encouraging Regina, but they also knew that she didn’t spend much time pleasing him. She wanted to separate from him, and to do that she had rebelled by moving to Austin and practicing a lesbian lifestyle.
Yet Regina Hartwell was much like her father. They shared the same hazel eyes, the same penchant for braggadocio , the same bigotries. She was uncomfortable that Mangum’s skin was dark. She worried that Mark Hartwell would treat Ynema differently because of her skin color. And he did.
On one of Regina’s rare trips back to Pasadena, she took Mangum with her. Mark Hartwell behaved just as everyone feared. He seemed surly to Ynema and made mention of her American Indian heritage, so Ynema spent her time avoiding Mark Hartwell. To her, he was wrapped up in himself.
In fact, as a salute to her father and his racist views, Regina named her white husky dog Spook. When Spook got hit by a car and had to be put to sleep, she held him in her arms and wept until he died. Ynema was with her.
Ynema Mangum was one of the very few friends Regina ever introduced to her father.
On February 6, 1991, Regina Hartwell turned twenty-one, and Ynema Mangum bought Regina her first legal drink. February was always a good month for Regina Hartwell. It was the month she received her annual disbursement from her trust fund. Come February, she’d be rich and living high on the hog. She’d often buy a new car, always with a souped-up stereo. She’d pay cash for the car. By Christmas time, the money would have disappeared, partied away into the smoke of some lesbian bar in the fantasy of finding love, and Mangum would be cooking to feed Hartwell and her girlfriends.
In those days, Regina never expressed her insecurities. If she felt embarrassed by a weight gain, which came often, she didn’t show it. She just pumped herself up by bragging about herself and how great she looked, and laughing. One thing that caused such greats laughs for Regina was that her look was so incongruent with her behavior—sophisticated look, moronic behavior.
In fact, Regina was like Sybil; she had several sides. She had a silly, immature side. If she wanted to get a laugh out of someone, that became her goal, and she wouldn’t stop until she heard the laughter. She had a serious side that manipulated others into doing what she wanted. And she had that ever present scared side in need of protection, the little girl still grieving.
She did tell a few friends that her mother had had a psychological problem and emotionally abused her. But she only let them know just so much, never the whole story. She didn’t want anyone to see the whole picture. It was a matter of control. Besides, it was easier to laugh and pretend that her mother tenderly adored her. It was always easier to pretend.
At first, Hartwell tried to hide her Austin life from her Pasadena friends and family. “I want to be a lawyer,” she said to Amy Seymoure. “I’m going to the University of Texas,” she lied. She also told her father she attended U.T. and that she had become a born-again Christian.
However, one day, a Pasadena friend saw Hartwell as she marched in a gay pride parade. He told someone, who told someone, who told Amy Seymoure. It was no surprise to Amy. She loved Regina no matter who or what she was.
On Regina’s next trip to Pasadena, Amy made sure they got together. That was easy—every time Regina came home from Austin, she made a point to sit down and visit with Amy’s parents.
She confronted Regina about Regina’s homosexuality. “I support you completely. I love you very much. I don’t care what you are, you’re still my friend,” Amy Seymoure said.
Hartwell sighed, embarrassed but relieved.
“You look like you’re in the wrong place. You look like a bar hopper,” Regina’s friends said to her. They stood in Sadie’s and pointed to her feminine clothes. These were friends who were close to her, who knew her for a few days, or for
Yet Regina Hartwell was much like her father. They shared the same hazel eyes, the same penchant for braggadocio , the same bigotries. She was uncomfortable that Mangum’s skin was dark. She worried that Mark Hartwell would treat Ynema differently because of her skin color. And he did.
On one of Regina’s rare trips back to Pasadena, she took Mangum with her. Mark Hartwell behaved just as everyone feared. He seemed surly to Ynema and made mention of her American Indian heritage, so Ynema spent her time avoiding Mark Hartwell. To her, he was wrapped up in himself.
In fact, as a salute to her father and his racist views, Regina named her white husky dog Spook. When Spook got hit by a car and had to be put to sleep, she held him in her arms and wept until he died. Ynema was with her.
Ynema Mangum was one of the very few friends Regina ever introduced to her father.
On February 6, 1991, Regina Hartwell turned twenty-one, and Ynema Mangum bought Regina her first legal drink. February was always a good month for Regina Hartwell. It was the month she received her annual disbursement from her trust fund. Come February, she’d be rich and living high on the hog. She’d often buy a new car, always with a souped-up stereo. She’d pay cash for the car. By Christmas time, the money would have disappeared, partied away into the smoke of some lesbian bar in the fantasy of finding love, and Mangum would be cooking to feed Hartwell and her girlfriends.
In those days, Regina never expressed her insecurities. If she felt embarrassed by a weight gain, which came often, she didn’t show it. She just pumped herself up by bragging about herself and how great she looked, and laughing. One thing that caused such greats laughs for Regina was that her look was so incongruent with her behavior—sophisticated look, moronic behavior.
In fact, Regina was like Sybil; she had several sides. She had a silly, immature side. If she wanted to get a laugh out of someone, that became her goal, and she wouldn’t stop until she heard the laughter. She had a serious side that manipulated others into doing what she wanted. And she had that ever present scared side in need of protection, the little girl still grieving.
She did tell a few friends that her mother had had a psychological problem and emotionally abused her. But she only let them know just so much, never the whole story. She didn’t want anyone to see the whole picture. It was a matter of control. Besides, it was easier to laugh and pretend that her mother tenderly adored her. It was always easier to pretend.
At first, Hartwell tried to hide her Austin life from her Pasadena friends and family. “I want to be a lawyer,” she said to Amy Seymoure. “I’m going to the University of Texas,” she lied. She also told her father she attended U.T. and that she had become a born-again Christian.
However, one day, a Pasadena friend saw Hartwell as she marched in a gay pride parade. He told someone, who told someone, who told Amy Seymoure. It was no surprise to Amy. She loved Regina no matter who or what she was.
On Regina’s next trip to Pasadena, Amy made sure they got together. That was easy—every time Regina came home from Austin, she made a point to sit down and visit with Amy’s parents.
She confronted Regina about Regina’s homosexuality. “I support you completely. I love you very much. I don’t care what you are, you’re still my friend,” Amy Seymoure said.
Hartwell sighed, embarrassed but relieved.
“You look like you’re in the wrong place. You look like a bar hopper,” Regina’s friends said to her. They stood in Sadie’s and pointed to her feminine clothes. These were friends who were close to her, who knew her for a few days, or for
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