Sue Ellen glares at the back of Harris Ryland's head as he swaggers out of her office. When the door closes behind him she realizes she is holding her breath. She closes her eyes for a minute and exhales. She shivers slightly as she tries to calm herself and as she reaches for a pen to document what he said, her trembling hand knocks the wine glass over that Ryland poured. With a crack of glass, red wine spills across the conference room table. Her assistant Mark pokes his head in cautiously behind the office door, his eyes widening at the upturned glass of wine.
"Mark, help me clean this up please."
Mark looks from Sue Ellen to the wine and back again.
"No. Mark. Really, this isn't me breaking my sobriety with a cheap glass of wine in the middle of a campaign meeting." Sue Ellen laughs nervously.
"That man just yanks my chain so much I lost my bearings and knocked the glass over reaching for the phone to call security. I don't want him allowed in here again, do you understand?"
"Uh, yes, of course Mrs. Ewing. I, um, I'm sorry about that and I'll let Susana know. Let me get some towels."
As he leaves, Sue Ellen looks at the red liquid slowly creeping toward her. How much she used to need it, crave it. How it used to numb her pain so long ago. Standing there, staring the wine down 20 years after she took her last sip, it seems surreal that she chose to damage her body with alcohol for just a few hours of relief. My how life can turn on a dime. How ironic her circumstances had become.
Mark returns, towels in hand and Sue Ellen takes some from him. They wipe the spill in silence and Mark carefully pushes the broken glass into a trashcan. He glances at Sue Ellen. She smiles but her eyes look worried and her brow is furled. He doesn't know what to say. He makes another pass with a towel at the freshly cleaned table top.
"Uh, Mrs. Ewing? Are you, are you alright? I mean, um, is there anything else I can do right now? You know, for your schedule or – "
"Mark, I'm fine. Thank you."
Sue Ellen balls up the red-stained paper towels and throws them into the trashcan with a little too much force. She pats his shoulder.
"You know what you can do for me? Get on your computer and find everything you can related to Harris Ryland. Put those research skills of yours to work, Mark. Give Aubrey my calendar for the rest of the week and concentrate on this. It's important to the campaign. It's important to me."
"Of course. Sure thing Mrs. Ewing," Mark replies. He nods his head, wets his lips and hesitates before speaking again. "Mrs. Ewing? Is Mr. Ryland…, is he threatening you in any way? I mean, is there cause for concern…..for your safety?"
Sue Ellen looks up from her papers, she puts her pen down and crosses her arms more around herself than in front. She is touched by Mark's genuine concern and she steels herself against the sharp realization that this young man, this professional acquaintance, shows more concern for her than her own son has in years.
"Oh, Mark that's very kind of you to ask. Very kind. But let me tell you something about Harris Ryland. He's a bully, plain and simple. My office is not his playground and I won't be pushed around. Harris is something like the boogie man," she says, "he'll give you a fright until you stand up and face him. And lucky for me, I don't scare easily."
Sue Ellen gets up, stands before the full-length windows and gazes at the city in the glow of the setting Texas sun. Looking at the skyline, she says, "You know Mark, I have regrets just like everyone else. I've done things I'm not proud of. But I can say this. I'm a mother and that's given me the chance to truly realize what it's like to care for someone more than myself or anyone else. I would do anything for my son to help him, protect him. And in some ways I feel the same about the Texas people; I want to help them succeed and protect them from threats to their happiness and safety. So, my intentions are good. Let's just see how Mr. Ryland measures up."
Sue Ellen turns and faces Mark, smiling confidently. "Now that I have the means to really change things, to make life better for Texans struggling with things I take for granted, Harris Ryland is not going to run me off the field. I mean it. I want this governorship so I'll take all comers. This may be an ugly battle, but I'll go down fighting if I have to. And Mark? I've learned from the best, trust me. I'm a very, very good fighter."
"Yes ma'am. No, I don't doubt that you are, Mrs. Ewing. Thank you ma'am. And uh, I won't let you down with that research, you'll see," Mark says as he wipes his moist palms on his pants.
"I have every confidence in you, Mark," says Sue Ellen. "But it's late. You go on home now and come at it like gang busters in the morning, alright?"
Mark nods vigorously, "Okay Mrs. Ewing! You can count on it, you bet. Well, goodnight then."
As Sue Ellen sits back down, she can't help but smile at this young man for his loyalty and awkward encouragement. She likes Mark and she trusts him. He is a triple threat even if he doesn't know it. He is smart, honest and a technological genius. If anyone can find something useful on Ryland, he can.
Sue Ellen leans back in the chair and looks at all the campaign posters around the room. Bunches of smiling, confident Sue Ellens look back at her. She stands and walks down the short hall to her office. She hears Mark's door shut on his way out. The floor is quiet now and growing dark. As she enters her spacious office, the key to the City hanging on the wall catches her eye. She gazes at it for a moment. The key suddenly reminds her of a pendant Christopher gave Pam once, on a birthday, or was it Mother's Day? What she wouldn't give for a heart-shaped key charm from John Ross now, she thinks while sinking into her large red leather desk chair with a sigh.
