I called my editor, Noel Maslin.from my hotel room around six and explained the situation. He totally concurred with all my decisions, said I should leave at once. I told him that I would put a copy of all the interviews and my personal comments in the mail to him before dinner. I also asked him to send someone to the Maxfield Plaza in St. Paul and the Hyatt Regency in Minneapolis to pay my hotel bills and retrieve my clothing and personal effects. I have no intention of doing it myself, but I want everything sent back to my apartment in New York as soon as possible.
I’m convinced now that my original concept of
as a biography of Constance Buckridge will no longer work What I’ve been able to uncover is definitely explosive. However, I believe that Constance would never allow it to be published as a straight biography, even an unauthorized one. So what I have in mind is something more along the lines of a personal memoir, what happened to me while I was working on the book That way I get to include how I was initially pulled into the situation by a “Deep Throat” named Pluto and my eventual meeting with Paul in the park. lean also include the death threats, Kenneth Merlin’s attempt to buy me off, Rafferty’s death from a car bomb, my running from hotel to hotel, the revelations in the interviews, the history of the Jadek and Buckridge families, and finally my dalliance with the handsome Bram Baldric. (I may change that part just a bit.) As far as I’m concerned, this new take on
absolutely screams major motion picture. I see the book now as something along the lines of
All the President’s Men
A blockbuster full of intrigue, sexual corruption, suspense, good guys and bad guys, twists and turns, romance, and eventually even murder. Writing the story this way will allow a much more suspenseful examination of the subject through my real-life experiences. It’s still going to be a bestseller — my editor was more excited than I’ve ever heard him before — but the gloves will be off because the subject of the book will be me, not Constance.
I told Noel that I want to knock out a first draft in a month. I’m flying to London tomorrow. I have a flat in Chelsea that I use when I need to get away. Without any interruptions, I know I can produce something significant in that period of time. Noel promised that he’d set the wheels in motion to rush the book into print. I also explained that, before I leave the country, I intend to put in motion a plan to protect myself from Constance and all her hired henchmen. She may track me to London, but this will tie her hands. She won’t be able to touch me. It’s something she’d never expect, but by tomorrow morning she’s going to realize I mean business. Noel agreed. It’s perfect, and it will only heighten interest in the forthcoming book I just have one more appointment to make before I get on that plane tomorrow. It’s risky, but I’m going to be on my guard. My only regret is that I won’t have a chance to say goodbye to Bram. He helped me more than he’ll ever know. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day. It’s a thought I choose to hold on to.
Now on to the interview with Beverly Custerson.
After I finished my discussion with Paul at Loring Park, I called to get my voice mail at the Maxfield. I was hoping to hear from Phillip Rapson. It
was
the only number he hadfor me, and I’ve been waiting for his call. Thankfully, he was a man of his word. He’d left a message saying that Constance s best friend, one Beverly Custerson, was still living in town. She and Tom, her husband, had divorced many years ago. Phillip gave me her number and I, of course, called immediately. It turns out that she lives just a few blocks from the Lyme House, the restaurant where I’d met with Oscar Boland last Saturday night. Since I knew the area and wouldn t need to consult a map, I asked if I could come over right away. She said to give her an hour. So I drove to the location in south Minneapolis and sat in my car typing up the transcription from the interview with Paul.
Finally, at two-thirty, Beverly met me at the door of her home, a modest colonial on Penn Avenue. She was a small woman, dressed in dark slacks and a red cotton blouse. Her gray hair was clipped short. She seemed friendly, but her general demeanor was somewhat dour. (She reminded me of my aunt May, though without my aunt s penchant for vodka and lemon. May was never without a glass in her hand.) After introducing me to her two cats, Beverly ushered me into a study off the living room. She’d already prepared some coffee and was so insistent that I try one of her homemade bars that I finally gave up and ate one just to keep her happy. (If I’m going to waste calories, it wouldn’t be on a Pumpkin Raisin Delight.)
