin on his face. Dick’s heart stuttered when he saw a matching one on your lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw you  smile. A real smile.

“Hey, I was going to make you breakfast,” Dick said. He straightened his shoulders when your smile didn’t fall as you turned to look at him. “I picked up the fruit last night.”

“Sorry, I was hungry and up early. I saw the fruit and went with it.” You stood up. Dick’s eyes dropped to your bump. Still there. Slightly. He wished he could rest his hand on it, but he stopped himself. You might not be comfortable with that yet.

Jason glanced between Dick and you. He took a big bite of a muffin. You turned away. Dick raised an eyebrow at him. Jason just smiled while chewing.

“Close your mouth,” you said, patting Jason’s shoulder. Jason obeyed. Dick’s heart fluttered as he thought for a moment how it was like the old you. You took out another plate and glass. Dick took a seat across from Jason. 

“I was telling (Y/N) about my adventures in space,” Jason said once you sat back down and served Dick a muffin and a smoothie. 

You smiled, resting your chin in your hand. “I think you were on the part where you got drunk on alien beer and found yourself in bed with a three foot tentacle monster and a six breasted woman.” 

Dick choked on his smoothie. He coughed. You reached over to pat his back. Jason just laughed, leaning back in his seat.

“You what?!” Dick said after he recovered. Your hand stayed on his back. Dick met your eye as Jason told the story. His heart fluttered with hope, your touch warm and so familiar. He hoped this new memories idea worked. His heart couldn’t take it otherwise.

[wh0-is-lily]

Carol Kane in "Wedding in White"

dir. William Fruet - 1972

[conradscrime]

Unsolved Canadian Cases

April 17, 2024

These are cases of individuals who have gone missing in Canada but may not have enough information to be an entire case post of their own.

James David Kunuk

James David Kunuk was born in 1981 and was 34 years old at the time of his disappearance. He was last seen by family on September 21, 2016 in Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. He was not reported missing until December 2016 by his landlord.

James had been living in downtown Vancouver, BC, but had recently moved to the Yukon and not yet unpacked his belongings. He did not take his wallet with him.

James did not contact his family for his birthday or over Christmas, which was unusual. Most do not think he moved again, however, he does have family in the Northwest Territories.

James uses multiple aliases including Jay Kunuk, Jimmy Miller, Jay David Springgay, Jimmy Kunuk, James Thrasher, Jeremiah McClusky.

He is Indigenous, 5'10 in height, 181 pounds with a medium build. He has short, straight black hair and brown eyes. He has two tattoos; one on his left forearm of a cross with the word "LIFE" and on his right arm of the word "THUG."

He would be 42 years old today.

Edward Joseph Arcand

Edward Joseph Arcand left his home in Coleman, Alberta driving a 1969 Ford Falcon station wagon on June 8, 1975. He has never been seen since.

On June 15, 1975, one week later, his vehicle was found abandoned 80 km north of Coleman on Highway 940. However, the Doe Network states his car was found in July 1975. Edward is Indigenous, 5'8 in height, 139 pounds with a medium build. Joseph has brown eyes and short black hair, last seen wearing a blue, denim jacket, red shirt and blue, denim pants.

Many speculated he could have been Septic Tank Sam, a man whose remains were discovered in a septic tank outside Tofield, Alberta in 1977. However, Edward was missing 6 teeth and Sam had all his teeth.

Septic Tank Sam would later be identified in June 2021 as a 26 year old Indigenous man named Gordon Sanderson, who had been murdered by a gunshot wound in 1976 or 1977.

Joseph had a hernia scar on his lower abdomen, a dark complexion, and no facial hair at the time. He was 27 years old at the time of his disappearance.

Joseph would be turning 76 years old in 2024.

Glenn Field

Glenn Field was 62 years old when he was last seen in April 2019 by a pilot flying over his campsite at Rolfe Lake, Northwest Territories. Glenn had flown to Rolfe Lake on September 13, 2018 to spend the winter living on the land.

He was then going to make his way back to Yellowknife, Northwest Territories in the spring of 2019. Glenn had three dogs with him and enough food to last the winter.

In October 2019, the RCMP Search and Rescue team did an aerial search of Rolfe Lake, but found no sign of Glenn.

Glenn is 5'10 in height, 170 pounds with grey hair and grey eyes. He has glaucoma and is missing one toe on his left foot and two toes on his right foot.

Glenn would be 67-68 years old in 2024.

Jean Gravel & Jean-Guy Champagne

Jean Gravel was 24 years old and went missing with his coworker Jean-Guy Champagne, who was 25, on July 6, 1972 in Trois-Rivières, Québec. Both men were employees of the Rio Bar in downtown.

Both arrived to work early in the evening to work the closing shift. Neither ever returned home and have not been seen since. They were reported missing on July 10, 1972.

Jean Gravel is described as being 5'8 in height, 139 pounds with brown eyes and hair. He was wearing yellow corduroy pants, a beige wool vest, leather black and white running shoes, a gold ring on his left finger, a necklace with assorted colours and a dark blue coat.

Jean-Guy Champagne was described as 5'11 in heigh, 163 pounds with brown eyes and brown hair. He was wearing a green cotton coat, white cotton shirt, green cotton pants, a watch that may have been "Timex" brand, a silver wedding ring on his left finger, black shoes that were size 10-10.5 and has a scar on his chin.

If you have information on any of the above cases you can contact Crime Stoppers: 1-800-222-TIPS(8477) or online at https://www.canadiancrimestoppers.org/tips. You can stay anonymous.

Source: Canada Unsolved (canadaunsolved.com)

[broadwaydivastournament]

Broadway Divas Tournament: Round 2B

Anika Noni Rose (1972) “ANIKA NONI ROSE (Emmie Thibodeaux). Broadway: Footloose. Off-Broadway: Caroline, or Change; Eli’s Comin’ (Obie). Cleary Theater: Threepenny Opera, Tartuffe. Insurrection: Holding History. Berkley Rep: Valley Song (Garland/Drama Logue Award). Featured soloist at Carnegie Hall and the Vatican (Leonard Bernstein’s Mass). TV: “Hack,” “Third Watch.” Trained in drama at ACT (San Francisco).” – Playbill bio from Caroline, or Change June, 2004.

Tyne Daly (1946) “TYNE DALY (Judy Steinberg) Since 1963, Theatre East: Jenny Kissed Me: The Butter and Egg Man; That Summer—That Fall; Gypsy (Tony, Drama Desk. Outer Critics Circle Awards): Mystery School (Outer Critics Circle nomination); Rabbit Hole (Tony nomination); Love, Loss, and What I Wore; Master Class; Mothers and Son (Tony and Drama Desk nominations). Theatre West:  Ashes; Black Angel; Gethsemane Springs; Come Back, Little Sheba (Drama-Logue Awards);  Oliver!; The Caucasian Chalk Circle; American Theater Hall of Fame, 2011. Film/television: Hello, My Name Is Doris; Basmati Blues; Zoot Suit; The Enforcer; Telefon; "Modern Family” "Georgia O'Keeffe," "The Wedding Dress," "Bye Bye Birdie," "Kids Like These," "The Women's Room." "Intimate Strangers (Emmy nomination). "The Entertainer,” “Larry,” “Judging Amy," (Emmy), “Christy,” (Emmy), "Cagney and Lacey (four Emmys). Favorite productions: Alisabeth Kathryne, Alyxandra.” – Playbill bio from It Shoulda Been You, June 2015.

NEW PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT: ALL POLLS HERE

"Save us, Anika Noni Rose, save us from the invasion of white blonde Hollywood actresses on our New York City stages. If she's not deemed eligible for Leading Actress, I will riot."

"Unrelated to anything, but Tyne Daly, I have one question. Why are your daughters' names spelled like that? What were you thinking? Why did you do that?"

