2 PM 15 Feb 79 – Thurs
Sleeting out. Feeling restless the way I do before I write
a new book. Hauled out Bride & Wolves for a rewrite – tremendously impressed with my own talent! Development always was my problem (as in life). Greene’s Human has an odd, unfinished feel. Reviews did not prepare me for it in the least. I think they reviewed Greene rather than his book. More impressed by Margot Ruddock’s letter to Yeats in Ah, Sweet Dancer (which could be retitled Dirty Old Man.) She compares the “fickleness” of men to the fickleness of God! Can’t blame her if God insists on being male. Read Howatch’s Call In the Night as a purgative. Going to see Country Wife tonight at U. Of Md. Usher sent me strange Valentine collage of Playboy photos, couples kissing, etc. Avril says “I give up on him. It’ll be a miracle if he can ever say what he wants.”
Starlight Sat 18 Feb 79 – 11:10 AM Waiting for my bangs to curl at the start of a double. Had a nightmare where Devon performed marriage ceremony between me and some other guy! Right up to the end I kept thinking he was going to “rescue” me. Naturally he did not. “Psychic” about him as usual I got a letter saying he’s busy with this year’s Ladies Ski Team meaning he’s got 12 girls passionately in love with him and he plans to take his time to savor the field. Vengeful poem results:
Cloverleaf Some roads lead nowhere; They’re my favorites. I held my breath while You drew my face in Blinding strokes and Creamed my mouth with curling lines Destroyed one picture; then another. Left at dawn while I Ran downstairs in circles, calling Raging, spending Nights without you, No blue thigh to guard My sleeping heart while yours looks out To gauge the coming storm. Now I’m trapped in cloverleaves Sentenced to school figures By endless angry judges. Every face I paint is yours; balked by An enervating past Of unlived lives. Open up the chilly ruffles Of my breasts To beauty; yours and mine and your Strange spine’s; A body so much lighter Than the mountain that you loved The course you learned Much better than you learned me. Overconfident that you’ll come back I float across the powdered snow; In bird-winged silence all-enveloping Unless I’m Lost and frozen like my heart?
2 PM – Jervaze came in! Ducked away momentarily
from his fiancée. Glad he didn’t bring her in as I am having my period and feeling particularly fat and grumpy. My poor body’s been unloved for a month now and is falling to pieces. Still it was an enormous pleasure to see him. Someone for whom I apparently remain The Holy Grail.
Tues. 6:45 PM 20 Feb 79 Struggling against a vast undifferentiated depression. Going to treat it with diet and meditation. Reading Tapie’s Richelieu and Louis XIII. History a great cure for all who feel unlucky. Even being an aristo was no picnic. Avril accepted for both of us to go to Aunt Frederica’s party on the shore where she’s rented a house. Hitchman’s bio of Dorothy Sayers very bad book. Sayers wasn’t “in love” with Lord Peter, she was him! Will-to-power and dream logic. Trying to “bind” her two halves together when she made him marry Harriet. Had to re-read Sayers’ wonderful Unnatural Death (my favorite) to get the taste out of my mouth. Ah. Such pleasure. Painting till I’m exhausted then long walks with dogs through pretty Queens’ Chapel Manor. Haven’t seen a neighborhood this satisfying since Chevy Chase.
Starlight Wed 21 Feb 79 – 11:45 AM Going through a phase where work feels like being beaten. Think it’s because no one is caring for my body. Will warmer weather turn the tide? I love my house but Marc Kramer is wrong – home ownership NOT the cure-all promised. The only difference I can see is I can no longer mess around financially. Nose permanently to grindstone. Reading John Dickson Carr’s Blind Barber. It is so awful. Why does anyone like him? Pass my time sewing red rhinestone buttons to my pink satin blouse. Yesterday clutch cable snapped – pedal became a dummy. Fortunately I was right NEXT to a gas station. Had to take a taxi home. Financial nightmare – more doubles to get my car out of hock? Turns out it’s not expensive. A. gives me ride to work, Eddy gives me ride to car. Leaning heavily on inner life. Efforts to live “outwardly” all seemingly result in hideous failure. Shopping list: pasties, carpet tape, stockings, cotton balls, liquid plumber, string bikini.
Sat. 24 Feb 79 Devon turned 30 today. Great house party at bungalow Aunt F rented on Mulberry Island. Interesting artist named Stockley there with an exciting mind but unworkable body. Fun to talk to though. He wears a hard hat and welds. Avril asked out by handsome redhead named John. Fingers crossed. Jervaze called to say he broke off his engagement. Uh oh. Macmillan says my novel “not their cup of tea”. Very sneery.
Starlight Fri 2 Mar 79 – 2 PM Bought a pair of yellow overalls to write in. Hadn’t realized how thin I’ve gotten – I look fantastic. House (closing) magically lifts depression when it cost $900 less than I expected. I was fully ready to write these nice people a rubber check – Thank God that’s not necessary. Instead of wasting away in debtor’s prison, I get to compare myself to Sylvia Plath. What if in a panic, I married a party boy who fails to love T he Real Me? Wait, I did that. But I didn’t stay to wrestle with him and now I’m free. Could be much, much worse. Hang in there and go it alone. See it as a strength. Trying to apply for grants. There’s an art form all by itself. Avril’s redhead working out nicely. I don’t like his comments about his mother though. Is satisfactory sex possible with men who hate their mothers? Could be massive Red Flag.
12:35 PM Tues Mar 6 – 79 Sit down to chat with diary over lunch – can’t eat because scolding letter from agent gave me a stomachache. Didn’t I know it was unethical to allow several agents to consider me at the same time? I do see it’s a very beneficial for the agents to drag this process out so they end up doing all the choosing and not you. But since she’s the one I want I can’t say so. Play dumb, promise to Be Good in Future and throw my affairs entirely into her hands and let her speak for me. Silence frees the artist from “servile bondage to the world”, says Sontag. Letter from Devon saying he really respects me for buying a house (the opposite of what Mom thought would happen. He says it makes me more interesting. Or he’s just less scared I will show up on his doorstep.) Also he says “it’s been a bad ski season” and asking particularly about the men in my life, closing, ”I love you Alysse. Our relationship is the most important thing to me.” Whew! What are the odds that every girl on that team would turn out to be a lesbian? Or were they fooled by his aura of untouchable purity? Most girls would consider it a challenge but some lack the three hours necessary to defrost him. Still, they’re all out of their minds not to give him a whirl I must admit. Interesting how very much we each fear the other’s loss.
11PM Starlight Wed 7 Mar 79 Very down night. Only $70 so far. Need $600 to keep my bills current. Bryony wailing because the state took her children away. Sometimes seems like the pain of the helpless is smothering the world. Tony’s the bouncer tonight and he’s all for letting the men stick their bills down the girls’ G-strings! No thank you. Wait till Gentleman Randy hears about this. Reading a bad German mystery – the mystery being why he wrote it, how it got published and why I’m reading it. Fantasizing celebrating spring by getting all my hair cut off. Hmmm. Jean Seberg? Could be sexy. Wish I’d brought Kafka’s Letters. Making huge floor pillows for my housewarming party. Longing to sink into classical music & bubble bath, followed by Oleg Cassini sheets & cup of diet cocoa. Having my own house really is a dream come true.
Mon 20 Feb 79 – 12:20 AM Such a depressing party I got drunk just to be “out” of it. Avril & Ben making out in a corner all evening. Usher brought me books and a bird of paradise flower, Stockley gave me a beautifully framed tiny drawing of crustaceans but then cancelled that by attempting to corner me all evening. He covers up the soul he doesn’t believe in with a repellant fleshy brutality – life is kill and conquer – eat or be eaten. Honestly, now I’m scared of him. Afraid to even argue with him for fear of launching something irreversible. Luckily, he next fastened his lasers on Yvonne. Poor Yvonne. Save yourself, I should say. Plan to ask Paz to schedule me for just two nights. On a self-dare, I sent my poem about Rossetti’s model to Usher.
LIZZIE SIDDALL: The Woeful Victory
Be still or I can’t paint you. It is evening and I almost recognized you. Who are you Fair one? Your mouth is stuffed With poppy hair Fate coils between your breasts Like snakes. But Your tongue’s torn out. You must be the echo of my thoughts.
(I am the motionless cradle.)
Your flesh takes fire from my setting sun. Can you free me, O Lady of the Sundial? My eyes are growing dim.
(Perfect love’s not found this side of heaven.)
I shall paint you vermilion Butcher nightingales and use their tongues for brushes Melting foil & verdigris To the tune of Canterbury bells. Stay awhile, Fair one. I almost thought you spoke.
(I am the face that rises from the pool to drag the drinker deep.)
I will bury you in manuscripts, I will Visit when there’s time. Someday We might marry, but I am not whole, dear lady. I am not myself. Who are You?
Ferry Sat 26 Aug 78
Made the ferry with nine cars to spare.
Plush Palace Thurs 31 Aug 78
Three sets down. Tonight I’m asking Eddy for only
three days – it’s hard to be constantly here – like living in a soap opera. No writing – been sending out query letters. Rod called – had the nerve to lecture me on publishing, “If you want to play in their league, you have to wear their uniform.” Deeply annoying – makes me want to bite him. I refuse to wear anyone’s “uniform”. Back to the unspeakable Constance Heaven book that is the only thing I brought.
Thurs 8:30 PM 7 Sept 78
Day spent in the mundane, pricing wicker at Pier 1 with
Avril. Lots I wanted but can’t afford. Bought mugs and plant.
7:47 PM Plush Palace – Sat 9 Sept 78 Dinner with Rod. He is handsome, rational, helpful, kind and forgiving. Unfortunately, he’s also some unknown Third Sex, a complete zygote. If he’s gay he’ll be the last to know. After three glasses of wine I found the nerve to say he must have noticed we have no sex life. He talked sententiously about how we’re both cautious, both been burned before, give it time, etc – it sounded good, but I knew it wasn’t true. Something’s wrong with him. The last months of his marriage he slept sexlessly in same bed with his wife – at the very end her boyfriend even joined them! (Nobody did anything.) Strange and unhealthy.
We went to watch his friend, Zachary play guitar in a coffee- house at Tyson’s Corners. Now there’s a guy with a noticeably sparking electrical overload. I was turned on to him and he was turned on to me but of course nobody did anything.
Rod was absolutely serene, probably didn’t even notice. But would he even mind? I can’t mention it because Zachary is basically a sewer rat. It is not a sign of emotional health to even consider counting coup with this guy. Pity Rod’s so perfect. Waitresses gaze at us adoringly. Mom and Dad would love him. Wakened this AM by postman thumping on door with package – turned out to be twenty copies of Flatiron with my Resurrectionist poem spread – I’m going to send every one of them out. Makes such a perfect gift and peace offering I may order 20 more. Reading Nathanel West’s horrific Miss Lonelyhearts.