INTERVIEW: BEVERLY CUSTERSON, MINNEAPOLIS, FRIDAY MAY 14
M:
When did you first meet Constance Buckridge?
Beverly:
Back then I knew her as Connie Jadek She didn’t marry Wayne Buckridge until, oh, let me see, about ‘64. We first met in ‘54 when she came to live with her brother, Arthur. My husband and I had just married the year before. We were both in our early twenties, struggling to make ends meet. You know how it is. But Connie, she was a really sad case back then. Sixteen and pregnant by some boyfriend back home in Wisconsin. Her parents kicked her out as soon as they found out about the baby. Connie and the boyfriend tried to live together for about a month, but it didn’t work He took off and left her to deal with the pregnancy alone. She had no other choice but to come to Minneapolis. Arthur was a goodfour or five years older, just finishing his degree at the U. He was a nice young man, lived across the hall from us. Quiet but friendly. The intellectual type, if you know what I mean. We all lived in an apartment building on 31st and Aldrich. The Peoria, old but nice, across from a park You could tell that sister and brother were close, but the pregnancy was a surprise — and a little hard to take — even for Arthur. Somehow he managed to pay for little Nathan’s birth. Connie didn’t have a dime. Arthur was working nearly full-time and going to school, so Connie was a complication he didn’t need, but he was a good-hearted guy. Family was important to him. I always respected him for that.
M:
I understand that you and Connie became bestfriends.
Beverly:
Yes, we were as close as sisters for over ten years. But shortly after she married Wayne Buckridge, Tom, my husband, was transferred to Thief River Falls up near the Canadian border. After living in a big city all my life, it felt like moving to Siberia, but we managed. I was never happy there, but I stayed until our divorce in ‘87. I kept in contact with Connie for a while by letter and occasionally by phone, but time and distance have a way of changing relationships. And then, once Connie started doing her TV show, she didn’t even have time to write anymore. We just drifted apart. All we ve done for the last twenty-five years is exchange Christmas cards. But I will say this. After such a bad start, she’s certainly made a success of her life. I’m proud of her. She was always… I’m not sure how to say this. She did things her own way, no matter what other people thought. Sometimes she made up her own rules, but she was never cruel or mean. She had a big heart.
M:
You were considerably older than Connie. What drew you together?
Beverly:
Well, several months after she moved into Arthur’s apartment, Ifound out I was pregnant with my first child. The fact that we were both expecting at the same time created an instant bond. Once Connie realized that Arthur would take care of her, she couldn’t have been happier. She really wanted the baby. I think her childhood had been pretty rocky. She didn’t talk about it much, but I could tell there hadn’t been a lot of love. She thought Nathan would bring something she’d missed to her life. And I really believe he did.
M:
You said that Connie and Arthur were close. Did anything about their relationship seem odd?
Beverly:
(Hesitates) No, not really. What exactly do you mean?
M:
You tell me.
Beverly:
Well, they fought some. But that s only natural.
M:
Over what?
Beverly:
Money, mostly. They lived in an efficiency apartment. That couldn’t have been easy. Connie got a part-time job as a checkout girl at a grocery a few weeks after she arrived, but she had to quit in her eighth month. All that standing was making her feet swell. Her doctor said she needed to keep them up as much as possible. But, really, most of the time they both seemed pretty content. Arthur graduated in the spring of ‘54 and was immediately offered a terrific job at a big company in town. That was right before Nathan was born, so money problems eased a bit. They even moved into a one-bedroom in July. Nathan was one month old. I gave birth to Janet in August and we had a big party when I got home from the hospital. Even back then Connie loved to cook.
M:
Were Arthur and Connie affectionate with each other?
Beverly:
I suppose. But Arthur
way
a reticent kind of man, not physically demonstrative. When I’d hug him, he always seemed kind of stiff. Not that there s anything wrong with that.
M:
I understand that Arthur disappearedfrom Connie s life in the late Fifties.