[whitesinhistory]

On June 14, 1910, Louisiana’s House of Representatives broadened its ban on interracial marriage by passing legislation, by a vote of 93 to 10, prohibiting Black people and white people from living together under any circumstances. Under the new legislation, cohabitation was a felony punishable by imprisonment for up to five years. The bill was signed into law by Governor Jared Sanders on July 16, 1910. The legislation broadened the state’s existing ban on interracial marriage and criminalized the cohabitation of white people and individuals with at least one Black great-grandparent, punishing those found living together irrespective of marital status. The law authorized the state to break up couples who had lived together for years. Acknowledging that the act would likely destroy thousands of families, white legislators declared the impending trauma to be “suffering incidental to a good cause-the cause of preserving the purity of the [white] race.”  Laws criminalizing relationships between Black and white people predated Louisiana’s statehood. In 1724, the French colonial government criminalized interracial relationships, imposing severe penalties on interracial couples. When Louisiana joined the U.S. in 1812, it banned marriage between enslaved Black people, free people of color, and white people. In 1825, Louisiana severely restricted the ability of biracial children to inherit property through white fathers. In 1868, during Reconstruction, newly elected Black legislators successfully pushed for the repeal of Louisiana’s interracial marriage ban. An all-white legislature reenacted the ban in 1894.  During the 20th century, Louisiana legislators repeatedly broadened the state’s ban on interracial marriage. A set of laws passed in 1900 and 1914 forbade interracial couples who claimed residence in Louisiana from getting married outside the state. A 1914 enactment made it a crime to officiate an interracial wedding and exposed individuals who violated this law to the threat of imprisonment. Louisiana courts were likewise complicit in rigorously enforcing racial hierarchy. Local press boasted that “a large number of persons had been convicted'' during the 1908-1910 period. These laws remained in effect until the Supreme Court declared anti-miscegenation statutes unconstitutional in 1967 in Loving v. Virginia. Louisiana did not formally repeal its ban on interracial marriage until five years later, in 1972.  Like Louisiana, states throughout the country relied on laws banning interracial marriage to maintain a rigid racial caste system. To learn more about these and other laws that entrenched white supremacy, read EJI’s report, Segregation in America. 

[musicthatyoucandanceto]

robin’s opinions about sparks albums 1971-1979

because I wanted to review them like I’ve seen a lot of people do, but I am simply not strong enough to rank them by how much I like them (I love them all dearly). these are all my opinions so please don’t come at me 😇

Self-Titled (1971) (I often wonder how they came up with such genius stuff as their first album, but then again, it’s the Maels and of course they did) Bops: SLOWBOAT!!! 💞💖💗, Saccharin and the War, High C (and many more…)

Flops: Biology 2 :| it's fun sometimes but I usually skip it (as many people do). Sorry not sorry Earle Mankey 🫢

A Woofer in Tweeter’s Clothing (1972)

Bops: Girl 👏 from 👏 Germany 👏 (far beyond the rest of the album imo), Whippings and Apologies

Flops: The Louvre (it’s actually ok but I never feel like I need to listen to it), Batteries Not Included 👎

KIMONO MY HOUSE (1974)!!!!! MY BESTIE!!!!

Bops: Amateur Hour (this is everyone’s favorite but it’s the best song I have ever heard in my life), Barbecutie, Talent is an Asset, and more!

Flops: literally none this is a no skip album. Sometimes Here in Heaven can be a little grating but I never let myself skip it (out of loyalty) 💪

Propaganda (1974)

Bops: B.C. (I am a HUGE B.C. enjoyer), Something for the Girl with Everything, Marry Me, and bonus points to Propaganda because it's cool

Flops: ummm Who Don't Like Kids I guess? or Achoo? but both of those are actually really good, they just have annoying endings so I don't think they count

Indiscreet (1975) << LOVE her

Bops: Looks, Looks, Looks!!! (SLAYS SO HARD), Hospitality on Parade, How Are You Getting Home/Happy Hunting Ground/The Wedding of Jacqueline Kennedy to Russell Mael/Get In The Swing/Under The Table With Her

damn I didn't know I liked Indiscreet this much

Flops: Indiscreet is OOPS ALL BANGERS!!! No flops here :)

Big Beat (1976) ok if I thought I loved Indiscreet I REALLY love Big Beat. It was the first Sparks album I liked and it gets a lot of hate but it's my good time boy

Bops: Confusion!!! Screwed Up!!! I Like Girls!!! (The amount of exclamation points in this post is getting appalling‼️)

Flops: White Women I guess?? It's my least favorite but it's still very well produced in terms of music, I just get squeamish about the lyrics (which is funny bc I'm fine with Throw Her Away And Get A New One). I know the song is ironic but still........

Introducing Sparks (1977) (also my good time boy)

Bops: I looooove Occupation, Forever Young, and Over the Summer and those are just the ones I would rank 10 out of 10!!! There are a lot of other ones that are also fabulous

Flops: Those Mysteries .... I know a lot of people like it but it just does not hit for me. I'm not a huge fan of I'm Not either but it's still a solid 7 out of 10

NUMBER ONE IN HEAVEN (1979)! aka number one in my heart!! ok maybe number three but no one's forcing me to rank them

Bops: La Dolce Vita, Beat the Clock, The Number One Song in Heaven...... but I hate picking favorites.....

Flops: my other voice 😶 it's good but the rest of the album is incredible, show stopping, fantastic, amazing, and other adjectives that describe how my mind was blown when I first listened to it. I think My Other Voice is nice as a lead up to The Number One Song in Heaven but it is my least favorite on the album

[carolkaneenthusiast]

Wedding in white 1972 🖤

[moneeb0930]

➡THE FIRST AFRICAN-AMERICAN TO BECOME A NOTED FASHION DESIGNER

Ann Cole Lowe (December 14, 1898 – February 25, 1981) was the first African American to become a noted fashion designer. Lowe's one-of-a-kind designs were a favorite among high society matrons from the 1920s to the 1960s. She was best known for designing the ivory silk taffeta wedding dress worn by Jacqueline Bouvier when she married John F. Kennedy in 1953.

In 1917, Lowe and her son moved to New York City, where she enrolled at S.T. Taylor Design School. As the school was segregated, Lowe was required to attend classes in a room alone. However, segregation did not stop her, and she still managed to rise above her peers in school. Her work was often shown to her white peers in recognition of her outstanding artistry, and she was eligible for graduation after attending school for only half a year. After graduating in 1919, Lowe and her son moved to Tampa, Florida.

The following year, she opened her first dress salon. The salon catered to members of high society and quickly became a success. Having saved $20,000 from her earnings, Lowe returned to New York City in 1928. During the 1950's and 1960's, she worked on commission for stores such as Henri Bendel, Montaldo's, I. Magnin, Chez Sonia, Neiman Marcus, and Saks Fifth Avenue. In 1946, she designed the dress that Olivia de Havilland wore to accept the Academy Award for Best Actress for To Each His Own, although the name on the dress was Sonia Rosenberg.

As she was not getting credit for her work, Lowe and her son opened a second salon, Ann Lowe's Gowns, in New York City on Lexington Avenue in 1950. Her one-of-a-kind designs made from the finest fabrics were an immediate success and attracted many wealthy, high society clients. Design elements for which she was known include fine handwork, signature flowers, and trapunto technique. Her signature designs are what helped her eventually become recognized for her work. In 1964, the Saturday Evening Post later called Lowe "society's best kept secret" and in 1966, Ebony magazine referred to her as "The Dean of American Designers. Throughout her career, Lowe was known for being highly selective in choosing her clientele.

In 1953, Janet Lee Auchincloss hired Lowe to design a wedding dress for her daughter, the future First Lady Jacqueline Bouvier, and the dresses for her bridal attendants for her September wedding to then-Senator John F. Kennedy. Auchincloss also chose Lowe to design her own wedding dress for her marriage to Hugh D. Auchincloss in 1942. While the Bouvier-Kennedy wedding was a highly publicized event, Lowe did not receive public credit for her work until after the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

Throughout her career, Lowe continued to work for wealthy clientele who often talked her out of charging hundreds of dollars for her designs. After paying her staff, she often failed to make a profit on her designs. Lowe later admitted that at the height of her career, she was virtually broke. In 1961 she received the Couturier of the Year award but in 1962, she lost her salon in New York City after failing to pay taxes. That same year, her right eye was removed due to glaucoma. While she was recuperating, an anonymous friend paid Lowe's debts which enabled her to work again. In 1963 she declared bankruptcy. Soon after, she developed a cataract in her left eye; surgery saved her eye. In 1968, she opened a new store, Ann Lowe Originals, on Madison Avenue. She retired in 1972.

➡LEGACY

A collection of five of Ann Lowe's designs are held at the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Three are on display at the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC. Several others were included in an exhibition on black fashion at the Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology in Manhattan in December 2016.

A children's book, Fancy Party Gowns: The Story of Ann Cole Lowe written by Deborah Blumenthal was published in 2017. Author Piper Huguley wrote a historical fiction novel, By Design: the story of Ann Lowe, Society's Secret Fashion Designer, about Lowe's life.

Her work has been admired by the designer Christian Dior, as well as the famous costumer Edith Head.

[dankusner]

The Libra husband is not an easy man to please. The monotony of domesticity is not to his liking.

