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Clarissa looks a good decade younger than her eighty-five years. Trim. Poised. Neatly styled hair. She’s a very glamorous grandmother, and sure could give a lot of women her age, and mine, a run for their money.
“Oh, stop it!” She waves a hand in my direction, dismissing my compliment. “There’s no secret at all. Just live your life to the full. Make the most of any opportunity that comes your way. And don’t be afraid to fall in love.”
“That simple, huh?” I chuckle as I tuck her snippets of wisdom away to dwell on later. “And you’ve got great taste in books.” I pick up the nearest Lucy Landon book.
“Yes,” Clarissa muses as she lifts her cup to her mouth, a small smirk tugging on her lips. “She is definitely a favorite.”
I set my cup on the coffee table and pull out my notebook. I’m old school when I take notes. I find it less confronting for my interview subjects than if I sat tapping away on my laptop.
During my interview process, I utilize a set of broad questions to initiate conversation, find a common interest, and make my subject feel comfortable. It’s important to establish a rapport and earn their trust. Already I can sense that Clarissa is approachable, and I don’t think it will take long for that to happen.
“What do you enjoy about Lucy’s writing?” I ask, thrilled that we share the same taste in books. I love that someone her age still enjoys a romance novel.
“Oh.” Clarissa sits back in the armchair, cradling her cup of black coffee in her hands. Her gaze drifts out the window, a faraway look in her eyes. “She has such a way with words that wrap me up and carry me away to another place. She writes realistic romance. Not this soft nonsense that many authors churn out these days, as if love is all fluffy clouds and unicorns.”
I nod in understanding. That’s what I enjoy about Lucy’s work as well. She doesn’t shy away from the hard moments in relationships. Although, after my humiliation with Tripp, I indulged in some saccharine sweet, unrealistic romances to rid myself of the memories.
“Love and romance aren’t always easy,” Clarissa murmurs wistfully, as though spoken from experience.
“No, they’re not.” My poor track record in the relationship department speaks for that. But I wonder what great romances Clarissa has experienced. Something tells me this woman will have a lot to share.
Minutes fly by, and I turn page after page of my notebook, jotting down quotes and anecdotes from Clarissa’s life. She’s an easy subject to interview, and I don’t need to ask many scripted questions because she’s a gifted conversationalist. All the nervous energy about her knowing about me and Linc soon dissipates as she talks.
I’m captivated by the incredible stories of her life. Stories that seem almost too surreal to be true. But given her age, and the changes to society she’s lived through, I don’t doubt for a moment that she has lived an interesting life. She hasn’t merely existed, but has taken life by the horns and shaken everything from it. Which is why I enjoy this form of journalism. Telling people’s life stories is motivating and inspiring. I often wonder what future generations will talk about when their whole lives are lived through screens.
Clarissa leaves me in awe as she describes the time she went to Vietnam as a rookie reporter because she didn’t want to stay in America as a homemaker while her husband served in the military.
“It was a boys’ club,” Clarissa remarks with a shake of her head. “All macho, sexist rot.”
I chuckle, imaging her as a young woman, fiercely independent and not wanting to be confined by rules and expectations. Rebellious and self-determined.
“Not much has changed, I’m afraid.” While there are many women reporters, it’s still predominantly a man’s world, and misogyny still exists. The number of harassment situations that get swept under the rug is mind boggling. And then there’s the pay disparity between the sexes.
Clarissa tuts her disapproval that things haven’t changed so much in over fifty years.
“I came from money,” she continues without a hint of arrogance. “But I wanted to do more with my life than host family dinner parties and swan around in the latest designer wear.”
“So you chose to go to Vietnam?” That’s a unique way to escape family expectations. Most people would get a tattoo or a body piercing, not head into a war zone.
She nods, her silver bob swaying slightly with the movement. “It’s so bizarre when I think about it now.” Her gaze lifts to the window, as though caught up in memories of a long ago time. “There were no guarantees of a job or accommodation. Sexual harassment was rife, because I was a woman in a man’s world. There was no respect, and I was obviously inexperienced.” She chuckles. “But the war was the world’s biggest story at the time, and people didn’t care who they heard about it from.”
My pen moves furiously across the paper as I take notes. I’m in awe of Clarissa’s courage. There’s no way I’d be packing up my bags and heading off to war.
From Vietnam, she returned home, a war widow. She dated several other men before marrying a writer for the New York Times. They had three children and eventually settled in Autumn River, where she worked at the vineyard, pioneering new terminology and visual references for different wine aromas.
As if that’s not enough, I also discover she’s published three award-winning books on her experiences in Vietnam.
As shadows lengthen across the room, Clarissa pushes out of the armchair and flicks the reading lamps on. I take the interruption as a chance to draw our session to a close. We’ve been here for hours and my head is spinning from so much information. Clarissa is a real-life Forrest Gump. Next thing she’ll be telling me she has a friend named Bubba and worked in the shrimping industry. I had no idea someone of her caliber lived in Autumn River.
“Thank you for today, Clarissa.” I grin in awe. “Your stories are incredible.”
“Life is what you make of it, dear,” she says. “You only get one shot. May as well make it a good one. You might miss the mark a few times, but you just have to pick yourself up and keep trying to make the most of what you’ve been given.”
Those are words of wisdom right there. I definitely missed the mark with Tripp, but perhaps I can take a leaf or two out of Clarissa’s book and start making the most of what I’ve been given. Tripp is in the past. My future is now.
“You should pay a visit to the vineyard,” Clarissa says as I pack up my belongings. “Obviously it’s changed since I worked there, but you might find out some more information for your article.”
“I might just do that.”Aside from the wedding, I haven’t been to the vineyard in years, and that was for another function. I’ve never taken the time to explore and learn its history.