Plush Palace 6:10 PM Wed 13 Sept 78
Mon Avril and I went to the play Mrs. Cheyney – it was
excellent – then to the Apple Tree after to dance but the volume of turkeys pitched up way too high. We made a wonderful evening anyway – picked up effortlessly right where we left off – complete with psychic communication like imperfectly sundered Siamese twins. Then off to Rod’s in my black satin suit – he had a bottle of champagne to celebrate Farrar, Straus & Giroux wanting to see my novel (I know better than to celebrate a thing like that.)
2:25 PM Thurs 14 Sept 78
Wonderful letter from Devon affirming and reaffirming
his love. Very healing. Asked to keep the photo I sent him of us when I was seventeen. Described me as “majestic, mature.” Ooooo. Reading Gore Vidal’s Edgar Box stories.
Difficult letter from Mom. She doesn’t seem to realize she can’t “win”. Her will cannot prevail. If she keeps insisting we will only become more alienated. Good diet day – eggs, grapefruit, almonds. No booze. Lots of water.
Powder Mill Road 20 Sept 78 2:00 PM
Avril and I met for drinks and steaks, then to White Flint Mall
to see Rituals. Hal Holbrook surprisingly good. Trying to read The World of Somerset Maugham in bed – fell asleep at 11 – didn’t wake till nine! Finished letter to Genevieve answering hers in which she lectured me on wearing “tight pants”.
Groomed dogs, dishes, vacuuming. Sent Flatiron around – wrote letter to D. Re-read Mimsey. I think it’s a little gem but can’t be pried out of its’ setting without destruction. Maybe I should send it around anyway, even though it’s so short. Also found old MS of Secrets – not bad. But the real eye opener was my writing teacher’s horrible editing – suggested I change “opaque” to “grey green” – “pressed her eye against the window” instead of “applied her eye”, which is what I had. Ugh and shiver. Counted up bills. Tight. I hate hand-to-mouthing. So will sell stock. Zachary told Rod he is attracted to me. I don’t know where that will go – it surprised me. He is ballsy. See them both at tonight’s party.
Tues 26 Sept 78
Strange party. Lots of people. Zachary was there,
visibly lusting. Rod seemed perfectly comfortable about Zachary and me. He is the weirdest ever. Repressed gay? Asexual? Pod person? Put his arms around us both. Z very effusive – he is “onstage” all the time. I stopped myself from saying, “Show everybody your appendectomy scar.” Let him reveal himself. What do I care? He produced dope but no one got high. Rod told me I should allow Z to satisfy me – use upstairs bedroom. (Probably wired for sound.) I was not happy with that – made him follow me home instead. Good sex, but he hung around till 1. It’s true he made me breakfast – a delicious omelet. But it’s always a mistake to bring them home. When Rod called, Z was still here. That was uncomfortable for me – Rod said relax about it. Stock at 16 so really can’t sell. Told Marc to watch it for a week but I will be needing the money. Must unplug phone and work.
Quarter to 7 – Worked on childhood stuff till tension got too much. Plugged phone back in, dinner, read NY Review of Books. Exercised dogs. Went to library – got bio Hart Crane – a nice big one – bought huge desk calendar for planning.
Plush Palace 27 Sept Wed 78 Sitting in dressing room all suited up, breasts taped up into vertical position – might as well scribble. Good diet – yogurt, plums, apples, eggs, tuna. Wrote. Scared I’ll arrive at p. 100 and be “finished” – pushed thought away. Avril called upset – el Diablo died and she missed an exam. I went to pick her up. She has date tonight with Mystery Man. I am reading about Hart Crane’s relationship with his parents. Too familiar for comfort. 11:45 PM Interesting night. My lighter schedule helps me have more fun with the other dancers – I don’t feel so invaded by them. Avril phoned about date. Fifty-fifty, she rated it. That’s not very good. Letter from Devon inviting me up for Oct. I was amazed – made reservations for Concord Inn. Went to see Claudia Weill’s Girlfriends with A. We liked it – seemed extra poignant since Opal had to “drop” us rapacious females on her remarriage.
Then to Warehouse to hear Z sing. Surprise – he was tense to see me! His throat closed up. Finally sheer professionalism carried him through – everyone seemed impressed. He never looked straight at me but I could tell he was watching me out of the corner of his eye – he flinched at my slightest movement. Flattering? Or scary? I don’t know. I’m trying to feel flattered – why assume responsibility for everything? Shoulders and Peter P showed up with girlfriends – hello – big surprise – all exchange new phone numbers. Everyone friendly. Avril charmed by Shoulders all over again – said she didn’t think that girlfriend looked serious.
Z descended from stage – I could tell he was having a battle – should he be “aloof” like a “real performer” or effusive with me? My unwillingness to seem needy saved us both – I was cool. He asked privately if he could “stop by” I said yes. Could have kicked myself later. Shadonna called – asked me to do a double. I forced myself to say no.
Fri Oct 6 – 1:35 PM
Who should come into the club but Rick Marl – he
said he had just seen Ryder and Ryder told him things between us were “still the same”!!! I haven’t spoken to R in weeks! Told Rick that. Rick then showed a desire to “move in” on me – I didn’t squash it. Told him “call me.” Starting to think the time for “instant honesty” in relationships is passed. It’s way too dangerous. Make them earn the right for a tour of my insides. A and I saw Steve Martin last night at College Park. He skewers the Ryders of this world pretty brilliantly I thought. Specially loved the skit where he feels “responsible” for his girlfriend’s death. He shot her when she became annoying.
Fight with Zachary over sex – he thinks – I “take too long to satisfy.” I was so annoyed I left at 3 in the morning to go to A’s place. When I came back he was gone – left a note – “in your absence your odds improve” in his odd little precise architect’s handwriting. Bastard. He obviously doesn’t mean my odds of being satisfied. He thinks he’s such hot stuff. He’s performing at The Mistral this weekend.
10:35 PM Tues night 10 Oct 78
Stock sold. There’s six months rent. Or I could go to
England (I don’t give up easily.) Instead I do a little fun winterizing – new electric blanket and bathroom rug. I’m enmeshed in an ego problem with Zachary – this is the “hedonism” Dad is always worried about. I only want to see him once a week for sex but my ego demands he fall in love with me. He has invited me Home to Meet the Parents so perhaps I’ve succeeded. Very handsome unkempt hunk at the club invited me to see him race his motorcycle in Fredericksburg. This is a tempting piece of Americana I don’t think I can refuse. He’s just a gorgeous mud puppy.
Spent $17 at the post office sending copies of To Drown In Air around. Seemed like a lot to me. It’s not just men I’m jumping between. Reading both Russell Kirk’s unctuous book on Eliot and Ross MacDonald. Much prefer the latter: I’ll return to him now.
Sat 4 PM 14 Oct 78
How did I get myself into a situation with men calling all
the time? It is supposed to be a girl’s fondest dream – in fact it is hell. I am unplugging the phone for long stretches and not telling them either or they might be tempted to come over. As Zachary did yesterday – we ended up sixty-nining on sofa – I admit it was his best sex yet.
Mon 11 PM 16 Oct 78
Avril and I drove to Fredericksburg for the unkempt
hunk’s race – gorgeous weather – spectators everywhere and I had a hard time finding a place to park – then a guy in a blue and yellow racing outfit and helmet appeared and banged on the hood of my car. I thought it was someone telling me I couldn’t park there but it was Buck and I hadn’t recognized him. So handsome!
The race was just about to start – he had a party of five or six people to cheer him on. I didn’t quite get the names – we had to rush out onto the course. Buck got a good start but his bike went wrong twice – once he did a spectacular flip and it came down right on top of him. Brady, his friend, said, “that happens all the time.” Buck was unhurt but had to leave the race. He seemed relaxed about failure – opened a cooler – gave us all roast beef sandwiches he had made himself and beer. (I hate beer.) was busily finding out that Brady’s “unattached”. He’s a big shy handsome lunk too. Buck put his arms around me and gave me a big hug – told me now I have to come watch a better race. Ah, the fantasy – the mystery of Buck – who is he and what is he – taking fire in me. Big, strong, unthreatened, unthreatening male, bursting with muscles and apparently emotionally undamaged by life. Why not horses, farm, children with such a one as this? Could I get so lucky?
I cooked dinner for Avril – liver, onions, mushrooms, rice. Plenty of bourbon. Still need to go to bed early. Colored and conditioned my hair and wrote letters.
Powder Mill Road Wed – 18 Oct 78
No poetry - Too much going on – I’m longing for my
hermit days. I think: I ought to be able to date. I ought to be able to have a little sex, a little love, a little affection – but what a can of worms! Instantly it spins out of control! I thought Buck might show up at the club – and indeed he did – after obviously making a special effort with his appearance. Tight leather jacket, blond hair all puffed out, face glowing. It was just like a date – only with me dancing onstage. He stayed 2 and 1/2 hrs – I gave him my standard lecture about not wasting his life hanging out there – come in say hi and leave. One beer. Before I finished he said, What are you doing Fri night? I said, “going out with you.” When I got home Rick called – spying for Ryder I have no doubt. But I had to tell him I am booked solid through the 30th. Truth to God.
Powder Mill Rd Thurs 19 Oct 78
Still balancing thank God. Had lunch with dancer
Yvonne – she said she still wakes up having screaming nightmares about Warren (he was killed in a car accident. Faced smashed in by a coke bottle he was drinking at the time. He bled to death.) At least I don’t have those worries. I sleep like a baby. Worked on costumes. Waiting for Avril to go with me to Interiors. Reread my stuff. Think there’s a great deal to be said for the short, short novel. Maybe encapsulate them into short stories? But no money there. I remain unappreciated because of refusal to hook up with some “movement”. Drown rejected. Started dividing the novel into geographical locations – Hooks Lane, Paradise Road. Would make good short stories. 11:30 PM Awful, awful night. Dancing badly, shoes broke. Rushed out and bought another pair in my break. Pasties fell off – carpet tape of inferior quality or possibly I sweat too much.
12:15 PM Oct 23
Sitting by phone feeling illogical joy. Wonderful date
with Buck – restaurant with lots of wood and Tiffany lamps – just a pleasant, free-flowing conversation. No sex at the end – hug and kiss in doorway. “May I call you?’ I told him yes – invited him to be my date Nov 5 at Shadonna’s wedding. He said he would.
Fri 27 Oct 78
Concord, Mass – the grave of Nathan Bond.
Seems a good place to write – sitting on a gravestone in the sunlight. So, what was last night like? I arrive to the theology college and another student goes up to get Devon – I overhear him say “There’s a very good looking girl here to see you and I mean very good looking.” He came down looking so different with a new silky beard – exclaimed over and over again about my gorgeousness. We went up to his room and were making out on his narrow plank of a bed when the radio played Ambrosia – How much I Feel. Too much for me! Started to cry and lost a lens!
