, , ,

Inspired Pleasure

Diary of a Dancer

 9:30 AM – 22 Dec 77
        Very dissatisfied with my life right now – trying to avoid

making out of sheer boredom some kind of major financial mistake –
like buying a house and filling it with furniture.  Now that Avril has been
accepted as a “permanent student” at U of MD don’t see why we shouldn’t
share a berth somewhere. One of our dancers is a student there and she
says student housing is very expensive. Why couldn’t I rent out rooms?
But then what would happen to the three months of traveling I was promising
  myself ? Wanted to spend March skiing in the White Mountains.
I need something more solid than Romance, that’s for sure.
Jervaze cancelled our last date so now I’m freaking. It is vital that he makes
the next move but my feminist soul revolts. Four months of celibacy appears
to be my limit.

Sitting in the bay window drinking a third cup of coffee and
watching a calico cat stalk the yard. Avril and I have been living rather high
lately, buying clothes for Christmas.  Last night saw the movie Telefon 
-very exciting but with an unbelievable ending – then watched Baryshnikov’s
delightful Nutcracker on TV. Avril says she’s finally starting to forget old
What’s His Face.

I’m trying to get her interested in the religious and meditation
books that have been such a help to me. She’s not that kind of a reader, alas.
No word from R. My latest “daymare” is that he will just
show up at the club. Should I talk to Randy? A says Ryder’s asked her
about it. I made her promise to say “We don’t think you should have
that information” even if he already knows. I try comforting myself
with my knowledge of his vanity – he wouldn’t want other men to see
Randy throw him out as an “unsuccessful suitor”.

(Angry exes show
up at club routinely and aren’t allowed in no matter how they behave
or how much money they have. They get On The Bad List.) Let’s hope
the sensitivity of his ”face” protects both of us. But he probably would
send a stooge – it is just like him – to spy out the land. Fortunately
I look good and this classy place has the Shalimar beat so no disgrace.
Jervaze and I are trying to keep people at the club from knowing that we
date. But it’s impossible to really disguise favorites what with the tripping,
drinks, flowers and etc even if we aren’t allowed to sit with the customers.
Stooge could probably figure it out. Maybe R would “give up” at the sight
of him. Search me.

I’m at the stage with Jervaze where I hunger for some
symbol of his caring, that he’s broken through the surface status and
glamour of “dating a dancer” and has some deeper regard for me as a
unique human being.  He buys copies of my book whenever he finds
them, but of course that’s status and glamour too, even though it’s just
a paperback. I have forbidden him to tell anyone at the club about my
book – he finds that a little weird, but I don’t see how being “a dancing
author” could do me any good. The thing I most love about this job is
that you don’t have to talk. Gave him a book of my poems for his birthday:

a declaration of erotic war.

  23 Dec 77 12:15PM
So in love I’m crazed. I’m at that stage where you can’t
honestly tell if the other person is even interested, you’re in such a
delirium. Jealousy of all the other dancers because he looks at them.  
Jervaze says he liked my poems, his favorite being Nocturne.



Yourself to me

To my inner palate

An artist’s palette

Moth-winged hands


Crescent thighs surging


Union undivided

Prickly venus flytrap hairs that guard

Your anis scented anus

Fleshy mandibles

Trembling sheaves

Snouting for your smoky-salted dinner

Double-snouted cock stiffening

My mango halves

O I will baste you when its time



Dipin my styx of roe your

Musky caviar

Sensate wanderer you


Ubus –

I dreamed you

Open me.

        I thought that might do the trick. I possess wiles 

unknown to other babes.  He mentioned that his brother’s going back
to Alabama so he might be alone for Christmas – I invited him to New
York City but I could tell from his expression he’ll never do it. He thinks
Virginia is the north – calls the New Jersey Turnpike “undriveable” –
a lawless war zone. (If he could hear what we say about the South!)