But he is a passionate man. And a respecter of tradition."

All I have to do is find this Libra man. "The Libra husband is reasonable. He is a born judge. And no other zodiacal type can order his life with so much wisdom." God. That's all I need: order. That's all I need: an ordered life. You know, a manager. But he's got to be a Libran.

Inside Grey Gardens With Gail Sheehy -- New York Magazine - APR. 13, 2009

The Secret of Grey Gardens By Gail Sheehy

From the January 10, 1972 issue of New York Magazine.

This is a tale of wealth and rebellion in one American Gothic family.

It begins and ends at the juncture of Lily Pond Lane—the new Gold Coast—and West End Road, which is a dead end.

There, in total seclusion, live two women, twelve cats, and occasional raccoons who drop through the roof of a house like no other in East Hampton.

Ropes of bittersweet hang from its frail shoulders.

A pair of twisted catalpa trees guard its occupants, but nothing is safe for long from invasion by the bureaucrats and Babbitts.

Least of all a mother and daughter of unconventional tastes who long ago turned their backs on public opinion.

The seeds of their tale go back to 1915 when the family first discovered, beyond “dressy” Southampton, a “simple” summer resort composed of saltbox houses and village greens.

The sea was still tucked then behind great cushions of sand dunes.

Behind them potato fields stretched in white-tufted rows clear to the horizon like a natural Nettle Creek bedspread.

Right from the start, East Hampton provided a refuge for the family’s scandals and divorces and all manner of idiosyncrasies common to those of high breeding.

The family brought the wealth of Wall Street to this simple resort.

It casually purchased a cabana at the Maid-stone Club for $8,000 in 1926.

The men set down roots in four houses and sired beautiful women.

In due time the little girls’ names entered the Social Register.

Later they would appear in the creamy pages of The Social Spectator…

“Seen at the recent East Hampton Village Fair, ‘Little Edie’ Beale,” under the picture of a full-lipped blonde shamelessly vamping through the brim of her beach hat, or, “Picking up another blue rib-bon at the East Hampton horse show, Miss Jacqueline Bouvier with her father, John Vernou Bouvier III captions which reflected the infinite self-confidence of the indomitably rich.

The Social Spectator described an era which will never be again.

The family’s homes are gone now, all but one.

And the family itself, after 300 years, has slipped back into the abominable middle class.

All except a few.

One became the most celebrated woman in the world, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis.

Two others never gave a damn about all that.

They rebelled against the Maidstone, shunned garden parties to pursue the artistic life.

Now, passed over by history, they are left to the wreck of their house.

Contemporary East Hampton is caught up in a war of land values.

It is no longer a refuge for artists and eccentrics.

The dropouts at the foot of the lane do not conform to the new values exhibited by “beach houses” with elevators.

Their lives are remote from the Friday afternoon helicopters which ferry high-powered businessmen out from the city and drop them into pastel sports cars on D. Blinken’s lawn.

Around the corner from them, on West End, a parade of tycoons’ castles, one owned by Revlon’s Charles Revson (who copied the house next door), ends in a nest of five mansionettes owned by Pan Am’s Juan Trippe and family.

But the grounds belonging to the dropouts bear no resemblance to putting-green lawns, nor to the wedding-cake trees created by topiary gardening on estates which retreat from them behind trimmed privet hedges.

These two have lived beyond their time at the juncture of Lily Pond Lane and West End, where the privet runs wild over a house called Grey Gardens.

Last summer our lives crossed by chance.

My daughter and I often walked past Grey Gardens on the way back from Georgica Beach.

We could see little of the house because on that side it was obscured by a tall hedge with an overpowering fragrance of honeysuckle.

But my daughter had seen fat cats in the high grass.

She also reported a light in the second-floor window at night.

On this scanty evidence she had dubbed it the Witch House.

One Sunday morning’s discovery changed all that.

My daughter came running, tearful, holding three baby rab-bits in a Tide box.

She had found them motherless by the side of the road.

“Can’t we take them home?” she asked.

I explained they would never survive the train ride.

She had another idea: if the Witch House had all those cats, whoever lived there must like animals.

Before I could protest, we had ducked under the hedge, skittered past a 1937 Cadillac brooding in the tangled grasses, and we were deep into the preserve of twelve devil-eyed cats.

There was no turning back.

“Mother?”

We whirled at the sound of an alien voice.

She was coming through the catalpa trees as a taxi pulled away, and she was covered everywhere except for her face, which was beautiful.

“Are you looking for Mother, too?” she asked, more unnerved than we.

My little girl held out the Tide box to show her the trembling bunnies.

“Did you think we care for animals here?”

The woman smiled and bent down close to the face of the child, who silently considered her.

This was not at all a proper witch.

She looked sweet sixteen going on 30-odd and had carefully applied lipstick, eyeliner and powder to her faintly freckled face.

The child nodded solemnly: “This is an animal house.”

“You see! Children sense it.”

The woman clapped her hands in delight.

“The old people don’t like us. They think I’m crazy. The Bouviers don’t like me at all, Mother says. But the children understand.”

My little girl said it must be fun to live in a house where you never have to clean up.

“Oh, Mother thinks it’s artistic this way, like a Frank Lloyd Wright house. Don’t you love the overgrown Louisiana Bayou look?”

My daughter nodded vigorously.

At this point the woman looked shyly up to include me in the conversation.

“Where do you come from?”

“Across the way.”

“My goodness, it’s about time we got together! How many years have you been here?”

She rushed on before I could answer, as though reviving a numb habit of social conversation and desperate not to lose the knack.

“You phone me. Beale. That’s the name, Edith Beale.”

As she swept past us in a long trench coat and sandals, her head wrapped in a silk scarf knotted at the back of the neck, I could have sworn she was—who?

I’d seen her picture hundreds of times.

Edie Beale, safe on her porch, pointed out the formally lettered sign she had made for the front door: Do Not Trespass, Police on the Place.

“Are there really?” my daughter breathed.

“Not really, but Mother is frightened of anyone who comes by.”

She then described a neighbor who tries to club the cats to death at night, and the boys from across the street whose surfer friends try to break in.

I suggested the boys might just be prankish.

“Oh no, they’re dangerous. I can tell what’s inside a person right away. Mother and I can see behind the masks; we’re artists, it’s the artist’s eye. I wish I didn’t have it. Jackie has it too. She’s a fine artist.”

“Jackie?”

“I’m Jacqueline Bouvier’s first cousin. Mother is her aunt. Did you know that?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Oh yes, we’re all descended from fourteenth-century French kings. Now a relative has written a book saying it’s all a lie, that we don’t really have royal blood. He’s a professor, John H. Davis, and he’s breaking with history. Everyone is. That’s how I know the millennium is coming. The Bouviers: Portrait of an American Family. Not a bad book really.”

(Subsequently, I read the Davis book and was struck by the parallel courses of their two lives—Little Edie, better known as Body Beautiful Beale, but so breakable; her young cousin Jackie, whose heart developed a steel safety catch—until an accident of fate drove one to the top and condemned the other to obscurity. It came out in the inauguration scene:

“The Reception for Members of President and Mrs. Kennedy’s Families” was the first Kennedy party held in the White House.

Peter Lawford and Ted Kennedy showed up.

Little Edie Beale approached J. P. Kennedy, who was looking his usual unassuming self, and reminded him jokingly that she had once almost been engaged to his first-born son, Joe, Jr.

And if he had lived, she probably would have married him and he would have become President instead of Jack and she would have become First Lady instead of Jackie! J. P. Kennedy smiled and took another drink.)

“I’ve just come from church, which put the millennium in my mind,” the lady of Grey Gardens was saying.

The woman before me, a version of Jackie coming from church on a Greek island, was Little Edie in the summer of her 54th year!

“You…resemble your cousin,” I faltered.

“Mmmm, Jackie had a very hard time. Did you like the Kennedys?”

She didn’t skip a beat.

“They brought such art to the country! Besides the clothes and makeup, politics is the most exciting thing about America. Didn’t you think the Kennedys would be around forever—at least three terms?”

Her eyes danced.

My daughter wanted to know if she knew President Kennedy well.

“Jack never liked society girls, he only dated showgirls,” she began, synchronizing only with her memories.

“I tried to show him I’d broken with society, I was a dancer. But Jack never gave me a tumble. Then I met Joe Jr. at a Princeton dance, and oh my!” She swooned. “Joe was the most wonderful person in the world. There will never be another man like him.”

“But you were a ballerina?”

My daughter wanted to stick to the facts.