Now Devon thinks I’m a psycho – which I am. Luckily (for him) and sadly for me psychos are his specialty. Wish he wasn’t so unctuous about it. When he attacked me with those eyes I had to get myself a drink – broke out in shivers and hives – thought I was must black out. He was talking in general ways about what he wants out of life – he seems to be expressing fear he can’t find someone better than me. I did my best to get him back to specifics – even saying a woman can’t propose to a man (Well she could, but if she proposed to this man she’s never hold him.)
Obviously, he loves me. That question answered. But there are more. But as much as I deserve? Seems like not. He’s incapable of making the kind of statement I need him to make. He wants to get a clinical psychology degree and he hinted that I wouldn’t be such a disaster as wife to a psychologist. (Flattering?)
I told him he has a fear of “emotional success” and he agreed. He astonished me by making passionate love to me – I didn’t have to do a thing (other than wear my short pink gauze peasant blouse and the denim gauchos that show my bellybutton) – he couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough. Very satisfying – wasn’t an inch of my body he didn’t kiss – including my heels. I told him my heels had never been kissed before – so he kissed them again – also sought out all the other unkissed places. I do feel satisfied for at least a century. We went out to a Greek restaurant for dinner, then to see The Deer Hunter. Powerful movie. Crazy, just like life. Christopher Walken lovely.
Drove to Concord in pouring rain. Inn is no Night at the Plaza – more like Early Hardy Boys. Read Violet Clay before falling asleep. Dinner tonight with my cousin Tory – pumping him about Hill School experiences to use in Paradise Road. Buy some wine for tonight and celebrate my own existence.
G’s place – NYC – Central Park West – 30 Oct 78
Why do I do this to myself – visit Genevieve?
I just realized the mirror in her hall is a fat mirror. I did eat a lot of junk food on this trip but I don’t believe I look this bad. On top of that, Genevieve’s life is a fat mirror to my life – that’s the truth. We just saw Chabrol’s Violette – we both have a pash for him – but agreed this is not his best – plus the only Chabrol we know of with absolutely no romantic elements. It’s probably something I will end up thinking about a lot – and rewriting in my head – so maybe it’s Ok after all. Wrote a poem for Devon – Practice Cuts.
Practice Cuts
The dead gush cruelly after dying; High time to change & Get religion Have yogic visions See god or be a nun That would be a self worth knowing. Time is gunning for me I can feel arthritic fingers Scrabbling at my dreams Playing the old tunes but scratchier, less sensitive. I’m a body in search of a car wreck A crime scene consubstantial; The old deus ex machina Disaster; Blood is so good At erasing uncertainty Bringing back A taste for life. Reduce me, silence To the essential bones Of my non essential self Fortify some other ego Mine is tired; Peel from my eyes the thickened skin of grief Unstop my ears from the dust of My own consequence Free my feet from the sharpened judging splinters For life passes from my like a fever in which I cry out and cry out and yet No sound is made Time to head on out Like the tide & Cauterize the woof-warp of a pattern So plain that even I can see it. Teach me not to envy The gulls their mirrored flight unmeasured like my own Reduce me to unbending bones of my Essential self the dark sister; she The soul I was before I became me.
Can’t turn it into a presentable poem – however,
it did make me feel better writing it. I guess I don’t like being Devon’s flirtation with damnation. Writing really is the best revenge.
Plush Palace – Thurs 2 Nov 78 8:30 PM
GiGi’s last night onstage. She is very down. Charlie
is making her quit because “no wife of mine blah-blah-blah.” Eddy says she’ll be back: can’t find these perks in any other job. I am dancing well. Apparently, no one but me realizes how fat I’ve gotten.
Both a good and a bad day today. Worked hard on Gift and Drown – sending out query letters – took pkgs to post office only to be told a MS has to be bound to go mss rate. I made them look it up in the manual so I won’t have to go through this again.
They treated me like this must be personal – I’m trying to “catch” them in mistakes – forgetting I’m the customer entitled to service who doesn’t want to pay extra for no reason at all. And the book spells out what services I get – in case they forget. Apology letter from Tory: his girlfriend “out of line” to be so jealous during our paella dinner. She did seem strange but since she’s an artist I didn’t question. I respond with a short note saying I think my questions were just too personal for her ears so I really cannot blame her. Reading Edmund Wilson’s life like watching a slow- motion car wreck – horrible man.
3PM Sat 4 Nov 78
Trouble bouncing back from the most recent
rejection of Gift. Wouldn’t be so bad if I felt they actually read it. My agent compares me to Mallarmé – trouble is, no one likes Mallarmé. My bank has charged me $24 for being $1.70 short on a check. They did the same thing to Avril – since she has a $6,000 savings account, she figures she’s paying them to lend out her money at 18% interest. And whoever you talk to turns out to be a computer. Buck and I are having a very interesting relationship. I can hardly believe it’s happening. There’s no bickering over unmet needs – it’s very restful. Sex could be a potentially explosive problem area – can’t tell yet – so far so good – I think he’s a learner claiming a lot more experience than he’s got. There are definitely problems associated with having sex with a person who is obsessed with speed.
My period started today and it seems cruel to task a beginner with this issue. At least Buck goes down nobly like Jacques Cousteau. But he’s not much of a talker. The most amusing aspect is how we’ve settled down socially – we have a lot of fun around other people. I am contemplating writing a story called The Official Girlfriend which will treat this from a sociological perspective. Tomorrow we are meeting his parents at a restaurant – I hope its dark in there because they are bound to think I am too old for him. Naturally we are keeping my job a deep dark secret – I have to be a “hostess” which really blows. A week from tomorrow he has another race – we’ll take a picnic. I love these outings.
Plus Avril’s really getting along with Buck’s buddy Brady – definite prospects of a dating foursome. Unfortunately, Brady left his wife like two minutes ago and is not what you’d call “fully detached” as yet. Fortunately: no kids.
Sun 11:15 PM Buck amazed me by confessing that every time before he sees me he is “sick to his stomach” with worry that he won’t come up to my expectations. I am a “high status date” and all his friends are waiting for him to stumble. But then when we’re together he says he just relaxes and we have a great time. I was really touched by this. It is nice that in the car mechanic’s world dating an exotic dancer is high status. I prefer that to being the Shameful Secret which I assume I was in Rod’s world.
Next week I’m supposedly seeing Zachary twice – haven’t told Buck – why am I doing this? Insurance? I think I don’t like Zachary. Am I competitive – is it just thrilling to see him come off the stage and touch me intimately? (Everyone’s jealous – the men as much as the women. Rod wants Zachary more than he wants me I think.) But actually I don’t like Zachary. The trouble with canceling is then it would be just Buck and me. Me and Buck. Going steady.
12:30 PM Mon 6 Nov 78
Bizarrely warm day. Had a wonderful time yesterday
at Shadonna’s wedding. Buck wore a marvelous blue suit with blue suede patches. It was indescribable – sort of like country singer performance-wear, and with his wispy moustaches and his motorcycle boots I’m telling you he was a sight to behold. I wore my “slit to there” diamanté rainbow dress and we danced for hours. Nobody paid us any attention. We didn’t stand out at all, that’s what I’m telling you.
Plush Palace – Tues – 9:35 PM 7 Nov 78
Avril said to me this afternoon, “My life is completely
out of control and I don’t care.” She has to drive Brady to his in-laws to pick up his clothes today because his wife took the car. There’s bound to be a glorious, satisfying, soap opera scene with a lot of screaming and object throwing – just like there was the time she helped him extract his clothes from his wife’s apartment. On top of this Brady is apparently extremely jealous – in spite of the fact that he’s technically married and she isn’t. She is seriously thinking of inviting him to Thanksgiving because he won’t believe that she’s not secretly meeting a beau – or six! However, he showers her with love, attention and sexual worship so she says it’s worth every minute of it.
Went out last night with Zachary – we had a sandwich and drink at Booeymonger’s and saw Animal House. He was driving his mother’s car. He is assembling a band called Prairie Dust and he’s in some kind of power struggle with the lead singer who is female. He needs to be the prettiest person in any band. He says Rod – playing Daddy Big Bucks – foisted her on him. Because Rod works in radio and is paying for the tape mix he has Zachary right where he wants him. (She is a fantastic singer.) Rod might just find his mojo after all. Following the movie, I finally met the parents – now that there’s no point in it. Got along like a house on fire with his Dad because I knew all the obscure Giraudoux plays he had framed posters of on his wall. I quoted: “And the sewers will be fragrant with jasmine…” which was my line in Madwoman of Chaillot. I could tell I was a considerable cut above the street people and space chicks Zachary usually drags home.
They must be worried as hell that he’s gay – his room is full of what can only be described as pinup pictures of himself. Little do they know it’s worse than that – he’s into anything that would be into him. Bestiality would be frankly appraised on its merits. “Is it a good looking chicken?”) House full of unbelievably beautiful, unbelievably uncomfortable furniture – striped satin Empire sofas – stained glass windows – wrought iron candelabras – that sort of thing. His mother very wary – fiercely Catholic – thin with a long blonde pony-tail and a long horsey face – but actually quite intelligent and attractive.
Zachary’s room is full of crosses and Gonzaga pennants – I should have realized this boy has all the earmarks of being terminally mauled by priests. Parents frantic: when will he get a “real” job. College was such an unpleasant experience all shudder when it’s mentioned and no one’s willing to discuss it. I’m betting drugs were involved.
Of course Zachary wanted to have sex in his narrow twin bed – right beneath the picture of “The Holy Father” (he doesn’t even have a lock on the door!) and I have to admit I found the Chabrolesque aspects of the situation arousing. He seemed to lose track of the fact that it was me – but his orgasms were more explosive than ever. So there I am again; “The Official Girlfriend.”
Could I put an ad in the paper – some kind of specialized escort service? “Impress your friends – terrify your parents!” Buck doesn’t know about Zachary and since I don’t care who else Z does he must realize I’ve got a back burner – but the truth of it is that between the two of them they’re barely one boyfriend. One is charming, affectionate, trustworthy and dumb as ditchwater; the other is upper class, complicated, interesting, artistic, totally untrustworthy (and most likely a male whore.) It’s a damn shame it has to get like this. I just don’t know how good at “keeping secrets” I can be. Need to go home and get some sleep. If have to get down to Funkytown one more time tonight I won’t be answerable for the consequences.
Thurs Aug 10 -78 – 5:30 PM
Feeling happy and serene – it’s been the loveliest visit.
