More LMNOP

NOLLOPVILLE

Toes, September 19

Ella,

Mr. Warren is here. I wasn't aware that he was so young! Perhaps he only looks young. I chose not to ask his age so as not to embarrass him. Maybe twenty-four. No more than twenty-six, I think.
He is also very attractive. He parts his hair in the center, picking up on the style of the local boys. I can tell he wants to fit in. I can tell that he wishes not to arouse anyone's suspicion.
He is single, as well--at least from what I have been able to learn. He was happy to show me pictures of his mother, his cocker spaniel, even his eight-year-young niece, but no beautiful fiancee, thank heaven!
I'm not sure why I am acting the schoolgirl. Perhaps because it has been so long since we've given welcome to such an interesting visitor. I know what you must be thinking. But I can assure you: the purpose of Nate's visit is not to fall in love with me. Yet in my heart of hearts, I must confess: I simply cannot stop myself from the inevitable "what if"!
He got in last night, by the way.
Have I written that he's witty? Clever to near-fault, it turns out. Not to mention the fact that he speaks with such a mellifluous Savannah-honey-voice that I come close to simply melting away each time he opens his mouth!
I must confess, as well, to being still in the thrall of two full glasses of Sonoma cabernet. I write you--glancing at the clock near my cot-at one in the a.m. Sleepy, I know I ought to be, but I am not!
I must also relate how taken Mother is with our new house-guest. For his part, Mr Warren has been most open to our smile-accompanying, eager-to-please hospitality--reciprocating our courtesies with southern-tangy flattery, in couplet with sweet masculine grace.
He will be staying with us for a week or so before traveling to your neck of the forest to meet with Mr. Lyttle. If I am lucky, his trip to town will concomitate perfectly with my own trip to see my most favorite cousin.
Tomorrow I shall wake, thereupon to wish none of this were put to paper, but by then it will be too late, for this letter is going into the corner mailbox as soon as I can throw on a robe to venture out. What a lovely time we have spent this evening, Sweet Ella, even without the use of the four illegal letters.
(I must own to a slippage on occasion; there was slippage from each of us as the evening wore on, our tongues becoming looser; it was almost impossible not to stumble in light of the intoxicating circumstances. But we were lucky in that when such a misspeak took place, there were no ears pressing themselves against the portals or fenesters to overhear.)
I trust, as always, the safe, nonintercept passage of this letter. For while arguable is the possibility that Nollop speaks to us post-mortem--sans mortem as it were--the only thing that isn't contestable, that rings with pure alloyless truth, is the last thing that left our venerable vocabularian's mouth prior to his expiration: "Love one another, push the perimeter of this glorious language. Lastly, please show proper courtesy; open not your neighbor's mail." (You may recall that this was a rare pet peeve of Mr. Nollop's.)

Love,
Tassie

NOLLOPVILLE

Wetty, September 20

Ella,

I beg you to ignore that last letter. I was in a state of shameful inebriation. Mr. Warren is a nice man. That is all. A nice man. I am near mortification!

Love,

Tassie

From

Ella Minnow Pea

A Novel in Letters

by Mark Dunn