“What, sweetheart?” Edie Beale was off in her private world again; this brought her back.

“Oh yes, I started in ballet. Ran away from home three times. First to Palm Beach; everyone thought I’d eloped with Bruce Cabot, the movie actor—I didn’t even know him! I never did anything but flirt—you know, the Southern belle. My father brought me back. He’d always thought my mother was crazy because she was an artist. Then I went into interpretive dancing and ran away to New York. Mother caught me moving out of the Barbizon, she thought it was the correct spot. But I moved into New York’s oldest theatrical hotel. On the sly a friend sent me to Max Gordon. The minute he saw me he said: ‘You’re a musical comedienne.’ I said, ‘That’s funny, I did Shakespearean tragedy at Spence.’ Max Gordon said the two were very close. I was all set to audition for the Theatre Guild that summer. Shaking with fear, you can imagine with my father still alive—he’d left Mother for the very same thing! I modeled for Bachrach while I was waiting for the summer to audition. Someone squealed to my father. Do you know, he marched up Madison Avenue and saw my picture and put his fist right through Mr. Bachrach’s window?”

At that, Little Edie threw back her head and giggled so contagiously we caught it ourselves.

“But”—we were gasping for the end of the story—“did you ever go for the audition?”

“Oh no. Mother got the cats. That’s when she brought me down from New York to take care of them.”

It was a stunning non sequitur, but the empty finality of her voice made the meaning clear.

We had come to the dead end of a human life.

Cats crouched all around in the grass, rattling in their throats, mean and stricken.

“Are they wild?” I asked.

She called for Tedsy Kennedy, a Persian.

“Mother bred them all. We’ve had 300 cats altogether. Now we have twelve, but they’re not wild. They’re fur people.” Tedsy Kennedy leaped out of her arms.

She tried for Hipperino, Little Jimmy, Zeppo, Champion—“He’s a mother’s boy”—and finally she succeeded in scooping up Bigelow.

“It’s true about old maids, they don’t need men if they have cats.”

She put her lips to the ear of the fur person named Bigelow: “We’re going away together, all right, Bigs? Just you and me?”

Bigs writhed out of the embrace too, giving her nothing but a blood bubble on one finger.

Then an operatic voice sang its lament through the upstairs window.

EeeDIE? I’m about to die.

“Oh dear, Mother’s furious because she’s not getting attention. I’ll be right up, Mother.”

“The bunnies.”

My daughter offered the Tide box.

“They are sweet, but you see, Mother runs everything around here. I work for her and she might throw me out….” Little Edie accepted the bunnies anyway.

She walked us up to the catalpa trees.

Suddenly she gasped, shrank back:

“Oh dear, it’s fall.”

We followed her eyes to the ground where a dead mouse lay in our path.

“That’s the sign of an early fall. There’s evil ahead,” she said.

It was not an early fall.

But Edith Beale was right about evil in the wings.

Late August Saturdays still found the new rich along the Gold Coast entertaining the “fun people” in lime pants from Southampton.

At high noon they sat beside gelid pools exercising little but their mouths; talking business, nibbling quiche, complaining about neighbors who drive down the land values.

These are the city people who send out their architects to order the shoulders of the sea broken, crushed, swept back into the potato fields.

On the leveled stage they set down their implausible houses and bathwater pools.

New dune grass eventually appears in patches, row on row, like hair transplants.

But dunes never grow back.

The new people use the sea only as a backdrop

(“You don’t swim in it, do you?”), insulting it, hating it really.

The wind wrecks their hairdos.

Sand nicks their glass window walls.

They use the sand only as a mine field to hide the wires leading to their Baroque burglar alarm systems.

So long as real-estate moguls and barons of Wall Street and their shrill, competitive wives keep coming out from the city to erect display cases on the dunes, the Village Fathers will appease them.

The new people create jobs and pay obscene beachfront taxes.

Nothing is likely to be said aloud about what they violate of East Hampton.

But when a few of them complain about those two living in an “eyesore” near their precious land values, the Village Fathers can be very quickly turned into a posse.

Even as Labor Day approached, such a posse was being assembled against the Beales.

The sea comes into its wild season with September riptides.

Gathering far out, it hurls its weight against the land, smearing the beach with tidal pools, while opposing waves tear at virgin sand and drag it back.

Most people in East End stay away from the beach then.

Who was that lone figure in black?

Both Sundays after Labor Day she ran off the dunes like an escapee and plunged into the surf.

Alarmed at first, I watched her draw the water hungrily around her.

But she was a strong swimmer, a child-woman of such unspent exuberance.

Her body was still beautiful, I thought, as Edith Beale came up the beach in a black net bathing suit.

“I haven’t seen you in so long!” she called. “Mother never allows me to show myself on the beach after summer, but this fall I had to come out.”

I said she still looked like a model.

“Shall I tell you what I’ve done for twenty years? Fed cats. Mother wouldn’t let me go around with American men, they were too rich and fast. She was afraid I’d get married. Nothing has happened in twenty years, so I haven’t changed in any way.”

She remembered every detail from our last encounter.

How was my trip to Russia? she asked.

How are dancers treated there?

“The simple life is not understood in America,” she broke in with a deep whisper.

“They’re all so rich and spoiled. I would have loved this life, except—I never got to say goodbye to any of my friends.”

She blushed to the edges of her flowered cap, admitting she had always preferred older men.

“They’re all dead now and I’m alone….”

We walked toward the sea, which seemed to revive her spirits.

“So I had to make friends with the younger generation,” the voice lilting now, “the boys who come by and like the overgrown look. We sketch together.”

She turned quickly and scanned the beach.

“Maybe they thought I was getting too friendly with the young boys.”

They?

Her eyes focused on a dark blur, maybe a mile away.

She recounted a strange phone call from one of her brother’s sons last February:

You’re in the soup, he kept saying, the County’s going to take your house.

“I’m psychic and I feel it coming.”

That was her brother coming now, in the jeep down the beach; she grew stiff and asked me to stay and meet him.

I wondered which brother it would be, having read of the contrast between them.

While Little Edie confounded her Bouvier relatives by imitating her mother’s rebellion against bourgeois conformity, her younger brother, Bouvier Beale, was following in the footsteps of his lawyer father and grandfather.

He married a society girl and established his own law firm in New York—Walker, Beale, Wainwright and Wolf.

Today he lives in Glen Cove, belongs to Piping Rock, as did his grandfather, and only last summer built his own summer home in Bridgehampton.

The other brother, Phelan Jr., escaped to Oklahoma and never came back.

But why hadn’t they come to the rescue of their 76-year-old recluse mother and pathetic sister buried alive in Grey Gardens?

Edith Beale must have read my thoughts.

“Now my brothers, they’re great successes. But the way they’ve been acting has put Mother more on my neck than ever. They refuse to give one penny to the house. The trust from my grandfather is about gone. Mother suffered reverses in the stock market last year, so my brothers sold her blue chip stock.”

I asked a sensitive question about her present financial situation.

“Oh we’re not destitute, Mother has collateral. It’s been my life’s work to protect her collections, we don’t trust anybody.”

The rest was hurriedly whispered: “My brother, Bouvier Beale, has been after Mother for a year now to sign over power of attorney. I think he wants to take over the house and put poor Mother into an institution. He treats her just as her father did, you know, because she’s an artist. It all goes back to Mother deciding she wanted to sing…she was so advanced. Grandfather threatened to disown her but she made plenty of appearances in clubs around New York. She is still totally modern and correct in everything, with one exception. My career.”

But how could Mother deny her the very freedom of expression for which she had defied an entire family? I pressed.

“Two women can’t live together for twenty years without some jealousy,” Little Edie Beale said reluctantly. “Not that my voice is better than Mother’s, but she can’t dance.”

The jeep was upon us.

Its driver, a stiffly formal man, was introduced as Bouvier Beale.

Seemingly embarrassed, he walked off with his sister for a private conference.

As I climbed the dunes, their bodies were turning rigid in dispute, necks stiff.

A shout came back in a man’s voice: “You must go to a room in the Village!”

Little Edie broke away and ran for the sea.

October begins the bad months.

When summer finishes with East Hampton and black ice begins to form, the stupid puddle ducks freeze in the Village pond and the caretakers stay drunk, and besides family fights and in-breeding there is very little to do. The Village Fathers had cut out their work in advance.

The new Village building inspector, A. Victor Amann, had sent a letter to the Beales back last February, demanding the overgrowth be cut back: the Village would do it for $5,000.

He sent a copy to the trust fund, which replied there was no money left.

