Great face, ain’t it? That’s Meggie Sutherland Cutter, heiress, musical whiz, endlessly self-absorbed person. I’ve supported and promoted Meggie in public and private, intensively, for years. Last spring she called me in the middle of the night after her husband Malcolm Cutter gave her yet another drunken beating.
She had endured nine years of those at that point, and endless verbal abuse, and who knows, perhaps a rape or two when Malcolm was especially lit. Her father and uncles and brothers, who own and run Sutherlands Lumber, and who knew Meg was taking these beatings on a regular basis from her alcoholic and drug-addicted husband, allowed it to go on and on.
They told her, in fact, that she should just “be more submissive”, and that everything would be fine. They told her especially not to involve the police or get the family name in the newspaper.
I told Meggie when she called me in the middle of the night, sobbing, that one of two things was going to happen: she was going to call the police to their home, or I was. Eventually she chose to make the call, and I told her to tell the deputy en route to call my cell phone and tell me he or she was on the way.
A deputy did that. Malcolm Cutter was arrested prosecuted for domestic violence, convicted, sentenced, and went into rehab. He’s back there now because he relapsed, poor soul, been there, done that. He also relapsed on the domestic violence front. Don’t expect any help from your family there, Meggie. You’ll have to stand up for yourself, not “be more submissive”.
I saved Meggie from more beatings, her children from dying in a drunken driving accident, perhaps her life — Malcolm had threatened it on many occasions.
I couldn’t find a quick record of his arrest, this looks more like his pappy, he’s from Oklahoma:
Mayhaps the Sutherlands were able to tamp down Malcolm’s arrest news and the attendant search results. Heaven knows, family rep beats all, even when it comes to a fresh young face you whelped and raised.
I bring all this up not to pat myself on the back. I was just doing what I’ve been taught to do by these folks:
I help people. Unlike most, I’ve asked Meggie to help me back. She has tens of millions of dollars and I live on air while trying to make this giddy up and go, and trying to find the right distributor for Bill Couturié’s immaculate and couldn’t-be-more-important film — which I gave Meg an opportunity to watch and buy since it’s all about animals, which theoretically she loves, but she couldn’t be bothered — and saving her and more than a few others in the night and in the day.
Meg’s got a real nice farm with horses and lots of other animals. She’s got a lot of purty lil dresses too. The family has airplanes, a jet, vacation homes galore. Like most rich folks, there’s one thing you’re not allowed to talk to Meggie about: money.
You can save her life, you can save her children’s lives, you can tolerate her endless texting about her own emotions when you’re at your dying father’s bedside — well, actually, sometimes you can’t tolerate that, you have to block her number so she’ll leave you alone and let your father die in peace with your full attention, not half of it on whatever her emotion of the moment is.
Her reaction to this will be to feel sorry for herself. Her family’s will be to threaten me, or her, or both of us and anybody who fails to do their magisterial bidding. This is the same family that consciously let their own daughter, sister, niece be beaten by a drunk for nearly a decade. Who lets that continue to this day in the interest of staying out of the paper.
Lao Tzu, the legend goes, left the kingdom because he was so disgusted with the behavior of his fellow humans. I feel you, cuz.