Many bike rides and explorations. Lovely dinner last night at the cottage – Devon asking Dad a lot of questions – then we lay in each other’s arms at the Barnacle and he said Time to Discuss Our Relationship. Said “some French girl” dumped him because he’s so incompetent with condoms; he’s so relieved not to have that with me. I said, “Maybe we should be exclusive.” He said, ‘Could you manage that? I said gratefully, ‘Certainly”, He said, “Thank you for being honest” stripped off my clothes and made mad, passionate love to me – all orifices massaged, nipples chewed, armpits sucked – the works. It was really something – probably the most passionate satisfying sex I’ve ever had. He told me our coming together in Plympton after I left my husband was The Most Significant Event in his LIFE.
But does he see me as a Minister’s Wife? No one can. Me included. The Problem of which we do not speak. Drive him to the ferry today, after that a sail to Brimstone Island.
Shadowe Island - The Cottage – Sat 12 Aug 78
Mom giggling about how sweet and pure Devon is. She
is certain I’ve been dumped. If she only knew. If I in am suddenly in an Exclusive Relationship with this human will o’ the wisp wouldn’t it be the worst thing for me? Am I like a Terrible Man who will now say anything to get sex? Five good pages on novel. Working in omniscient third person – a violently new departure. A few vague worried sensations that I am “telling” too much about characters but the Victorians used to get away with this on a regular basis. How I envy them. There I’ve said it, I envy Mrs. Henry Wood. One thing left out of Gardner’s On Moral Fiction is how rarely we see the book the author wanted – instead we see the draft the
publisher agreed to buy & PROMOTE. Or am I cynical? On the whole I am appreciating Gardner’s ideas – but more than ready to get back to V Woolf’s letters & diary. That is ecstasy – the “unstructured real.” Far prefer them to her novels.
Nice long phone talk with Devon. Feeling freed since he described to me his definition of a future wife; she is not me. In fact, she will be a very unlucky girl who gets – by his deliberate plan – the least of him. It is comical that I, something of a contemporary expert on all things Victorian, should even locate such a profoundly divided, deeply Victorian male; product of such hideous religious and sexual mangling one would think barely possible in this enlightened century. “Wife” seems to encompass for him some whole new scary dimension that has nothing to do with sex. What mysteries people are! Bruce wanted a fount of approval and cash. Ryder wanted a mule. Jervaze wanted a mommy who will bed him down with a bottle of Southern Comfort and then drive him to the hospital. I can’t even figure out What Rod wants. But Devon seems to want someone whose holiness will “cancel out” his “bad behavior”. All I know is I don’t want to be any of those people.
But what DO I want? I’m embarrassed to admit it out loud. I want the spiritual and physical closeness – the “soulmate connection” – to just keep on intensifying until we switch bodies (and I get to live two lives). Castaneda says it can be done. (Good subject for novel.)
QUILTING
The scraps The scraps The bad acts Bleed like madras Over everything Piecing penalties Placating the portionless Fabric cut to fit the frame or The other way about? This will all have to be redone Till it makes some kind of sense. Make the pieces smaller – ever Smaller – in my Empire of Loneliness.
Devon flat out admitted he is afraid of me –says I
have too much power over him. I was too aggressive with him this time and I think my “free agency” is where the trouble lies. It “wakes him up” too much to the existence of another person and reminds him this isn’t all happening in his head! I am too impatient to wait for him to get ready to have an actual relationship. In the past, the better he got to know all his girlfriends – and the more certain he became of them, the less he wanted them. We are dancing on a knife-edge with our pleasure now. Psychologically he rules out “sexual fire” in long-term relationships. Everyone but me (and Dad) seems to think sexual fire must burn out. I look forward to getting back – change in seasons, change in clothes – working, writing, even running around town with Rod is starting to look fun. Cold day – sun hidden by clouds.
Burnside Inn – 10PM Sunday 13 Aug 78 Told my dad I took the room here because my typewriter needs electricity – really of course I wanted privacy with Devon and then we ended up at the Barnacle! But a public inn (with a handy bar) requires a lot of discipline. More than I have. I am recovering from a scandalous night – too tired to take a bath I fell asleep in my clothes after cocktails with Marc Kramer who tried first wooing me with his completely unfettered, unapologetic interest in money by showing me his new house then just flat out tried to get me drunk. (I did get drunk but not enough to make him seem desirable. He is very hairy.) However, “investment banker” would be a good job to give to my character Cloud if he ever grows up. If I can ever get him out of prep school. No more hanging around the bar for me – I plan sit here in my room every afternoon writing between three and six. Seems to be all my social schedule will allow. Feel myself getting fat and should cut back on food – tall order. I just need to go home and DANCE. Stupid diary! One love problem after another. Well I can always go back to poor Woolf… her talk of mushrooms, chair covers, butterflies…
Mon 14 Aug 12 midnight -78
Very unsatisfied with everything I’ve ever written. The
difficulty is I need to bring all my writing up to my current level of philosophical maturity (such as it is.) But it keeps increasing exponentially! Never be embarrassed to start over.
Dinner scene in Paradise Road (newly retitled) feels shaky. Too many characters for me to handle. Maybe wedding next? Trying to invest my characters with what I’ve just learned from Devon. Would choosing “the right person” come first (my Mom’s theory) and then the love follows afterward? More convenient for everyone, certainly. Almost rolled a poor pimply little fisherman down at the docks this afternoon because I am such a sucker for gorgeous naked (hairless) shoulders. And the friendly, friendly innkeeper – but don’t get me started, he has a “wife” or “wife substitute”. Mom’s been very cruel to me lately. At dinner last night I discovered she RODE THE FERRY with poor shell-shocked Devon (explains his “freeing’ phone call) whom she apparently grilled the whole ride. She sniffed – “He’ll never marry you.”
Too proud to tell her I just reached that conclusion myself and it doesn’t elevate him in my estimation (the way it obviously does in hers!) I could say I actually know Devon better now than he knows himself (he talks in his sleep), and I can positively state that his stated intentions never bear ANY relationship to his actions. And it’s not a good thing.
He also told he could never become a minister (because his mother wanted it too badly!) and yet here we all are. He keeps making rules and I keep watching him break them. Plus, I’ve been taking responsibility for “making” him do things he doesn’t “want” to for years. It’s a spiritual game of Chinese checkers he insists on “losing”. I guess it’s just a matter of time before he starts holding it against me.
SUICIDE STREET This is the street of suicides. I orchestrated masterpieces in that house Third-from-left – Getting my effects too cheaply I see now Unmindful of material That lay so close to hand New tenants slick the lawn that moats that Windowed grave. They repair The chrysalis I shattered Getting out.
10:20 AM Wed 16 Aug 78
I am so excited by the “newness” of my novel – starting to
feel confident; like I can make these people do anything. Can’t wait to go home and spread all the versions out – play Max Perkins to my own Tom Wolfe. Might be able to patch something together. Still my tone needs emergency assistance, which dictates a massive overhaul. All this omniscience is just too painfully reminiscent of somebody like Balzac – “In the forbiddingly cold winter of 1863” or worse, Dragnet? Must read Speedboat to see how far one can go. Should I throw everything out and start over again or leave it a 500 p hegira?
Rod sends me a letter every day. He is smart, witty and culturally aware. His handwriting is perfect. Unfortunately, this does not feel as good as it should. I have rejected him as a potential husband (or father) because he is so totally lacking in Projection & Charisma. Unlike Devon I plan to marry a person I can also have soul-shattering sex with. Even Rod’s myths are sub-standard. He needs Tale of Genji and Kraft-Ebbing but all he has is Beowulf. Still, this is not the kind of thing you can tell a person you don’t want to get serious with.
According to him, Miss You by the Stones is “Our Song”. My song is Urgent, by Foreigner, and time’s a-wastin’. I can struggle with this goddam party scene or I can go out and buy toothpaste. Ferry coming in – very foggy.
Came into Burnside Inn tonight and immediately lost a lens. Searched and searched. Would this be the bill that would break the poor fragile financial camel’s back? Then I found it – stuck to my hair. A miracle.
Mom took me on a walk after dinner – apologized in her weird oblique way. For a woman who claims to have “given all for love” she really is quite calculating and cynical about it. “Why buy the cow if the milk is free?” sums up the whole of her philosophy. She wants me to marry Marc Kramer and live in wretched discontent, the equivalent, as far as I can see, to opening a dairy farm and sending out pricelists. Those are the options. Has doing too much of the emotional scutwork fatally dimmed the stars in her “love makes the world go round” eyes? “What if I’m not a market-based economy?” I inquire. Another missed bonding opportunity.
Dad showed gorgeous slides of Fox Island. Every frame a poem. Made me think I should read old diaries to see what I can get. Not that Cloud would keep diaries – not reflective that way at all. But Suni might keep them.
9:30 AM Fri 18 Aug 78
$100 honorarium from Coltsville Community College for
my presentation – I can eat for a month off of that! Dare I get my dancing down to 3 nights a week? Would be heaven.
Discussion with sisters about Mom. Here’s their advice: “Remember she’s crazy,” “Remember she’s old,” “Don’t give her any information” and “Lie.” There it is! If only she could hear them! And I’m the one with the “Bad Kid” reputation! Over dinner she lectured us on how costumes for the ballet exalt the human body. Nothing like my combination of pasties, fishnets and glitter! Hard to listen to after the contempt she has expressed for my job! Said nothing. What they really hate is that I am my own choreographer.
I was too dispirited even to point out that back when ballet was “invented”, back in the dear old Dead Degas Days, dancers were VERY “declassee” with damn near NO control over their own bodies: how to express themselves sexually much less how they were viewed. Looking back over it, my most serious depressions were all caused by attempts to conform. I’m so OVER it. Am I afraid of loneliness?
No. Stigma? Childlessness? Sexlessness? No. I confront all these fears, one by one. Hard however to keep my head high around Mom and Dad’s evident conviction that no one can ever be found to love me. They insist on giving me money because I’m so pathetic . OK, I’ll take it (I’ve taken tips from fans harboring worse thoughts) but insisted on giving them a poem in return. Read Dawn Walk out loud looking for praise –
Dawn Walk
Thunder crusts a gelid sky Is it light or is it rain feathering my nest with longing Stippling soul with flushed new growth; bursting out the steepled trees. This is my world and I release it Released for flying Stelliform Tough as spidersilk Unrecognizable Even to me who birthed it Who spent my life creating it. Released and Blown away.
They rolled their eyes.
I must be secretly determined to make them look bad! Need to get car in line for the ferry tomorrow AM at nine. Good vacation this has been. Mostly. Last letter from Rod mentions a big society wedding we are invited to. He does get invited to the best parties.
1:45 AM Horrible last dinner at the Mermaid Creek House. Am I speaking a different language from everybody else? Uncle Clive downgraded his current girlfriend right in front of her – “she’s got no skills – she’s not too bright.” I agree – there must be something seriously wrong with her to want to be around him. Genevieve wants to know how I can love men who are “weak”. This would have more significance if her second marriage wasn’t with a submissive. I defended that weak men are “doubters” and doubters are interesting.