Another letter from P. C. Schenck’s fuel company of East Hampton warned the Beales their furnace was unsafe.

A copy of that was mailed to Bouvier Beale, along with his mother’s unpaid bill of $800.

Ignored, the Village Fathers moved in on October 20. Little Edie was on the porch of Grey Gardens when five people materialized.

She thought they were wearing costumes, she told me.

One said: “You have no heat.”

Another said: “You have no food.”

A public nurse said: “You’re sick.”

“Mother, did you hear that? This horrible public health nurse says we’re sick!”

Little Edie stamped her feet furiously, informing her invaders:

“We’re Christian Scientists. The only medicine is work.”

Mother’s voice boomed from the window: SEND that nurse AWAY—SHE’S been in contact with ALL the GERMS of SUFFOLK COUNTY!

The invaders retreated, but only to assemble a proper posse (which took all of two days).

East Hampton’s Mayor Rioux was away on vacation and his deputy, Dr. William Abel, was determined to have done with the misfits.

“People are basically no damned good,” the Acting Mayor later expressed himself to me.

I thought this odd coming from a chief surgeon at Southhampton Hospital, but Dr. Abel added, “I prefer animals.”

The very mention of the Beale house caused him to grip his knees and go white:

“The house is unfit for human habitation—animals don’t live like this. The two sweet old things won’t move unless they are forcibly moved because, unfortunately, they’re not mentally competent.”

He declined to go into the reasons for his diagnosis because “I get so wrapped up in it.”

But as a public official he felt it his duty to leave me with a warning.

“Are you aware that many of the most horrible murders in our country are committed by schizophrenics who appeared perfectly stable, maybe even saner than I?”

In an unusual move, the Village sought help from the County.

On the 22nd of October a raiding party of twelve made its move.

County sanitarians, detectives, and ASPCA representatives from New York forced their way past the ladies of Grey Gardens armed with a search warrant issued by a Town Justice on the ground that the Beales were harboring diseased cats.

Cameras recorded the sorry scene: cat manure covering the floors; a five-foot-high mound of empty cans in the dining room; the Sterno stove on Mother’s bed; cobwebs, cats and all sorts of juicy building-code violations.

Mother thought it was a stickup.

The sanitarians had the dry heaves.

It remained for the ASPCA man, alone, to report he’d seen human fecal matter in the upstairs bedroom.

“They never said why it was they’d come,” Little Edie told The East Hampton Star.

Sidney Beckwith, of the County Health Department, got on the phone with Bouvier Beale and quoted the hot report of his inspection.

“Mr. Beckwith, you’ve described it very well, but it’s nothing new—Mother is the original hippie,” said Bouvier Beale.

Astonished that such a prominent family would sit back and let their relations be condemned, Mr. Beckwith warned that the next inspection would create a national scandal.

“If that’s what it takes to get Mother out of the house, sobeit,” said Beale.

It was never clear after the whole mess hit the newspapers, a month later, who had put whom up to what.

But three forces conspired to finish off the ladies of Grey Gardens: Village Fathers, a few nameless neighbors, and their closest kin.

My first clue to their plight was a New York Post headline of November 20:

JACKIE’S AUNT TOLD: CLEAN UP MANSION

I called immediately but the Beales’ phone was “out of order.”

There was nothing to do but drive out to Grey Gardens.

Stripped of summer foliage, it stood naked to prying eyes.

Shades of Chappaquiddick.

Five girls from Huntington sat in a car across the street, trading binoculars:

“We’ve been here all day.”

An old local jumped out of his station wagon, armed with an Instamatic, and posed his niece before the pariahs’ house.

“Sure, I knew old Black Jack Bouvier, used to caddy for him up the Maidstone,” the old man said. “Knew the Beales too, delivered a lot of packages up here.”

But wasn’t he horrified at this invasion of their privacy?

“We swim in different schools. I don’t have much in common with the Beales,” he said. “I’m a local working person.”

At dawn the following day I reached young Edie Beale by phone.

She was terrified, but adamant:

“Mother would never be put out of this house. She’s going to roof it, plaster it, paint it, and sell it. We’re artists against the bureaucrats. Mother’s French operetta. I dance, I write poetry, I sketch. But that doesn’t mean we’re crazy or taking heroin or anything! Please—” her voice pleaded for all she was worth—“please tell them what we are.”

In the early twenties “Big Edie”—sister of Black Jack Bouvier (Jackie’s father), wife of lawyer Phelan Beale, and mother of Little Edie—became the first lady of Grey Gardens.

It was a proper 28-room mansion when they bought it.

The box hedges surrounding it were trimmed.

But even then a mantle of ivy draped its gables and the lush walled-in garden to one side suited Big Edie’s unconventional personality.

By 1925 her husband was prospering.

Her children, Little Edie, Phelan Jr. and Bouvier, were small.

But Edie had a retinue of servants that freed her to cultivate interests and opinions which the Bouviers considered downright subversive.

She played the grand piano in her living room by the hour and sang, in her rich mezzo so-prano, “Indian Love Call” and “Begin the Beguine” to a husband who was generally upstairs hollering for his tuxedo to be pressed.

He’d go off to stuffy cocktail parties and Maidstone dances which bored her to tears.

Since she was likely to wear a sweater over her evening gown and discuss Christian Science, the family became less and less insistent that Big Edie come along.

Big Edie’s two brothers were then in fierce competition to become rich men.

Before they reached 35, Black Jack Bouvier had reaped a fortune of $750,000 on Wall Street, while Bud Bouvier made his money in the Texas oil fields Jack was always one up on his brother, which drove Bud to destroy his marriage and caused the first Bouvier divorce in 100 years.

In 1929, the same year that the beautiful Jacqueline was born to Black Jack, his brother drank himself to death.

Material success had become the real Bouvier god, as it was for so many others of that wildly prosperous era.

Only Big Edie, among the Bouviers, dropped away from bourgeois conventions.

Her brother’s demise foreshadowed the family’s deterioration.

Within two weeks of Bud’s death, and with the entire clan at the peak of its fortunes, the stock market crashed.

Black Friday found the old family broker, M. C. Bouvier, at his office at 20 Broad, congratulating himself on his cash reserves and the quality of his bonds.

Black Jack was much less serene.

He was forced to ask for help from his father-in-law.

James T. Lee agreed on the condition Black Jack curb his flamboyant lifestyle—Jackie’s father was fatally susceptible to beautiful women and big money, which he spent faster than he earned.

It was a great humiliation to move his wife and Jacqueline to a rent-free apartment, provided by his father-in-law, at 740 Park Avenue.

By 1935 his net worth had plummeted to $106,444.

The family’s lot began to improve only when M. C. Bouvier died in 1935, leaving his brokerage firm to Black Jack, and his fortune to Major Bouvier, who became the family patriarch.

But as for Big Edie, her husband had left her in Grey Gardens and disappeared into the Northwest woods, where he built his own hunting lodge, Grey Goose Gun Club.

He sent only child support.

Big Edie became dependent on her father, Major Bouvier, for a subsistence of $3,500 a year, and began to withdraw into seclusion.

The Bouviers lived their golden East Hampton summers through the thirties and forties, seemingly exempt from the country’s economic despair.

Ignoring Depression and war, they divided their time between the Maidstone Club and Lasata, Major Bouvier’s great house on Further Lane.

But the Major’s flamboyant reign was accomplished at a gruesome price, to be paid much later by his heirs.

By living off principal, he assured the family comfort and style only for as long as he lived.

But for the moment, his grandchildren were dazzling the cabana owners of the Maidstone.

The Bouvier who attracted all the stares as she sauntered down the midway was Little Edie.

The Body Beautiful at 24.

Her cousin Jackie was a solemn twelve and generally in jodhpurs.

About the contrast Black Jack was fiercely defensive.

During luncheons at Lasata he would announce to the family: “Jackie’s got every boy at the club after her, and the kid’s only twelve!”

Everyone knew Little Edie was It, but her mother never rose to the bait.

Big Edie was always busy directing the attention to herself.

The excuse might be Albert Herter’s portrait of her in a blue dress, done twenty years before.

“Did you know the blue dress in that painting is the same one I’m wearing now?”

She would pause for effect.

“That’s how poor I am.”

Black Jack would remind her that a clever woman would have gotten some alimony out of her husband.

Big Edie would remind her family that she was not a golddigger.

Whereupon she would head for the piano with ten adoring children traipsing at her heels.

The last of the fashionable family affairs was the 1942 wedding of Big Edie’s son, Bouvier Beale.

A ceremony at St. James’s was scheduled for four, and almost the entire Bouvier family was in place.

Big Edith was the missing guest.

The wedding was half over when she arrived, dressed like an opera star.

The bride and groom took the incident in stride, but Major Bouvier had had his fill of Edith’s outlandish behavior.

Two days later he cut her out of his will.

From then until his death in 1948, the moralizing Major used his changing will as a club, but Edie had already become the recluse of Grey Gardens when the news came that her share of the dead Major’s dwindled fortune was a $65,000 trust fund, her sons in control.

On that sum, Big and Little Edie have lived for the past 23 years.

Little Edie always talked about getting away…

“I’ve got to get out of East Hampton, fast,” she told her neighbor, Barbara Mahoney.

That was sixteen years ago, when she crossed the street to take her a friendship card with a red sachet: Thank you, Barbara, for being my friend, it read.

“You know,” she whimpered, “I’m 38 and I’m an old maid. I don’t have any friends. Ought to get away. I don’t know where to go!”

About that time the ladies of Grey Gardens met Tex Logan in Montauk.

He was playing steel guitar and looking for jobs.

“He was mad about my mother,” Little Edie recalls, “so you know, he came in as a carpenter-maintenance man-cook. Tex did just about everything for nine years, on and off.”

But Tex was a wanderer.

When he grew bored, he’d hitchhike out of town and when he came back he was inevitably drunk.

Then there was the night Tex was arrested for possession of a pistol at Mrs. Morgan Belmont’s bridge party.

The East Hampton Star gave the Beale house as his address.

How the ladies of Grey Gardens did fuss!

Tex didn’t come back again until the winter he contracted pneumonia.

He was found a week later, dead, in the kitchen of Grey Gardens.

This time The East Hampton Star noted, discreetly, the man was the Beales’ “caretaker.”

“We never let anybody in here after that,” Little Edie recalled, “because the house is loaded with valuables. Except once, in the early spring of ’68, when the Wainwrights invited Mother and me to a big dance. Mother said we should make one last appearance before the Old Guard of East Hampton. I was so excited—but Mother said, ‘You are absolutely not going to that dance unless you get somebody to help clean up this mess.’”

Little Edie hired two boys, sons of old natives, who were home from the Navy.

She noticed they were acting funny on the second floor, but in her excitement she ignored it.

The party was being given by young Edie’s childhood friend, Carolyn Wainwright, for her daughter’s debut.

The reclusive Beales made a breathtaking entrance.

Mother wore a wrapper open to the waist and clasped with a dazzling brooch.

In her hair, which looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in years, she had wound faded silk violets.

Little Edie arrived desperate to dance, trailing a black net stole over her black bathing suit and fishnet tights.

Edie danced by herself with one red rose.

Somebody’s sympathetic husband got up to dance with her, but she was inexhaustible.

The rock music grew wild and Little Edie even wilder—“I flew into a jungle rock and nobody could control me, not even Mother!”

Late in the evening, Big Edie dragged her wayward daughter home, scolding all the way: her disgraceful behavior would release evil spirits, just wait.

They entered Grey Gardens to find $15,000 worth of heirlooms stolen.

Last August the Beales paid $1,790 in taxes to the Village of East Hampton for one more year in the life of Grey Gardens.

“Why are my brothers so anxious to get Mother out?”

Little Edie kept asking.

“She was going to sell the house anyway, before the taxes are due next August. She’s just a little superstitious. Mother thinks if she makes a will, she’ll die.”

Meanwhile a Village official was calculating out loud:

“It would take about $10,000 to demolish the house. With the land cleared you could easily get $80,000, a sum that would be of considerable interest to members of the family…”

Other estimates run as high as $300,000.

“The final degradation for Grey Gardens,” moaned Edith Beale.

When the raids began, the Beales decided the Village was out to break them.

“I don’t think we can live in America any more,” sighed Little Edie.

“The only freedom we have left is the press. Thank God I could tell my side of the story to The East Hampton Star. Isn’t it a terrific paper; it’s our Daily News!”

Meanwhile the international press was having a field day with the sordid tale—“they keep saying we’re old and ill and have to be institutionalized,” Little Edie wept to her lawyer, Mr. LaGattuta from The Springs. “I don’t look old, do I?”

But Mother felt she was smarter than any lawyer and refused to pay LaGattuta a fee.

After a third inspection on December 7, Mr. Beckwith informed the Beales by letter:

“Should you continue living in this dwelling under the existing conditions, this department will have no recourse but to take action to remove you.”

That action would be an eviction hearing immediately after Christmas.

Mr. Beckwith took the liberty of sending a copy to Mrs. Onassis with a personal note, mentioning that her aunt and cousin had spoken fondly of Jackie and if she could do anything to help, the Beales certainly needed it.

Although Mrs. Onassis was in New York partying all month, she made no effort to contact her brutalized relatives.

Her social secretary, Nancy Tuckerman, insisted that Mrs. Onassis was always very fond of them, too.

In her opinion, however, it was not a matter of money but of how they chose to live.

The last time I saw Little Edie was the week before Christmas, when she invited us out to take pictures.

Prepared as though for her stage debut, garbed in black net and flashy reds and heavily perfumed, she swept out the door in grand theatrical tradition.

EeeDIE! WEAR YOUR MINK! a voice called to her.

“Mother always tells me how to dress,” she exclaimed, returning with a bottle of frosted fuchsia nail polish and a mangy fur jacket. When we had finished, she invited us in.

“What can they possibly have against this house? They haven’t seen the inside.”

She led us into the narrow damp hall and up the lightless staircase, pointing out the carved banister and paneled doors…“These are very much in demand these days.”

Animals hid still as stone in the gloomy deeps until we passed; suddenly dust would scatter and…something leapt past our heads—a bat, no, a cat—flying to some ceiling perch.

The windows at the top of the stairs were blinded with cobwebs and pawing vines, the bittersweet vines of Grey Gardens grown thick as boa constrictors.

Mother had set out some crackers and Taylor’s port for our refreshment.

Little Edie poured.

“Only students of architecture can fully appreciate this place,” she said.

Her performance was exquisite.

We scarcely noticed a cat eating his own droppings in one corner.

We were completely entranced by this bizarre version of a White House tour led by Jackie Kennedy.

Mother kept wheezing inside and banging on the floor.

“She’s furious because I’m getting all the attention,” confided Little Edie.

Would Mother like her picture taken? we ventured.

“You don’t want your picture, do you, Mother?” she called out.

And then to us, in a theatrical aside, “Mother looks like she’s about to die.”

I AM. I’M GOING TO DIE TODAY!

“You see?”

EeeDIE? My MAKEUP is under the BED.

“Never mind, Mother.”

We reminded Edie of a beautiful girl whose picture ran 30 years ago in The Social Spectator, Little Edie Beale at the East Hampton Fair.

“I hate it when people say I was beautiful in the old days,” she grimaced.

“I want to detach myself from the past! Do you understand? I like to think I’m good now. I’m terrific now!”

But what does she do here for twelve hours of every day? We asked the second lady of Grey Gardens.

“I wake up and write poetry, like other people have coffee. I love the late movies on TV.”

And in between?

Something snapped in Little Edie at that moment. Her mask dropped and she whispered with urgency of a child:

“I’ve been a subterranean prisoner here for twenty years. If you only knew how I’ve loathed East Hampton, but I love Mother….they must have found out how I hated this house. They must have heard my scream.”

What scream?

“Last summer, out that broken window, when I screamed at Mother for the first time—‘It’s boring, boring, boring here! I’ll go anywhere to be free!’.”

This was the Secret of Grey Gardens—the unfinished woman who stood before us, consumed by cats, fed upon for decades by her broken mother, was far from buried in Grey Gardens.

She was only now ready to live!

Her family has disintegrated, the survivors have turned away, preferring scandal to parting with a sou from their fortunes to ameliorate this shame.

There is nothing left now, nothing, but the hope in Little Edie’s wound-shattering scream.

As we backed toward the car her lower lip trembled.

She came running to the edge of the catalpa trees and cried out: “Call me anything, but don’t call me old!”

EDIE AT JFK'S INAUGURATION

‘The Bouviers arrived first, followed by the Lees, the Auchinclosses, then the others, the Kennedys arriving last because they had endured the cold the longest.

We all reached for the hot coffee or tea, the spiced punch, the champagne, the cocktails, anything to thaw out.

Then we returned to our respective clans.

I walked over to Hugh Auchincloss.

He had never met me before and didn’t know me from Adam.

“I know all about you,” I told him.

I almost spat in his face.