She looks around her desk and settles on a framed photo of a young John Ross atop a pony, holding a bright blue bear and waving at the camera as his daddy holds the reins. She picks up the picture with a slightly shaky hand, traces his face with her finger and a tear falls on the glass.
The tear shocks Sue Ellen out of her melancholy. She quickly wipes it off the photo and brushes her cheek dry. She inhales deeply, exhales slowly and puts the photo back on her desk, angling it just so. She clears her throat, turns her attention to the computer screen and clicks her calendar application. Viewing the next day's appointments, a meeting labeled "Texas Health Care Reform Committee" is shown. Just then, an intricate glass clock softly chimes six on Sue Ellen's desk and her cell phone also sounds an alarm, muffled by her purse.
Sue Ellen gets up, walks to her purse hanging on a coat rack behind the door and removes a pill bottle. She takes bottled water from a small fridge beneath a bookshelf, opens the pill bottle and removes one. The prescription label on the bottle reads "Atripla". She bites her lip, puts the pill in her mouth, closes her eyes and swallows hard. She removes her make up bag and applies some coral lipstick, then dabs her misty eyes with a tissue, turns off the light and walks out of her office, shutting the door softly behind her.
A pad of paper sits on Sue Ellen's desk with the date, time and "Harris Ryland asks to pass money through PAC in exchange for ME" scribbled on it.
The parking garage is nearly empty by the time Sue Ellen drives her silver Porsche out of it, leaving the Dallas sky scraper housing her campaign office behind for the day. At the first red light, she pulls the visor down and glances in the vanity mirror. Her eyes have been so dry lately with this North Texas wind picking up. She looks at her eyes and stretches the ever-mocking crows feet with her finger.
A honk from behind makes her snap the mirror closed and advance under the green light. She sees a bearded man in a baseball cap shaking his head at her in the rear view mirror. She glares at him, switches lanes and punches the gas. She hopes the sound of her Porsche's engine revving reminds him of things he can't have.
This spitefulness catches her off guard. Why did the honking man bother her so much? Because after Harris Ryland's stunt at her office today, she's not about to be bossed by anyone else, even at a trivial traffic light. She laughs at the fight she has in her. It's going to serve her well as the next governor of Texas. And Ryland be damned if he thinks he can rattle her that easily. He doesn't have proof of what she asked the M.E. to do for John Ross. It's the Examiner's word against hers.
Just then, she comes up on the "Braddock" sign and turn off to the highway leading out to Southfork. She wonders what John Ross is doing. It's only just past 6:30 p.m. Maybe he would meet her for dinner? She clicks her Blue Tooth on and dials him. One, two, three rings.
"Hey. This is John Ross. Talk to the beep. I'll get back atcha."
"Hello John Ross, it's me. I'm just driving home and thinking about you. How about dinner tonight, or, well, soon? How about some nice, big steaks after all that lousy jail food? Or, I wouldn't mind driving out to Southfork just to see you… Alright. Well,… I love you darlin'. Bye bye."
Sue Ellen pulls up her long, curved driveway a short while later. Her thoughts still linger on John Ross at Southfork. She unlocks her large, black lacquered front door and quickly punches in her alarm code, John Ross's birthday followed by 121688. Two red Dobermans come bounding at her. "Hello babies. Hi Crockett, hi Bowie. Good boys. Did you miss mama? Did you?" she says as they lick her face.
She kicks off her magenta Blahniks and places her white Palladino crocodile bag on the foyer table. It falls over and the pearl grip of her .22 handgun slides out and onto the glass table.
"Well hello there," Sue Ellen says to the gun. "Are you just beggin' to be used?" She checks the safety and puts the gun back in the portable holster, snapping it closed.
She checks the mail drop box inside the foyer. It's brimming with pieces pushed through the external slot - multiple envelops with financial statements, some catalogs, junk mail and a campaign mailer from an opponent. Sue Ellen pushes it all aside to reach three light blue envelops at the bottom of the box. She scoops them out with delight and rushes off to the kitchen in her stocking feet, the dogs following.
Sue Ellen begins what has become her most enjoyable evening ritual. She brews a pot of jasmine green tea, puts her honey dispenser on the tray along with two small squares of cornbread and heads to the atrium. She sits on her yellow chaise lounge and gazes out the glass walls to this most golden part of the day, sky streaked with orange from the sunset. The dogs settle on their floor cushions and exhale. Sue Ellen does too.
She picks up the first blue envelop but suddenly remembers her call to John Ross. She gets up and goes to the foyer to retrieve her cell phone from her purse. On her way back to the atrium she turns on the sound system and Bonnie Raitt softly sings to her. She sits back down, placing both the cell and the land line phone beside her so as not to miss his call.
Now back to the envelop. She postpones the opening by turning it over and around in her hands, relishing what's inside – a new beginning, a realization of self worth, a rebirth even. She smiles at the familiar return address: Venus House, PO Box 7716, Dallas TX. Her greatest accomplishment to date, Venus House is. She thinks back to when she founded the Dallas Home for Wayward Boys and wonders what took her so long to establish an abused women's shelter, especially when she'd been one herself. JR used words as weapons, but they wounded all the same.
Each blue envelop meant another broken woman had healed; she'd finished the counseling program and was ready to make her own way, armed with the right tools to defend against her abuser should he find her again. Part of graduation was writing letters to those who helped them. Years ago the staff started the tradition of including Sue Ellen among the letter recipients as the shelter's founder. Women simply write to her as "Ma'am" and staff members address the envelops to S.E.E.
Many of the Venus women never learn that "Ma'am" is Sue Ellen Ewing and that's how she prefers it, not wanting the glory she feels belongs to the women themselves. But she's grown to need those letters. The women share what Venus House has given them and what their plans for the future are. Reading them is like medicine for Sue Ellen.
The first page of today's letter is an elaborate drawing of a woman chained to a thorny post by hands, neck and feet. The image is done in shades of gray and the woman is faceless. Underneath reads, "Dear Ma'am, this was me…" Sue Ellen turns the page over to find a drawing of a beautiful phoenix in vibrant reds and yellows rising from flames with "Venus" and "House" on its wings. "And this is me now. Thank you for my wings. Love, Sarah J," reads along the bottom.
Sue Ellen's phone rings.
"John Ross?" she says into the land line.
"Aw hell are you waitin' on the line for that damn son of yours to call, Sue Ellen?" Ruby drawls into the phone.
Sue Ellen looks upward for strength. She is not in the mood for Ruby's lecturing right now. "Good evenin' Ruby. I am not waiting on the line. I just placed a call to him a few moments ago, that's all."
"Mm hmm. Well. I seen you come up the drive just as I finished smokin' the most beautiful tri tip you ever did see. Why don't you come on have some with me?" Ruby asks.
Sue Ellen smiles at Ruby's mothering, "Thank you so much Miss Ruby, but I'd rather not tonight. It's been a long day and I'm afraid I'm not very good company just now. Next time?"
"Huh. Well. Suit yourself then. But you best eat somethin' besides that cornbread, gal. You got to keep your energy up for campaigning, you hear? I'm sendin' Paul Two over with a plate then," Ruby says and hangs up before Sue Ellen protests.
Sue Ellen puts the blue letters inside a file drawer with stacks of others and walks to the side door off the atrium that faces Ruby's grand mansion. Sure enough, Paul Two's silhouette is coming up the back of the drive, plate in hand. He activates the sensor light as he comes near, arousing Bowie and Crockett who flank Sue Ellen. She opens the door and greets him.
He replies in his Jamaican cadence, "Good evening Mrs. Ewing. Miss Ruby sends her best regards and says to clean your plate. I think she mean eat all the food, not wash the plate," Paul Two says and smiles wide.
Sue Ellen finds his smile infectious and returns it. "Thank you Paul. I'll enjoy it. I promise. Send my thanks, will you?"
"Of course Mrs. Ewing, I'll do it! And please, come see Miss Ruby soon. You know how she get if she don't see your face. She gonna send me here every day until she do," he says.
"Oh Paul. She's a dear lady, isn't she? Bossy and ornery, but dear all the same. You tell her I'll be by come the weekend, alright?" Sue Ellen says. They say goodnight and she closes the door, activates the house alarm for the night and walks to the kitchen to put the plate in the refrigerator.
The tri tip's heat warms her hand through the plate. She looks down and lifts the foil off to see it. A billow of steam floats up with the glorious smell of perfectly smoked tri tip. Sue Ellen is instantly transported back to a Southfork barbecue. In her mind's eye she sees Miss Ellie and Jock dancing, Bobby and Pam arm in arm, Lucy flirting with every cowboy as Ray Krebbs watches her. And then she sees JR looking across the crowd, his Stetson pulled down low. She is trying to catch his eye. She wears a deep red sundress with a beautiful little fringed cream shawl. She can even here the ice cubes clinking in her glass. The warm Texas wind brushes against her face, blowing her hair about. Finally JR looks over and smiles, raising his glass to her.
A loud crash snaps Sue Ellen back to present. She has dropped the plate of tri tip on the kitchen floor. The dogs immediately start eating it. She shoos them away to pick up the broken plate pieces and then lets them continue licking up the spilled food. She drifts upstairs to her master bedroom, turns the light on dimly and changes into her nightgown. As she hangs up her clothes, something on the top shelf of her huge walk-in closet catches her eye.
She slides her attached rolling ladder over, climbs up and removes a slightly worn white Stetson from the shelf. She comes down the ladder and stands still with the hat for a moment. She brushes it against her face, closes her eyes and inhales JR's scent. Clutching the hat to her chest, she crawls into her king-sized bed, lays on her side, places the Stetson on the white satin pillow beside her and turns out the light.