The opposite is arrogance and how attractive is that? Marc K, for example, doubts nothing. He’s also not very interesting. It would be easy to be swept along in his wake on autopilot. Maddens me to hear Mom and G discuss Avril’s “low self-esteem.” The nerve! I think they want to pretend that life “makes sense” and is not a dangerous lottery. According to them, A has too low an opinion of herself and I have too high an opinion of myself. Hmmmm. What’s wrong with this picture?
8:45 PM Plush Palace – 24 Jun 78 – Sat
Bad mood. OD’d on junk food then lost my favorite
hairbrush and other people’s plastic versions break my hair. Growl. I can write it out. It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it. Emotional roller coaster continues. Just when I declare myself a Celibate Slave to Art a very handsome (and very blond) man comes in tonight. He works in radio, considering story about dancers; wants to interview “somebody”.
“You hit pay dirt, my friend.” I tell him but I insist on pseudonym. I was wearing my silver lamé outfit with the see-through silver sleeves so looked tiptop if I do say so myself.
His name’s Rod Avery (I’m not kidding) and although he’s newly divorced he lacks the Rip Van Winkle leer. He works for a reputable national outlet. I can work with this. Mom would just eat him up. Bought tix to an Agatha Christie play – maybe I’ll invite him instead of Avril.
Plush Palace, Sat 1 July, 9 PM
Rod and I engage in a little smoochy-smoochy hand
holding following Christie play. I make an effort not to get so drunk that I pull down his pants to view his namesake. Impatient to find out exactly where my next sexual meal is coming from. Tach it up buddy. In Dancer News, GiGi says Charlie NEVER goes down on her unless he’s absolutely plastered. I want to know, “And then what good is he?” She has to admit “not much.” Says he laps at her like she’s a melting ice cream cone.
Did like Pamela Hansford Johnson’s Helena trilogy.
(Impressions of childhood, though, painfully unreal.) Now struggling with Grahame Greene’s It’s A Battlefield. Diseased whores abound; women bear their 12th child in crowded rooms (and because he’s a Catholic that’s presumably All Right By Him) and a gay time is had by none.
Midnight Sun-Mon July 2-3 78
Taking Avril to Cellar Door for her birthday before she
flies to Mich to see Merrill. Gifts Dior dusting powder & wrap around dress. Festive occasion demands dress-up. A & I saw Grease, Rod and I saw Heaven Can Wait. Just sweet enough but it didn’t “move” Rod as much as I hoped. What if he’s one of the “pod people” with nothing inside? Jury still out.
Thurs 4:15 – 6 July 78
Missing Avril so much! Boy, did I get dependent.
It’s just SO Fun to have someone to do things with who thinks ALMOST EXACTLY the same as you do but with interestingly nourishing differences. Rod is no substitute. Still can’t figure him out. His apartment is completely stark. Bare. Not ONE THING on any of the walls. The closest I can get to understanding him is that there seems to be no feeling in his family. They don’t talk at meals. Father’s dead, mother still sends him clothes he hates and he still wears them. (They are perfectly presentable. But what would he wear if she did not dress him? We’ll never know. I’m not getting in the midst of that.)
He never suggests things to do. I suggest everything. Charlie Byrd in Annapolis (just because I love Annapolis) was OK. On the other hand, when we went to Le Bistro he ordered Piper Heidseck champagne out of the clear blue sky! Because he said now he’s “finally dating.” So that took initative. Right?
Nice letter from Devon who ‘feels veneration” for my talent. Sweet. Reading Green’s The von Richthofen Sisters.
8:30 PM Fri – 7 July 78
Driving in to work in a haze of ecstasy after Perfect Day,
heard an infuriating review of Heaven Can Wait by Penelope Gilliatt. Really the woman’s a moron. She says she would understand a movie about transmigration of souls in “wartime” but why now! Who GIVES these people a podium? How did she get this job with so little artistic sense? Bullied her way to the top, most likely. Von Richthofen Sisters turns out to be boring PhD thesis. So hard to get it right. Therefore switched to Murder of My Aunt. Amusing. (Richard Hull).
Big tipper in tonight. $138 so far! I feel like the pigeons in A’s experiments. “Intermittent reinforcement!” I have to pick up Genevieve and Brett up at the airport tomorrow for Women’s March (we all wear white.) Bringing them back to my place to eat first – I made a gorgeous salmon mousse. Invited Rod just to see if he’s cool.
Sun July 9 78 2 AM
He’s cool. Wore white, walked the whole march and
was so charming to Genevieve and Brett they were dazzled. I’m now feeling relief that I only have ten days till vacation – don’t think I can become “over involved” in that short period of time.
Adelphi Grist Mill Park – 11:15 AM Mon July 10 – 78
Sunbathing on my favorite rock. When I get hot
I’ll splash around (like the dogs are already doing). Hardly a dry spot left on this rock – but who cares – my diaries have seen worse. A year ago, the Last Act of the Romantic Psychodrama just beginning. Whew. I think I came out of it all right. I’m starting to see a possible Harold-Nicolson/ Vita Sackville-West thing developing with Rod. (He actually KNOWS WHO Harold Nicolson is!!!) Last night I almost raped him in his theatre seat but I am determined to let him make the first move. But I do need to know how long I’m going to have to wear Glamorous Lingerie every day (just in case). I am starting to run out of glamorous lingerie. But we are having a lovely time – he is witty, intelligent and aware. I “confessed” all about Devon – my longest relationship – but because he’s a “newly consecrated minister” I can see Rod’s not too worried. If he only knew!
A good development is I’m learning not to drink so much. If there isn’t sex right around the corner one must stay aware. Coffee “without dessert” so to speak. It’s good for me. I told him the whole plot of Secaire – weak points become immediately obvious. He tells me about his wife.
2 PM – Back at home to ringing phone – new croquet ball on the pitch! Marc Kramer coming into National – do I want to have dinner and discuss My Finances. Hmm. Maybe. He knows I’m too poor to invest in anything. But I say Yes.
Fri. 8:05 Starlight Club Springfield, Fri 14 July 78
I hate this club. It’s a bitch of a drive so I rarely come
here but the tips are good. Need the cash for vacation. Unfortunately, I am working with Danielle – the Brazilian lesbian who threatened to kill me. I’m hoping she won’t recall she threw boiling hot coffee at me. (Her aim is bad.) She’s usually pretty much out of it. Got $100 tip already from a guy who wonders why I don’t dance at The Gaslight downtown. Because the dancers have to waitress there! Ugh! That place is legendary. I tried to be polite but really. Anyway, Kramer was different from what I expected. We ate prime rib at The King’s Contrivance – he seemed a lot older and a lot sadder. He says whenever he hears 10 CC’s “I’m Not In Love” he thinks of me. I asked him what about finances – he said I should invest in real estate. Wants to “watch my stocks.” I was embarrassed to tell him there isn’t anything to watch what with Dad keeping such a closed fist on the shares, and me having to sell everything I get. I start to suspect Dad is CONFIDING in him about his estate planning and PRETENDING “our” investments are actually OURS. This meant we didn’t have that much to talk about and the evening ended with a damp kiss when I turned down sex. I say I’m In a Relationship. He says he’s thinking of proposing to his red headed secretary who reminds him of me. I am kind of insulted but told him to Go For It. I guess I had this built up in my mind – sort of like Chuck Kornowitz where you think it’s going to FINALLY be about SOMETHING ELSE. How my Mom would jeer! (Wore my 3-piece suit, anyway. With eyeshadow.) He says he has to come through on his way back from Oklahoma, thank God, I could say I’ll be in Maine. Looks Like It’s Over.
SUNBATHER
Poor periwinkle hides within the final spiny spiral of his shell, no stronghold that from hungry file-worms’ whippet tongues nor sun-mad amateur biologists nor ten year olds; while I more evolved, lie among the oval-jointed shells, the sheepswool sponges, camouflage my breasts as comb-jellies, hair as seaweed, fooling none yet impressing those I can’t deceive.
2:15 AM Mon 17 July 78
Another fiasco. I should leave now while I’m behind.
This has certainly been Trial and Error Week. How did poor Rod – Desirable Husband become Inevitable Discard? I’m sick to death of the Hand Kissings and the Knee Pinchings, Goddamit. There is something seriously wrong with this man. We had dinner & drinks at the Peter Pan Inn, then drove up and down Price Distillery Rd until I assaulted him. I admit it. He is under the impression that we “made love”. Trust me, one time was plenty. This is a man who does not “think” with his body. He gives nothing back, an absorptive rather than reflective surface. I was just able to prevent myself from rushing to the bathroom to masturbate. I worked hard not to let him know how just how incompetent he is, because really, there’s no hope. Some sad girl somewhere who hates sex is going to find her “dream man”. I shouldn’t have pushed it, although seriously I don’t think he will even question if it never happens again. Damn shame is all I can say. A cruel waste, when he’s so charming in every other respect. Life is brutal. Sigh. Enjoyed Pretty Baby so much I saw it twice. (Can’t pay close enough attention while Rod is talking.)
Wed 19 July 78 - 3:20 PM
Unbelievably hot. Woke up sluggish, ate last night’s
macaroni, felt worse. Ate grapefruit, felt better. Eddy called me for a double, I refused. Read Mary Kelly’s Cold Corse. Interesting. Gave me new ending for Secaire. Off to the creek to play in the naturally freezing Jacuzzi. Must buy Perrier, fruit and yogurt. Reading Jessica Mitford’s A Fine Old Conflict. Charming.
Shadowe Island – Burnside Inn – 31 July 78
The island its usual immortal, eternal self. A ragged
paradise. Avril and I came up through Boston – drove “The Freedom Trail” but couldn’t go to the Ritz Carlton bar because of the dogs. She is taking care of them down at the cottage.
Mom and Dad look great – thinner and very brown. When I checked in at the Burnside Inn Paul Morris offered me a drink and we chatted
very enjoyably. Trying not to be attracted to him. This vacation might resolve its masturbatory throbbings when Devon shows up. He is driving down from Montreal – I am as nervous as a 14 yr old. That poor sawdust doll Rod called but phone connection (thankfully) very bad. Merrill arrived with children in tow and we had magnificent lobster dinner down at the shore. Rod sent me a copy of On Moral Fiction.
Burnside Inn – 5 Aug 78
Rod called – we talked 45 mins about Moral Fiction –
I feel an enormous pleasure in his intellect. He asks me if being a poet means you enjoy life more intensely. I say YES. Maybe we can transition this into a friendship.