I told him off for Jack Bouvier’s sake, for Jackie’s father.

The Kennedys all looked very unhappy.

I couldn’t understand how, having finally attained their dream, they could be so morose.

They seemed hyper and morose at the same time.

I’ve never seen so much unhappiness in one room before.

I went up to Joseph P. Kennedy, the patriarch, and told him that I’d almost been engaged to his eldest son, Joe Jr. I knew Joe Jr. from a Princeton house party.

He was visiting Princeton, and so was I.

So I told his father that if the almost-engaged had become a reality, and if Joe Jr. had lived and gone on to become President of the United States, then I, little Edie Beale, would now be a First Lady, and not cousin Jackie.

He walked away from me shaking his head.’

Edie Beale, cousin to Jacqueline Kennedy and the star of 1975’s Grey Gardens interviewed by C. David Heymann

A Woman Named Jackie, C. David Heymann, Lyle Stuart, Inc., 1989.

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Edwardo's family tree.

Edwardo

Species: Frog.

Color: Brown.

Eye color: Green.

Age: 8

Date of birth: 5/17/2023(♉)

Birthplace: Rochester, New York.

Future career: Therapist.

Sibling: Liam

Species: Beaver.

Fur color: Green.

Eye color: Pink.

Age: 6

Date of birth: 7/9/2025(♋)

Birthplace: Rochester, New York.

Future career: Comedian.

Mom: Happyfrog

Species: Frog.

Color: Green and Yellow.

Eye color: Pink.

Age: 32

Date of birth: 6/13/1999(♊)

Birthplace: Buffalo, New York.

Occupation: Babysitter.

Dad: El Chip

Species: Brown.

Eye color: Green.

Age: 32

Date of birth: 4/18/1999(♈)

Birthplace: Bernal, Mexico.

Occupation: Chef.

Uncle Tito

Species: Snapping Turtle.

Scale color: Light blue.

Eye color: Blue.

Age: 35

Date of birth: 3/4/1996(♓)

Birthplace: Bernal, Mexico.

Occupation: Guitarist.

Aunt Toki

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: Pink and dark pink.

Eye color: Yellow.

Age: 36

Date of birth: 1/14/1996(♑)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Occupation: Wedding designer.

Uncle Riku

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: Tan and brown.

Eye color: Yellow.

Age: 33

Date of birth: 3/28/1998(♈)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Occupation: Office manager.

Aunt Aiko

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: Tan and dark pink.

Eye color: Light blue.

Age: 31

Date of birth: 5/22/2000(♊)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Occupation: House wife.

Aunt Yui

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: Pink and brown.

Eye color: Yellow.

Age: 28

Date of birth: 8/5/2003(♌)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Occupation: Activist.

Aunt Pheobe

Species: Frog.

Color: Purple and light blue.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 28

Date of birth: 5/6/2003(♉)

Birthplace: Buffalo, New York.

Occupation: Optician.

Uncle Spencer

Species: Axolotl.

Color: Pink and white.

Eye color: Amber.

Age: 28

Date of birth: 2/11/2003(♒)

Birthplace: Geneva, New York.

Occupation: Science teacher.

Uncle Yuuma

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: Gray and black.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 31

Date of birth: 2/27/2000(♓)

Birthplace: Kawagoe, Japan.

Occupation: Lawyer.

Aunt Emiko

Species: Mouse.

Fur color: White and black.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 33

Date of birth: 4/25/1998(♉)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Occupation: Kindergarten teacher.

Cousins

1.Lucia

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: Light blue and dark blue.

Eye color: Yellow.

Age: 10

Date of birth: 4/13/2021(♈)

Birthplace: Rochester, New York.

Future career: Police officer.

2.Kasumi

Species: Snapping turtle.

Scale color: Pink.

Left eye color: Blue.

Right eye color: Yellow.

Age: 8

Date of birth: 7/26/2023(♌)

Birthplace: Rochester, New York.

Future career: Artist.

3.Coral

Species: Axolotl.

Color: Pink and yellow.

Eye color: Amber.

Age: 5

Date of birth: 8/27/2026(♍)

Birthplace: Geneva, New York.

Future career: Librarian.

4.Puddles

Species: Frog.

Color: Green and white.

Eye color: Amber.

Age: 3

Date of birth: 10/24/2028(♏️)

Birthplace: Geneva, New York.

Future career: Baker.

5.Haruto

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: Tan and dark pink.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 9

Date of birth: 4/30/2022(♉)

Birthplace: Kawagoe, Japan.

Future career: IT engineer.

6.Chimon

Species: Mouse.

Fur color: Tan and black.

Eye color: Yellow.

Age: 7

Date of birth: 6/27/2024(♋)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Future career: Author.

7.Norika

Species: Tanuki.

Fur color: White and brown.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 4

Date of birth: 9/6/2027(♍)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Future Career: Fashion designer.

Jonathan Chip(referred to as Peepaw by his grandkids.)

Species: Beaver.

Fur color: Light blue.

Eye color: Green.

Age: 59

Date of birth: 2/5/1972(♒)

Birthplace: Dallas, Texas.

Occupation: English teacher.

Maria Tortuga(referred to as Meemaw by her grandkids.)

Species: Snapping turtle.

Scale color: Brown.

Eye color: Blue.

Age: 59

Date of birth: 5/16/1972(♉)

Birthplace: Bernal, Mexico.

Occupation: Restaurant owner.

Herbert Leap(referred to as Grandad by his grandkids.)

Species: Frog.

Color: Green and light blue.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 55

Date of birth: 7/11/1976(♋)

Birthplace: Buffalo, New York.

Occupation: Traffic cop.

Dixie Leap

Species: Frog.

Color: Purple and yellow.

Eye color: Pink.

Date of birth: 9/13/1976(♍)

Birthplace: Lancaster, New York.

Age: 45 (at death).

Date of death: 10/19/2021

Cause of death: Leukemia.

Former occupation: Tour guide.

Austin Gillson(referred to as Grandpa by his Grandkids)

Species: Axolotl.

Color: Yellow and white.

Eye color: Green.

Age: 53

Date of birth: 5/1/1978(♉)

Birthplace: Canandaigua, New York

Occupation: Mailman.

Lily Gillson(referred to as Grandma by her grandkids.)

Species: Axolotl.

Color: Pink and red.

Eye color: Amber.

Age: 53

Date of birth: 8/4/1978(♌)

Birthplace: Toronto, Canada.

Occupation: Receptionist.

Bento Nakamura(referred to as Ojīchan by his grandkids)

Species: Tanuki

Fur color: Pink and dark pink.

Eye color: Light blue.

Age: 56

Date of birth: 4/7/1975(♈️)

Birthplace: Tokyo, Japan.

Occupation: Accountant.

Kana Nakamura(referred to as O bāchan by her grandkids)

Species: Tanuki

Fur color: Tan and brown.

Eye color: Yellow.

Age: 56

Date of birth: 7/12/1975(♋)

Birthplace: Yokohama, Japan.

Occupation: Hair stylist.

[unit2-ss24]

The 1970s - part 1

Some trends from the late 1960s carried through into the early 1970s, the Woodstock festival of peace and music marked the end of the 1960s hippie movement however, the hippie flower child look carried over into the first half of the decade in a non-restrictive bohemian silhouette with a heavy folksy influence.

Arts and crafts were very popular to the era, things such as tie-dye, batik, knitwear, crochet and macramé were present during this time and created a great sense of ease and comfort to early 1970s fashion.

1970s folk style.

Angelica Huston wearing Ossie Clark for Miss Selfridge, Cosmopolitan, May 1972

Designers like Laura Ashley and Jessica McClintock popularized the prairie dress phenomenon. The Prairie dress was typically made up of romantic silhouettes with delicate details like floral prints, long billowing skirts, and lots of ruffles.

Thea Porter

Thea Porter pioneered bohemian chic, her shop in Soho instantly drew a crowd of rock and film stars, clients such as the Beatles and Pink Floyd to Elizabeth Taylor, Faye Dunaway and Barbara Streisand took a liking to her style. Thea Porter celebrated ethnic styles in Indian style prints, free flowing breezy gauzy tent dresses and wide legged pants.

Thea Porter had seven signature looks:

the Abaya & Kaftan

the Gipsy dress

the Faye dress

the Brocade-panel dress

the Wrap-over dress

the Chazara jacket

Sirwal skirt

As well as this her fashion photography featured on the pages of Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar and Women’s Wear

During the 1970s skirts could be seen in a variety of lengths, mini, midi or maxi. The maxi dress was a must have of the decade in a multitude of styles and shapes. Rich earthy tones dominated the era, warm browns, burgundy, rust, mustard, and avocado green took centre stage.