Beverly:
(Shakes her head) It
way
a terribly traumatic time for Connie. Something just seemed to snap inside Arthur. He lost his sense of balance. Sometimes he’d be incredibly talkative but say the oddest things, and at other times he wouldn’t talk at all. After a while we started seeing him less and less. Connie tried to cover, but I know he wasn’t coming home at night. And then when he
way
fired from his position at General Mills, she was beside herself with worry. Arthur
way
her only means ofsupport. She had a toddler to care for, and now her brother wasn’t around to provide for them. Not to mention the fact that she was scared to death about the state of Arthur’s mental health. When he disappeared, she nearly had a breakdown herself trying to find him. But she never did. Not until years later.
M:
Connie told her family — her children, her husband — and the house staff that Arthur had been a secret agent for the government and that s why he couldn’t talk about where he’d been or what he’d done for the last fifteen years. Did you know she’d lied about that?
Beverly:
(Smiles) Sure, I knew. She wrote me all about it. She had to make up some kind of cover story. She didn’t think Wayne would tolerate her brother’s presence if he knew he’d had mental problems. After she married Wayne, she had plenty of money to hire people to look for Arthur. Finally, in ‘73, someone found him. Connie checked her brother into a hospital right away. The doctors put him on some drugs, even tried some experimental vitamin therapies, and slowly he seemed to come out of his fog. Connie s love and devotion was a big part of that. I know she would have done just about anything to help him recover. After all, she owed him so much. And, off the record, I think she felt a little guilty, like maybe if she hadn’t created so much stress in his life, he might never have gotten sick in the first place.
M:
After Arthur disappeared, did Connie date?
Beverly:
Never. She didn’t have time.
M:
How did she survivefinancially?
Beverly:
Well, after she accepted that Arthur was gone for good, she had a series of part-time jobs. I tried to help her out by baby-sitting Nathan. With the money Arthur had saved in the bank, she was okay for about a year. But eventually she didn’t have enough to pay for rent and food and clothes and medicine. She was desperate. I couldn’t just stand by and watch. That’s when I talked to Tom. I insisted that she move in with us. Tom was hesitant at first, but he eventually gave in. We had a two-bedroom and it worked out okay.
M:
What year was that?
Beverly:
Let s see. I was pregnant with our second child, so that would make it the winter of ‘59. She lived with us until she went to work for Wayne and Pepper Buckridge about a year and a half later. She paid us what she could, which was never much, but she did most of the cooking and cleaning, and even some baby-sitting for me. She had part-time jobs during the day, but when Nathan was sick or I couldn’t take care of him after school, she’d have to come home. When that happened too often, she’d get sacked. It wasn’t an easy time for single mothers. There wasn’t the kind of help there is today.
M:
Did she like working for the Buckridges?
Beverly:
Yes, I think she did. She especially appreciated the fact that she and Nathan lived on the premises, and when her son got home from school, she was there. Nathan was seven when they moved in. A really nice kid. Connie didn’t mind the hard work. You have to understand, she always had this unshakable sense that she was going to make something of herself one day. I don’t think she knew what that meant exactly, but she believed she’d have money, so much that she’d never have to worry about it again. I think the fame part came as a surprise. Don’t ask me where she got the notion, but it would come up every now and then. I know it kept her going during the worst times. The hardest part about living with the Buckridges
was
the way Nathan was treated. Pepper Buckridge let him play with her son at first, but then she changed her mind. Nathan was forbidden to be in the main part of the house. After school, he could play outside at a park or go next door and play with the little girl who lived there. I believe her name was Andrea. They were almost the same age and really hit it off. I think she was his only real friend for many years, until she moved away. But if he was in the house, he had to be up in the room he shared with his mother. Connie didn’t have the money to buy a TV, but she did get him a radio. But, honestly, it wasn’t just the fact that he couldn’tfeed the sunfish off the dock, or play on the beach in front ofthe house, or watch the TV in the family room, or play with Paul; it was the fact that he was treated like a second-class citizen that really got to Connie. I imagine it got to Nathan, too. He was always an exceptionally bright child.