Sante Kimes is a Midwestern mother and widow who robbed rich and poor with equal enthusiasm. Her 30 year nationwide spree of grifting, slavery and allegedly murder culminated last spring with the disappearance of Kimes's landlady, the eccentric millionairess Irene Silverman, who had recently deeded her New York town house to Kimes.
Sante fascinates me because she managed to claw her way into the monied class from hardscrabble roots the old-fashioned way without a shred of human decency. She even drafted her reluctant son, Kenneth Jr., as her partner in crime.
Such coldness of heart, however loathsome, excites my envy. Being a writer/drifter on the lam from dull careerism, many's the time a bit of grift would have made the going easier for me. But I don't have the steel: Hear my heart pound as I consider driving off from the self-serve gas station without paying! See my palms sweat as I withhold a tip at the diner! Clearly I'm not in Sante's class. A nihilist in a Wal-Mart wig, she's made of the stuff of empire.
Her downfall, as I see it, was that the rules of empire changed. Look at how Sante smuggled in poor Mexican women to be her maids, imprisoned them in her house and burned them with irons while withholding their pay. That's just not how NAFTA was written. It occurs to me as I once again pass on stealing a motel towel that a chat between Sante and Kathie Lee Gifford, who is more au courant on labor policy, would illuminate the rift between old and new world empires nicely:
Sante: Kathie, do we actually have to pay the help?
Kathie: Well, yes, Sante. But not much.
Sante: But we can still punish them by burning them with irons, can't we? Branding is traditional.
Kathie: Things have changed, Sante. We brand clothes now, not people. And we absolutely do not hurt them. In fact, we have armed guards to keep them from hurting themselves!
Sante: Interesting. Listen: Do you think I have enough name recognition as a killer-of-the-rich to start my own clothing line, like yours?
Kathie: Killing the rich is over, Sante. People like Irene Silverman now. Irene was Paris, Camembert, Brie! You're Vegas, Velveeta, American slice! Don't you see the problem?
Sante: Yes! I do now! It's image!
Kathie: Right! Now: First, you should give your maids $300 and apologize; that's what I did for the workers in my sweatshops. Next, maybe a daytime talk show? Your son can co-star; family values are huge. Then push your clothing line. Let's see Sante Kimes's Rio Grande Swimwear for the immigrant maid on the move. Fast drying: Go right from the river to the kitchen! That's the key touch. It shows you care.
Sante: But I can't do that, Kathie! I don't care. I don't! I can forge an I.D., I can disguise myself in cheap wigs, I can con a mark. But caring is one thing I can't fake.
Poor Sante. Sincerity is something that hardscrabble nihilists can no longer afford, no matter how many millionaires they kill.