The 1970s saw women emerge in to the work place, they began to dress more "masculine" wearing pantsuits, day wear and separates echoed in the film'Annie Hall'. The image below shows Diane Keaton wearing a fitted vest with a collared white shirt and men’s neckties in the film.

From then on, the pantsuit became the next big thing. Bianca Jagger wore a YSL pantsuit at her wedding to Mick Jagger in 1971.

[ao3feed-ichiruki]

White Like Snow

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/iS95TxN

by AKnightOfAGoodKing

Written for: Entangled: A IchiRuki Wedding Zine (2023)

When Rukia first asked Renji to help her, she’d thought her best friend would’ve gotten tired after the second time, but Renji continues to be enthusiastic, even when she once again says, “No, I don’t think so.”

Renji simply nods, crossing his arms. “Guess we’ll be making another trip then. So what’s wrong with this one?”

Not for the first time, Rukia does not know the answer, smiling softly as she looks down at the dress again. Truly, she can imagine herself happy in it, surrounded by faces she loves and adores; however, it does not call out to her—like a flower, it is breathtaking, but it is not hers to take.

[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION]

Words: 1972, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Bleach (Anime & Manga)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Kuchiki Rukia, Abarai Renji, Kurosaki Ichigo, Kuchiki Byakuya

Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo, Abarai Renji & Kuchiki Rukia, Kuchiki Byakuya & Kuchiki Rukia, Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana

Additional Tags: Zine Work, Wedding Dress, Family, Friendship, Fluff, Poetry

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/iS95TxN

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this Week #136 (Year 3/Week 32):

The outside man, my second thriller by Frenchman Jacques Deray (after the so much better ‘La Piscine’). So much wasted potential in this early 1970's mobster out of water tale, which was co-written by Jean Claude Carrière. Jean-Louis Trintignant is a hit-man sent to Beverly Hills to assassinate a big gangster, but Roy Scheider is another killer on his tail, so they chase each other all over, with Ann-Margaret, Angie Dickinson, 'Moe Green' and 'Russ Yelburton' mixing it up.

It serves up a very touristy picture of 1972 Los Angeles (which is nice), and it also has some plot twists which clearly inspired later films. Most notably, some very distinct scenes from 'Three days of the condor' (The kidnapping of a random female with her car, the tense sharing of an elevator between the chaser and his pray, too tired to fall asleep...). Also the mob funeral procession from 'Godfather'. So this forgotten film was hugely influential at the time. 3/10.

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2 with Denholm Elliott:

🍿 In 2014, Steven Soderbergh re-edited 'Raiders of the lost ark' in order to show how brilliant Spielberg's 'Staging' was; how the shots are built and laid out, what the rules of movement are, what the cutting patterns are. The result was Raiders, a black-and-white version of the original, stripped of its colors, music and dialogue, and with a new, electronic score by Trent Reznor.

Found it on a video essay by CinemaStix, When the director is really good at their job.

Also there: When the director prioritizes character over plot, about Soderbergh's Ocean 11.

🍿 I should have watched William Friedkin’s ‘sorcerer’ (Photo Above) for the first time, but instead I picked his subpar 1968 The night they raided Minsky’s, a lame shtick about an Amish girl who discovers burlesque in 1925 New York. Even dancing-singing Jason Robards can’t saves it. 1/10.

RIP, William Friedkin!

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Long story short, my second drama by talented May el-Toukhy, a Danish-Egyptian female director (made before her complex erotic thriller 'Queen of heart'). A group of friends in their 30's and 40's going through love, heartbreaks and life changes, told in 8-parts which are broken into celebrations: birthdays, weddings, christening and mid-summer parties.

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6 Spanish-speaking movies:

🍿 Marshland ("La isla Minima") swept the 2014 Spanish Goya awards, and won in 10 categories. It's a slow-burn procedural Noir about two policemen from Madrid who are send to the backward South to investigate the disappearance of two girls. Before 'True detective', it created a different, atmospheric world. 8/10.

🍿 Death of a cyclist, a classic Spanish Noir from 1955 by J.A. Bardem (Javier's uncle), rich and dramatic. A high society married woman cheating on her husband kills a random man on a deserted road while driving with her lover. A different Hitchcokian murder mystery, made more interesting by Bardem's leftist politics vis-a-vis the Franco censorship of his time. 7/10.

🍿 The Chambermaid, another exploration of South American domestic workers, the silent and invisible service multitudes, that movies don't usually pay attention to. A shy and introverted cleaning lady at an upscale Mexico City hotel has a hard time trying to find a voice, however small.

This was a debut feature by a young filmmaker Lila Avilés. I can't wait for her new, acclaimed Tótem. The trailer. 7/10.

🍿 Wild tales is the most-seen Argentine film of all time, and deservedly so. A hilarious, unexpected anthology, comprising of 6 unrelated stories of 'People under stress': 2 passengers on a plane discover that they both know a person named Gabriel Pasternak, a waitress at a night restaurant serves a loan shark who had destroyed her life, a wild road rage incident that escalates, the car of a demolition expert is being towed away, a rich teenager had a hit and run, and the funnest, a fancy Jewish wedding which goes off the rails.

Absurdist black humor, the most entertaining movie of the week! 9/10.

🍿 The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz, my 14th film by Buñuel, 'The Scourge of the Bourgeoisie'. On its surface, it's a normal 1950's Mexican drama about a serial killer, but it's not: it's kinky, off kilter, unpredictable, and always with an extra artificial leg or two that falls off.

🍿 Kiki was made by Paco León ("The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent"). It's another funny anthology film, a remake of an Australian film 'The little death' which I'll watch next week. It's an hilarious kinky comedy with 5 or 6 separate sets of characters exploring their deep desires and (less common) fetishes: One woman is turned on by tears, another by the touch of silk, one by being physically attacked, one sells her used underwear, three are getting into a polyamory. It's explicit, light and funny. Not for prudes. 8/10.

🍿

My first 2 by Georges Franju:

🍿 Franju was the co-funder of the Cinémathèque Française in 1936 (together with Henri Langlois). His scary Eyes without a face was the first French horror movie. A monstrous, mad surgeon who tortures dogs and cut off women's faces, in order to find a suitable graft for his disfigured daughter. Morbid poetry.

🍿 Blood of the beasts (Le Sang des Bêtes) was Franju's first film, a stark, non-sentimental documentary about a slaughterhouse. Contrasting scenes from the Parisian suburbs with the most horrifying matter-of-fact killings of horses, cows and sheep, is a study in surrealism. 8/10.

🍿

The Runaways, a run of the mill pop music biography, the story of Joan Jett and her first all-girls rock'n'roll band. These bios are all alike, and even Kristen Stewart and Michael Shannon can't redeem it. (It's my 3rd woman-directed film this week). 3/10.

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Ali Wong X 3, again:

🍿 OK, so I'm crazy about Ali Wong's dirty humor, so sue me. Still, I will watch her Hard Knock Wife comedy special again and again. Best female comedian!

🍿 The Hero, a tender 'End of life' story, with golden-voiced Sam Elliott as an aging western star who discovers he has incurable cancer. He starts a sweet romance with the wonderful actress Laura Prepon, and has to reconnect with his estranged daughter. Great cinema, that could have been perfect if only there was just another small layer to draw from. 8/10.

Anyway, I am going to look for indie director Brett Haley's other films. Ali Wong played herself in a single stand-up comedy scene.

🍿 “… I have orgasms. He has wargasms…”

Savages is a top-tier Oliver Stone action-thriller about some hip pot growers in Laguna Beach who has to fight a brutal Mexican cartel operators. Loud and exciting, similar to Tarantino's 'True Romance' but faster, and with Blake Lively in a loving threesome with 2 dudes. Ali Wong appeared only in one scene as an underground hacker. 7/10.

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No hard feelings, a new sex comedy ("Do you mind if I touch your wiener... dog?"), where Jennifer Lawrence is hired to deflower a 'Superbad'-era Michael Cera-type, because she's broke. Some cliched sitcoms jokes about the 1%-ers in Montauk, NY vs. ordinary people. And for that she came out of retirement? 3/10.

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"Editing is all about the eyes". Another old 'Every frame a picture' essay, How Does an Editor Think and Feel?

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Reflections on the 70th Anniversary of the Danish Rescue of the Jews: Talk at the American-Scandinavian Foundation about why the Danish Jews were saved.

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(My complete movie list is here)