11:30 PM – Devon just phoned – long conversation
on power, authority and ambivalence. He is tormented by his family – can’t figure out how to escape them. He needs to move out of their town but of course they get him jobs SO HE CAN’T MOVE OUT OF THEIR TOWN. Says he’s bringing doughnuts tomorrow over on the ferry – what are my favorites. That’s easy – anything chocolate. (Mom told A that when he gets off the ferry and sees how I’m dressed he’ll turn around and get back on! She doesn’t know him very well. Kind of like Rod – they both think this “minister” thing is overly determinative. Doesn’t in the least change who he really is.)
Midnight Tues 8 Aug 78
M & D both wrong and right. Devon DID NOT flee me
at ferry but fell ecstatically into my arms. HE DID, however, painfully said he can’t express his love for me in “a fully integrated way” (because parson!) and asked me first just to caress his nude body. He didn’t think he could have sex with someone he’s not in an exclusive relationship with. But guess what? Then we had blissful, magnificent sex. I didn’t tell him this is as integrated as it gets for me and a lot more integrated than it’s been lately! (Poor Rod.)
Sat. 6 May 78 – 1:30 PM
Cleaned & waxed kitchen and bathroom floors, sitting
with newly creamed hands and cup of coffee in recliner. Muse time. Emerge blinking like a ground hog into a new and spring-like world. A year ago, I was a rat in a cage. It’s critical never to let the “merchants of neurosis” trick me into limiting myself.
Tues. 9 May Plush Palace – 9:15 PM
Mom spent the last two nights at my place – sleeping
in my bed since guest room has no bed. Me on sofa – doesn’t matter since I can’t sleep anyway when she’s around. Up at 7 to make breakfast get Mom to airport for 10 o’clock plane thank God. Avril came over with blueberry muffins and gazpacho to discuss the visit. Everything Mom said felt like an attack. (She did give me $100 but I spent – and lost – more than that on her visit.) Avril says the island has been worse for Mom because she’s never confronted with a life that would contradict her narrow-minded theories, so it’s all: “Why can’t people get smart and live exactly the way I do?” She tries to make her personal tastes “emotional law” – and if you don’t agree with her – or God forbid, want to explore something different you’re “the sick one”. Rough stuff. We took her to our favorite Ellicott City restaurant – she wanted Avril to “explain” Mason and me to “explain” my clothes. She said my clothes trigger “weirdos” following us – it was completely in her imagination! She cries. No one decent will “have” me, she wails! I say, what if I don’t want to be “had”? I’d ask her about her life but she isn’t honest – she doesn’t know Dad has already told us that her ideology is untrue. She insists when you find Mr. Right everything’s peachy, but Dad says she was uncomfortable and unwilling about sex at first – didn’t care for it. They had to “work hard”. I say we have more experience of pain than Mom ever had – Avril says she “refuses to learn.” Creepy. Turns what pain she does have back on others somehow.
The best revenge? Write a poem:
THE RIGHT PART OF TOWN
We run through life She thinks Dancing lightly on high heels Past disemboweled sofas Skirting Drunks & drains. Taut veins serve as Toque of manners High & proud, worn For company. This house displays Her purpose; New red brick Virgin stickers swearing She’s the first. Processed air admits her Grudgingly: “You look like one of us.” Mentally she sweeps up sun; Plans daisies, cashmere Overnight guests The roar from the street soon turns This air to poison – She counts to ten And breaks a nail in locking up. She sees it won’t do after all Too close to stink & squalor; Doormen, dogs, police locks; Balconies with lightning rods. She’ll choose new paths this time Avoid electronics that have lost Their parts, Flexing knees As always; she Summons a cab; closer – Closer to her death; That suitor never accused Of gentlemanly behavior.
Can’t wait to resume my privacy and my routine,
reading book about Forster (The Cave & The Mountain) in my own bed. I think realizing your mother’s limitations is part of maturity, and I’ve been slow because I’m unwilling to adopt Genevieve’s methods – “Don’t give her anything – tell her what she wants to hear.” I thought better of her than that but I struck out. Since their definition of success is so narrow, I don’t see how I can ever satisfy them.
Plush Palace – 11:30 PM – Wed 10 May 78
Wonderful day – up at nine to play Frisbee with dogs.
Eddy asked me to come in tonight and although A and I planned a movie I accepted – that’s my new policy – say yes to everything except doubles or driving all the way to Springfield. A & I had late lunch together at Ponderosa – she’s says she’ll study all night. We’ll do laundry together tomorrow and have drinks Sunday on some sundrenched terrace. J. came in tonight depressing the hell out of me. I had nothing to say to him – it would be like using a 12 gauge on a mouse. Please, just go away and live your life and don’t bother me.
Plush Palace – Midnight – Fri 12 May 78
I love Friday nights. They’re always exciting. Gay girl
in tonight approaching the dancers (without success) you’d think that would happen more often. If she went a bit slower she might get lucky. Unfortunately, she just asks us if we are gay. How can we know without any experience? With the right kind of situation I think we’d admit we’re all at least a little bit gay. Avril came over to the house at noon – we had white wine, macaroni salad with ham and croissants. Eddy called me in 3 sets early – $265 extra. Irresistible – means I can go to NYC. Carol tells us about her sexually sadistic husband – handcuffs and everything! She orders pancakes for dinner to “cheer up” even though maple syrup gives her hives! Jerrilee tells how hard it was to leave her husband. He held a gun to her baby’s head. Kristi found a new “wonderful” guy but gave him herpes and now she fears he’s “done” with her. What a waste since now they both have herpes! They’re perfect for each other! This is all a lot more interesting than Ann Bridge’s Emergency in the Pyrenees. (Even Mrs. Radcliffe was more fun that that). Who should come in tonight but Peter’s brother Julian! Thought he was in San Francisco. Apparently I’m one of the Eight Wonders of DC – can’t pass through without getting a gander. Kissed me in a brotherly way. We had a nice reminisce about childhood till Eddy sent me back to dressing room. He saw one set – when I came out again he was gone.
11 PM Mon 15 May 78
Sun night got blind drunk on my day off through sheer
frustration and exhaustion; then couldn’t sleep. Intermittent nightmares that someone was trying to break into my car and throw acid in my face. Decided to kiss the novel off and let it go – just get an opinion. Concentrate on something else. Weather depressing – no sunbathing – four day monsoon! Trying grumpily to live without booze. I can see myself becoming Lida.
2 AM Mon 22 May 78 Exhaustion follows mania. Yesterday couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to read the NY Times, but refusing to go to bed dragged out my notebooks to arrange beside my desk. Horrible old valentines, photos of Ryder, dreadful wailing screeds fall out. I have so many drafts of Flycatcher it’s ridiculous. Purging isn’t easy – I totally understand hoarding. How can you be certain you’ll never need something again? Must get to bed – tomorrow meet A at College Park Library to see Dear Detective and listen to Couperain.
Fri. Plush Palace – 26 May 78 – 7:20 PM
Dancing badly. Reduced to eating saltines (bad girl!)
Feel I can see the end of all this and it’s a cold cold chill. Apparently nothing pleasurable lasts forever – as soon as it’s a “job” it’s over. Poor me! What’s the next incarnation? Tending art gallery on windswept rainy isle? Living drunken and obese in a trailer on the edge of the estate?
HORROR STORY
With age lubricity Darkens into sweat; We face each other Across the cooling dinner, Night by night Stiff as andirons Masterpieces best seen by candlelight To hide the cracks, Well-meant improvements by Another’s hand. A well-matched pair. Gardens edged perennially with stone Are called unkillable; One fountain singing This tune only. What oracle? It didn’t look this way Going forward Backward is a different view.
I could have sworn that we’d last longer. I think I caught it from my mother, Who played a role in Wuthering Heights; The crone who preaches doom In guise of cheer. I requested light enough To read my tarot; instead recycling Murky tea brewed From your used bathwater. These leaves are dark and do not speak. I shiver with cold and you With anger; a well-matched pair, a Brace of disappointments. There’s still too much We can’t admit.
Lovely “date” with Avril. We went to Sea Fair
(corner Calvert & Conn) for drinks, scallops, mussels at the outside café. She says Shoulders is a total washout. Looks like Mom succeeded all too well in convincing us romantic love is the most important thing in life – I say let’s blame her. A having horrible insomnia troubles so before movie we bought six classical records to soothe and stun. I really hesitate to go out with Peter – why cultivate new people when they’re so likely to turn out just as awful as the old people? I like him now but… he’s on his best behavior. Really feeling shy and buried in myself. Instead of new man, start a new novel. Something crazy. A tried Barbara Ellen (exercise studio) but was put off by their insulting sales techniques. It’s like being chained to a TV listening to a half hour of ring around the collar commercials. Too bad. I say she’s got to stop telling prospective employers she has “no experience”. She worked for hotline, courier service, horrible fake gyno, etc. We need to construct a resume out of this – we are too damn honest. Better to project even a witless confidence. I don’t want to have to tell people about myself, either.
Dear Detective was superb! Followed it up with gold rush sundae and coffee at Swensen’s. Trying to get into bestsellers – reading Velda Johnson’s ghastly Etruscan Smile. Would rather read theology (and Secaire shows it. Alas.) My novel is terrible. It stinks. It needs to be rewritten from the bottom UP. Plot beyond help.
11:30 AM Friday, 24 March 78
Staggering down for my first cup of coffee when I
heard Harvey’s voice in the kitchen. Thank God I heard it in time – if he had seen me in my baby doll nighty I guess he would have considered himself justified in pinning me immediately to the floor. He brought me a hibiscus flower as a peace offering. A more significant peace offering came from Mom and Dad who gave us each 100 more shares of stock. I tried to refuse it – they insisted. I warned them I’ll only sell it. Maybe I’ll be able to buy a new car when I get back. I could use it. Spent last night trying to read Welty’s Bride of Innisfallen, couldn’t get my mind around it. Read Faithful Are the Wounds instead. Very like a stage play – which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Powder Mill Road – home – 8:30 PM Sun 26 March 78
Can’t describe the ecstasy of being in my own
place. On the island I am hideous – here I am beautiful. The loss of confidence there is so severe as to actually induce delusions. Now that I am back I am ready to tackle my existence brilliantly. As always. We got in last night in the pouring rain – 11:30 PM – A had coffee and left. I read a soppy love story and slept in my Own Bed. Today we did laundry, went to see a bad movie – actors working madly away to no effect. Tomorrow I get mail – hope there’s lots of it. Did get a beautiful poem out of the island – Peacock Pavement: The Poet on her walk – submit to Denver Quarterly – which has been very polite about me lately. They’ve shown an interest in my stuff though nothing has ever been exactly “right.