We exchanged presents – he gave me a bottle of Irish Mist and
another one of my books (he keeps buying them for me) and I gave
him a very small glamour shot in an antique frame – so he can do
anything with it – hide it if he wants. Keep it in his car. He said he liked
it but in the bar light he really couldn’t see. The we went to breakfast –
had a wonderful conversation about ghosts and WC Fields. He believes
in one but not the other. I was hoping he would kiss me – regretted the
first time when “rocked out” on beer, he leaned forward to kiss me but
I pulled away.

But last night would have been completely unmanageable
– under yellowing lights and the stares of strangers (me in my stage
makeup) or out in the pouring rain. So we said goodbye, hopped in our
cars.  We may not see each other for three weeks! I’ve got his address
(on his business card) so I can at least send him a card from NY. 
Got to get up and face the day. Avril back from her final exam in ½ hour
– then off to Landover Mall to see Saturday Night Fever.

 24 Dec 77 - midnight – Plush Palace
        The Big Day. Go home, sleep, wake up, do laundry, take 

dogs for shots, buy snow tires.  In a haze of infatuation – J was in for 5
hours tonight watching me dance with a sense of unmistakable pride. 
He asked for my phone number so he could call me on Christmas Day –
I gave him all of them.
New York City Dec 25 77 – Fri night.
Life is so interesting, Wouldn’t miss it for the world. 
Lovely intimate family talks – just what family should be doing for perspective
on past and future. In two days Avril and I drive out to Michigan to see
Merrill – 11 hours – tonight’s dinner in the Village then an early night.
Heard of a studio apt on the island – winterized – going for $200/month.
Of course I will have enough royalties for that…or won’t I? Harcourt royalty
dept uncooperative, editor Lauren very cagey.  But won’t the island kill
my already comatose sex life? This is the longest time I’ve been away
from dancing and I miss it.  It’s a great substitute for sex but not a complete
one alas. Physical activity vital to my peace of mind.

        96th St off the Park- New York City – Dec 77

  This apt is triggering horrible flashbacks to how sick I was
at the beginning of last summer. Scary that a man could do this to me.
Don’t ever want to get that sick again. Makes me sorry this diary exists 
– my trusty friend – because now misery has an actual corporeal reality.
Burn these sickening wails before I die. The Victorians always did.

  Well I’m raring to get back. Not only do I miss the dancing,
I miss the bar.  Ah, the nightlife. Always a party atmosphere but I could
feel superior for not drinking (or getting high). I like our status and
protections – I like getting paid for exercising, being admired and having
fun. This pleasure just cannot be shared – Mom’s face crimps closed – and
I am lost in the unredeemable beastliness and ugliness she feels certain
it must be. The fact that I am a feminist and consider myself spiritually in
tune with the universe also is incomprehensible to her. (Wives can get into
big spiritual trouble too, but I am too tactful to bring that up.)

there is no way to defend myself except by attacking back – her “safe”, closed, 

restricted world of handmaiden to Dad, feeding and burnishing
him like a racehorse, talking him “up” as if she were his sports coach, does
not seem to me more inherently saintly.

But to Mom self-loss is what “sainthood” is – you totally
do not regard yourself in your care for someone else. The fact that you
are puffing them up like a grampus, encouraging them to be completely
selfish, is I guess too shockingly cruel to mention. So I’m stuck in Patient
Griselda mode with undeserved imprecations heaped on my innocent head. 
I wonder if it would be too nasty to talk about how I am sacrificing myself for
those poor lonely men who need to look upon a perfect feminine ideal while
they swill beer?  Guess I better not.

Mom is fond of saying that love doesn’t work unless
you open your heart to the other but you can’t do it without marriage!
I say Jervaze and I are “courting” which is a very different thing.  I don’t
think I will ever open my heart again. I think perhaps it opens by itself,
naturally. One  might as well tear a flower open and complain about
the quality of the bloom.

Interesting being here with Brett and Genevieve and
watching someone else’s marriage from the outside.  Does not look
too enviable. Reading “Eclipse of the Hero in Victorian Fiction.”  He’s
in eclipse everywhere else, too, I may add.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: