I Am Woman Scorned

From the desk of Mona Brand
June 1, 1972

David:

As my lawyer, I am currently informing you that we are up Shit's Creek. What's lacking, in addition, is a paddle.

I pride myself as a liberated woman, but in this case, I am pulling in my claws and my toes and my tongue and my chin and asking you to be a man and grow some balls and go after this Laddy Breen once and for all. For once, this is not a job for me. This deed is not mine to do.

I ask you: have you seen the fan mail from the last four weeks? Apparently not, as this Laddy Breen still roams the earth alive, with his legs and his testicles and his mouth -- that lying, lousy mouth! -- intact. This should not be. The forces of nature are out of balance. And I worked too darn hard these last twelve years to see this man take back what is not rightfully his.

Am I making myself clear? Or am I rambling?

If not, let me continue until you are fully aware of what needs to be done. The fan mail is coming in with an overwhelming response for Laddy to continue to make what he calls his "appearances." There seems to be a public sentiment for this loser. He is winning, once again, with his losing. As always, his losing makes him win. And I will not stand for it. A loser does not deserve to win. I have worked too hard to live by that rule.

You need to have him arrested. I'm not sure what laws are on the books in a situation like this. That's for you to know. And I don't know how this situation varies from state to state, but Laddy must be stopped, for the good of my child's career and for all the work I have put into creating this dream.

Laddy destroyed my dreams once. He shant do it again.

So you need to figure out how we can get Laddy out of the picture, out of my head, out of my life. Even if we have to murder him. Yes, I'm putting it in writing, David. I'm incriminating myself. Even if we have to murder Laddy Breen -- do you hear me? -- he will not continue to weasel his way into this picture. So if you don't want a dead body on your hands, you will have to figure out another way. And I mean it.

The only other crime that may fit is a pedophilia charge. Can we arrange to make that happen? Maybe he felt up a little fan-club girl. Or maybe raped a mom, just like he raped me. Maybe he murdered a woman because he got her pregnant, just like he did to me. Can we get a murdered woman to float up in the ocean, right outside that apartment house he shares with that vile old freak?

My mind is racing.

There will not be a tearful reunion among us -- I don't care if that's what America wants. I don't care if that's the logical happy ending that America wants, to make them forget about Vietnam and women burning their bras. I will not talk to the press about him. Nor will I go on television, not even on The Tonight Show, and kiss and make up with him after twelve years, as would make for good P.R. and the logical happy ending.

Even for good P.R., I won't do it.

I remain out of the picture and behind the scenes, as always. I want to maintain my mystique as the woman Laddy wronged so many years ago. I am like Jackie O: an enigma.

I have no interest in the spotlight. It's only all for my son. But I'll be damned if Laddy is going to boogie on over to steal some of that light.

I'm also going to contact our P.R. company. They have been coasting way too long on Bradley's success. They act like they have a heaven-given right to rep him, and they barely lift a finger to do anything. They don't have to. I've been doing all the work until the wheel started rolling. But now, it's a different story. I have to call out the big guns. This must be squashed. And it will.

I don't care if you tell me that I should not put my thoughts in writing. I know you think of me as dangerous, a loose cannon. That's simply not the case. I am not the live wire in this situation. Laddy is, that opportunist Laddy Breen. My analyst encourages me to write when I am feeling angry. Writing out my emotions is the only way I can express myself. The rest of the time, I am a rock, and you know that.

I am not an irrational person. I am a cool, confident businesswoman, hear me roar. I rarely get this upset. You have never seen me this upset, and you have no idea what I am capable of in this delicate frame of mind.

Do what needs to be done, David, for once. There are other lawyers out there who would kill to represent Bradley Breen. Literally.

Mona

Attorney David Styne burned this letter immediately after reading it. He stuck it in an ashtray, along with his Viceroy, and put a lighter to it. Thoughtfully, he watched it burn.