PEACOCK PAVEMENT: The Poet on Her Walk Femininity has Everests I mount daily. The crow’s belly’s is black, I Envy his womb-less contentment as I stroll Among the old wrappers, the used condoms; Joints rolled tight as bedsheets Adverts used – abused – discarded. He envies me my Zircon hair; my lunar map of freedom, Battering-ram jaw, baroque nose, the Greek depths through which These eyes record their wanderings Outside the convent walls, between The stalls, corrals, chained-up lambs, The leaf-filled swimming pools: First act, second act, third act Epilogue. Numbering days by counting Depth marks round your taproot Sporadic questings Belonging to a future all Unknowing what anyone will Ever make Of these Portentous Pleiades: Disparate sisters, Me, myself and I.
Plush Palace – Mon night 27 Mar 78
So glad to be back. Really missed the old place. Walked in and there was Jervaze, big as life. He was quite plastered but acted very pleased to see me. I feel he has turned a definite corner. He could have been somebody, could have made choices, but he seems to have decided to live in an ever deepening blur. I am well out of it. I asked him what happened to my ring. He promised to look for it. He has a new plan of course. His brother is trying to talk him into returning to school. He’ll talk that to death for a while till his kidneys fail and his liver withers and his brain goes. Then it won’t matter anymore. But I must get a picture of him now while he still looks good so I can show my grandchildren. He was dressed all in white like an angel and is letting his silver gilt hair grow long. I can hear it now: “You dated Wild Bill Hickock?” Yes kids. And it was really wild.
LOVEWINGS
My aunt’s a dancer She said “Feel my thighs Ain’t they hard They’re my love-wings Hard as heartwood I’m flying on ‘em half the time. Practice making perfect I’m Tightening up my style in case a valve On this here pressure cooker blows And splatters darkness like a Damsel in a murder we might Solve someday.” She laughed and did an arabesque. My aunt is thirty-five. I said What beautiful thighs you’ve got
Called my agent and demanded to know how much I am actually going to get from HBJ. The answer is $1993, so it’s a good thing I got that stock which I sold today. April 5 I pick up my new car – a Fiat. (A takes the Gremlin.) Money in the bank – need to settle in for a long writing session. Trying to concentrate on my book – Bowen’s The Last September – but it just feels too distant from my own life. I feel l ike I’m slowly surfacing, like a corpse that has been in the water for three days. Last night I finished Anne Tyler’s Searching for Caleb. Her most beautiful novel in my estimation. Today A and I bought plants, put money down on car. I’m exhausted and out of love with my own life – don’t understand why I personally seem to need to do everything backwards.
4:30 PM Fri 31 Mar 78 Barrage of criticism from Mom and Dad that I spent stock money on car. How do they expect us to live in two different places and have one car? Doesn’t make sense. Avril has car today for her eye appt – will pick me up in 45 mins. I am struggling with Bowen’s The Little Girls. She uses writing for disguise. Last night A and I went to dinner at an Italian restaurant – she had the clams, I had the shrimp, we split a bottle of wine. Then we went to see what A described as “one concentration camp film too many.” I bought tickets to Bonnie Raitt concert – Mom and Dad suggested I “look up” their friends’ son Peter Pauley. I may invite him, I do remember him as cool and handsome. But brunette. Oh well, can’t have everything. Got check from agent – less her percentage – which I forgot to calculate. So I hope I get paid enough Sat to have money for car. My future emerges through a glass darkly – don’t know yet whether I like it or not.
2:50 PM Sat ;April 1, 1978 - Starlight
Working a double. My latest realization is: I can never
have enough money. Curse you, Marc Kramer for suggesting I invest in real estate. In spite of this I’ve decided not to take on doubles unless I’m in a jam (as I am over this car.) Interesting new dancer – big hips and no boobs but a wonderful attitude. Her laugh can be heard by fishing boats on the distant Chesapeake. Alvera. She works in a lawyer’s office during the day. I’m trying to imagine her in her suit typing briefs. The Little Girls is Bowen’s worst written book. She’s not a narrative writer but a prose poet – always falls down over narrative. Plus I feel a loss of joy in her art – maybe because she “had” to write it? This is really a book about despair – which To The North also was – but one book was good and the other isn’t. I think writing is a lot like cooking – some ideas can’t be rescued through editing – they just get worse and worse.
10:30 PM Tender is not the night thank God – three more sets and it will all be over. The next one will be the worst – the last two I won’t even notice. I called A – she’s despondent. Feeling chained to the apt I’m sure. I agreed we’d see An Unmarried Woman tomorrow – go out and have some fun. Mon after her classes we’ll watch The Oscars at my place. Bought 3 costumes from Kerry that I can ill afford – but they were a steal. Sent Harvey the Brownmiller book. There’s no excuse for such ignorance.
Plush Palace – 8:50 PM – Thurs night 6 April 78 So ends one of the happiest days of my life. Woke this AM two minutes before clock radio – breakfast in bed reading – good work at typewriter. Long walk with dogs – came back to find Green’s Mag took my whole “suicide” series. A showed up helped me play with my car – first and second tough to get into and out of until the salesman professionally broke its little hymen. Seems all right now. Book going well. Most of the time I feel I have the ideal existence – plenty of sleep, plenty of exercise, plenty of time to write, plenty of privacy. Paradise. J called. He is really going to Alabama this time. Said he loved me, thereby proving my point that the less of a relationship we are having the more important it is to him. If we never see each other again, I bet he will remember me as the perfect girlfriend. All future women in his life will curse my name.
Good letter from Mom and Dad apologizing for their explosion about car. Part of the problem dealing with them is they try to preserve a “united front” which means they have to frantically whisper and negotiate behind the scenes, then speak awkwardly together like an ill-rehearsed Greek chorus. I can kind of speculate about who really thinks what – not that I want to. A and I liked Unmarried Woman – much better than Goodbye Girl. I tried Peter all day – no answer.
Reading Storm Jameson’s Journey From the North – it’s like watching a slo-mo car accident the way she beats up on herself. Why this sense that honesty requires one must utterly disown all one’s earlier versions? CS Forrester did exactly the same thing in Long Before 40 – will I feel compelled to do the same some day about this life I am leading now? Foolishness is youth’s necessary clothing methinks. Think I will dump this book without finishing. Try Angus Wilson’s The Middle Age of Mrs. Eliot.
9:25 PM – Plush Palace – Sat night 8 April 78
Beautiful day. Off to Columbia, testing my new car.
A & I had lunch at Clyde’s – talked about what fun it would be if we each had a full-time man – and they liked each other. We could double date. Feels impossible. Walked around lake – bought baby clothes for Genevieve. Home, walked dogs, then to work. Boring evening. Few unenthusiastic customers.
GiGi brought in a bottle of champagne – I broke my rule and had some out of sheer boredom. A father in with his 2 ½ yr old daughter – sent her up to the stage with a tip for me. Depressing fact #2 – tried to read a short story about rape in Fiction called The Intruder – it was awful – turned me off the whole magazine. Angus Wilson’s Middle Age merely stupid. Will I have a go at No Laughing Matter? Still no Peter and no explanation. If he is away on vacation his parents don’t know about it. Feels suddenly difficult to be independent and alone.
10:10 Pm – Sunday night 9 April 78 Avril met a guy she likes in one of her classes who likes her. Fingers crossed. As a result I spent Saturday alone, which I don’t mind. It would be OK with me if every day were the same, wake at 10, write till 4, then off to work. On Sun we played in Adelphi Mill Park – swam in the falls – wonderful picnic of brie and cherries – played with dogs. Wrote poem about Devon:
SEX CADETS
I shall harmonize your life I say Make your blood sing woodwind Stretch my nerves harp-tight Across your exo-shell While you, heart racer Put me through my paces – Muscling through The gates of my life Forcing me past theory Pluperfect post-poetical, ever Reckless like a downhill artist Speed devil Speed demon Speed dreamer.
Phoned Peter – a girl answered! He came on very
brisk and businesslike – had been in Venezuela. I asked if she was “the housekeeper” – he hurried to get off phone – said he would drop by club. Always wanted to see me perform. I told him my schedule. I figure if he and she are seriously involved so that I shouldn’t move forward – he’ll tell me. Chloe’s friend Dennis called and tried to make me feel guilty enough to go out with him. Little does he know how far past that “Since I can’t think of an excuse you’ll accept I guess I’ll just be forced to go out with you” stage I am. He turned hostile – said I’d “led him on”. I refused to rise to this, portraying self as a naturally friendly but also naturally private person. I guess I’ll have more of this stuff with J gone. He was sort of protection. Everyone wants someone who doesn’t want them. Highly entertaining if one were bored enough. I am not.
Interesting conversation with A where we discussed the “courting rules” we’d learned. They were grim – we’ve had to ditch them completely. Got into another one of our “Is Satisfaction Possible” marathon debates. I always say it is, she says, what if it’s not. I refuse to consider this option. Mom’s advice to A is loiter around art galleries and art museums to get the right guy. This sounds expensive & time consuming. Plus, I know too many artists to be in love with this idea. They are the worst. I want someone stable.
I have to admit my chances of finding someone like that in the job I’m in seem small. But I only need one guy. I’m special – so would he be. A insists things were better in the past – “pre-liberation” but I’m not buying it. Opal’s marriage very instructive on these points. They are both beautiful, can think and have work they love. So why do they fight and sulk nonstop? Each feels the other does not truly “value them” and fusses for increased respect. Each thinks the other is “holding them back.” So they claim. With any encouragement I think they would jump into a threesome. Non merci.
Tues, midnight, 9 Feb 78
What a day. Lost a contact just before bed, which put
me in a hideous temper. 1 ½ hrs sleep, drove A to Laundromat, did laundry, bought cosmetics, picked her up, did lunch and visited broker. Just like the other rich girls except for the Laundromat part. Then to MVA, got MD license renewed, new address, not too horrible photo. Avril flunked her test must retake Wed. Back to house managed 2 more hrs of sleep. Woke up feeling cheerful and streaked hair with L’Oreal. Still have a rotten cough. The trouble with being sick is you can’t imagine yourself well. Intimations of mortality. Ate lasagna with A, then off to work. J dropped in second set, said his car was fixed, seemed cheerful, said his sister-in-law (whom I suspect of being The Pirate Queen) is reading my book “to figure out what kind of person I am” (uh oh). He left during my 3rd set without saying goodbye. Should I drop in on him? Tempting. He also asked to read Demon. Hmmmm. A of course thinks I should clamor for “boundaries” “rights”, “clarity” and “definitions.” I am embarrassed even to tell HER that this is all completely hopeless. I’d have to set him on my knee and move his mouth. I’d end up defining every term and he would immediately forget anyway. Anyway, in my experience, the less “clarity”, the better the sex. Once things have been completely defined you no longer want to touch each other. Missing Devon of all people. He must be sick of Gwynne by now. Where will he find another like me? But it’s always a bad sign when I plunge into “default” mode. So, I dropped in on Ryder to take him by surprise. He was there and it was worth it. Gave me a gorgeous massage. I gave him my cold. We are at the wrong points in our life trajectories to connect in any meaningful way. Picked up Holt’s Lord of the Far Island which one of the other girls is reading. Unbelievably crappy. Why do people prefer this stuff to mine? Oh well. Feeling better – night almost over.
Sun. 12 Feb 78 – 10:20 PM Psychic tremors driving home. But when I walked in the door everything was fine. It’s so comforting to be surrounded with one’s own stuff – it seems to assumes a personality – like a separate self. A reassuring stand-in – someone who “goes on” for you when you’re tired. Very busy weekend – A moving into her own place – sorting, packing, cleaning, buying. Moving. Hard physical labor since we are doing it all. “Mother Truckers.” Rushed on to work with my arms aching – J. showed up. His body seemed solider, less fragile. I gave him a comforter for his birthday – he seemed to like it – we went to his place to watch Harper – side by side like an old couple on the couch. I’ve decided he reminds me most of some wild animal. He always wakes up like a deer finding itself in a cage. He seems to be just now comprehending that I’m there. He insisted on pleasuring me so I just accept it. Said his body “hurt”. I wish I could convince him that caffeine, junk food and alcohol are his enemies, but he is too stubborn to believe it. I fear a return of that kidney thing that felled him before. I’m afraid our relationship belongs to the bar and his apartment, however. Can’t get him to go anywhere with me; he is “tired” and he works enough that it’s a believable excuse. He’s so beautiful you’d think he’d be more of an exhibitionist but it’s just the opposite. Three days off. I need it. But on the whole I am pleased with my life.
1:45 PM MON 13 Feb 78
Lovely dog walk. My desk collapsed under piles of
books, so I bought new furniture – unpainted. Cleaned, redecorated spare room (A’s old room.) Looks good. Decided just thinking about J is channeling my energies away from writing. We have a “sexual friendship”, so there. That’s Hugh Hefner’s “highest good” so presumably some people would be happy with it. But J has no influence on my life-plan. R called. We had a decent conversation.
5:45 PM Snow pouring down – four more inches
expected so I decided not to go out. Last night was the first night I’ve actually been unable to rouse J – so I just left – went home dirty and sleepless to a couple of short-changed dogs. Now it turns out he’s in the hospital undergoing tests because of “passing blood”. Medieval sounding. Does he have those big black knobs under his armpits? Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. The sister in law phoned with this info, also gave the brother’s number where J will go after tests.
9PM Plush Palace – Wed 15 Feb 78
J quite drunk when he came in this evening – said
he’s turning in his notice and returning to the South. (I wondered if they fired him but didn’t say it.) I was so upset I walked into the men’s room by mistake! (No one in there.) He did say “or I could live with you.” This does not sound good to me. My monogamous soul does not aspire to a lifetime playing nursie.
10PM – Plush Palace – Thurs 16 Feb 78
3 sets done – I’m exhausted and my legs hurt but I’ll survive. Spent the afternoon with Chloe and Dennis Parks at WPFW, taping
a vibrant show on paperback publishing. Really enjoyed myself. A came over for dinner and helped me paint my new study furniture. Got a frightening letter from the IRS – I phoned – turned out that they think I owe them an extra $56! They can have it. Electric bill $76. Disappointed by Noel Coward’s Future Indefinite, seeking escape instead in Mona Farnsworth’s Dark Wood. I deserve escapism after all I’ve been through.
11:40PM – Plush Palace – Fri 17 Feb 78 Just finished Rosenberg’s bio of Dorothy Richardson. She seems just like me – then when I get to the end of her life – poverty & anguish! Oh dear!
4:00 PM Mon 21 Feb 78 Lying in bed – hair set – an hour to go before work. Spent all day tidying study – including file drawers – if I was to die this minute I would give everyone the impression of being a hardworking artist and an astute businesswoman. Maybe I shouldn’t wreck it by ever going in there again. Gregory’s book about Dorothy Richardson – lots left out. Putting myself to sleep with Homage to Daniel Shays – I must have a lready read this because all the essays seem so familiar. Very unpleasant Vidal attack on Anais Nin.
Plush Palace – 7:45 PM
Lots of comforts in this job. Inhale the pleasure
of a messy dressing room, so full of life & hope. I was sitting down taking out my curlers when GiGi asked me to do her last set – her knee hurts – so I put on a gold G- string and did one set without makeup. That paid my electric bill right there. Settle down with Anne Tyler. Comfortable.
10:30PM – Plush Palace – Thurs 23 Feb 78
Avril came to work with me – I’m having a great night.
She met a guy here she likes who asked for her number – he seems nice, but he must have the problems intrinsic to all who haunt this place – alcoholic or druggy – or just unmotivated in some fatal, fatal way. Paz’s been telling me her new honey’s too “big” for her – makes her bleed. That can’t be right. This triggered an avalanche of gynecological horror stories that ended up with all who are interested examining Fatima’s hanging “meatus” left over from a “botched childbirth”. She has trouble tucking it into her G-string! I declined inspection. Missing an opportunity other writers would have jumped at? Will I need to describe this someday?
Sun. 26 Feb 78 – 9:45 PM
J actually showed for dinner last night – while I was
stuffing the baked potatoes – we had a wonderful evening, played Clue, very good sex. Said his sister read my “gothic” but called it Too Victorian. Disguised praise? I decide to think so. He asked me to visit him in Alabama. I’m sure there’s a novel in that but do I want to be the one to write it? Then of course he had to leave early. I called A – had kind of a psychic flash – a feeling of trepidation about the human condition – she said she had been sobbing all night. Are we going no place? I asked her. Is it all an illusion? She said she feels she once had a home and family but somehow lost them and can’t adjust. She has a life others would envy – young college student with her own apartment in DC – but she wants back something she never had. “Neva vu” ex-husband Bruce and I used to call it. The unrecognized familiar. I am reading – very appropriately – The Troubled Helpmate. Misogyny in literature.
Monday 8 Jan 78 – 6 PM
Twenty-four hours ago I was sitting in my red dress over
a glass of port, waiting for Jervaze to arrive. Anxiety level high. Somewhere – I think from Mom – I got the impression that my needs are so automatically repellent to any sane individual that they must be hidden. Therefore, I have to carefully think my way through to any honest approach – and then it isn’t really honest any more. But I can’t just be impulsive. Prepared myself for disappointment – that he would be late or perhaps not show – because there is something weird about him. Some deep dark secret perhaps? But he was right on time. This time I took him to my nearest neighborhood restaurant
where the waiter put on quite a show with Irish coffee till flaming liquor rolled down his sleeves! Jervaze came inside my house without hesitation – I fretting about how to best establish physical contact while he sprawled comfortably on the couch. I turned off the overhead light and lit candles – took off my jacket – he rubbed his face against my breasts acting calm, respectful and not neurotic. Must be my experience with R that makes me fearful of being “shamed” every second. Jervaze kissed and kissed my face so long – tears automatically filled my eyes. But he did not get upset. Got up like a perfect gentleman “when it was time to leave” and I managed to resist attacking him. I did one very strange thing that is causing me anxiety now. We showed each other our class rings – he always wears his. I slid mine on his little finger and left it there. He wore it home. Uh oh. 11:30 AM Wed 11 Jan 78 Experiencing sharp attacks of fear all day long at “being in a relationship”. What the hell was I doing giving him my ring? See, I agree that everything’s my fault! Story of my life! Currently enjoying two quiet hours while A is at the gynecologist. It will be great when she gets her own place. Plenty of private time and space to panic in. Today I got a phone call from R and a letter from Devon. So, I was able to line my relationships up, so to speak, contrast and compare. Even lumped together they are not one full relationship! R’s “gamesmanship” is down from its zenith, but, owing to my total nonparticipation, also at its most exposed. Lengthy chat about our vacations, and then he spent probably a half hour telling me his “insurance setup”. Why? So I can tell everyone where to find the will and the important papers when he runs into a tree on his next ski trip! I should be worried about him dying apparently!!! I let him talk, I didn’t cut him off and I asked no questions, largely because this makes him the craziest and he deserves it. I know he’s comforting himself now that I still care about his finances if not about him. Devon thanked me for the glamorpic (described me as “so lovely” and said he feels like he’s talking to me when he writes his letter) and then launched into a long description of his and Gwynne’s relationship. They have an “understanding” which seems to involve “being there for each other” without “demands”. “Why won’t he admit he’s gay?” howls Avril when I read this to her. But I don’t think sex is even that simple for him. His approach is much more diffuse – a constantly vibrating choice between “being sexual” and “not being sexual”. He and I had such good sex, but if it all has to happen in a sort of coma, if there can’t be any planning or god forbid, discussion then the hell with it. As for Jervaze, he showed up for the last three hours of my first night back at The Plush Palace from the Starlight. He was wearing my ring. I asked him if my work bothered him. He said, no, he was cool with it, but was glad I asked. Whereupon we went back to his place and made love for 3 hours. Whoo-hoo! I’m not kidding! The first test – home design – alas he failed. His furnishings are truly HORRIFIC Spanish Mediterranean dreck. His shower curtain consists of festoons of blue chiffon – it is INCONCEIVABLE that a male could purchase such a thing. Guess I am not asking the right questions. Old girlfriend? Mom? Sister-in-law? Some woman raised exclusively on pirate films had a hand in here somewhere. As to the sex – that test he passed. He’s a prizewinner there. Everything takes forever and that doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. Is he some kind of reptile, living in a time zone utterly different from us mammals? It took him 20 minutes to get my pants off working steadily. I got enough comments about the beauty of my body to satisfy my ego for life. He went down on me without a flicker – so much for all those rumors about Southern men – and when he goes down he stays down. On the other hand – he never did come. Calms fears of premature ejaculation but raises other ones. His uncircumcised penis stayed stiff for 3 hours. This is a first for me, and I don’t know whether I like it. I really can’t give myself permission to come under these circumstances yet clearly I will have to – I’ll just have to say, “forget you – let’s concentrate on me.” That could work. But as I say, it would certainly be different. When I left, he gave me his key.
7:45 Pm – Plush Palace – Thurs 12 Jan 78 Called Jervaze and suggested we do something tonight – he acted enthusiastic. I said, “Should I be calling you? Wouldn’t want to call too much,” and he said, “Call all the time.” R–induced horrors dropping away one by one. It’s snowing – I’ll go straight to Jervaze’s. (He’s close to club.)
4PM Friday, Jan 13-78
I think Jervaze may really be an angel; one of Milton’s
sexed up angels who took a wrong turn to our planet by mistake. Some anxiety is relieved. We never did get to go anywhere – stayed in bed. Bliss. But if this doesn’t work I will damn well marry Devon whether he likes it or not – I can’t take much more of this.
I’m at my desk hammering out letters – trying to answer one from the island realtor. The studio apt has “no cooking facilities”. I don’t care but the realtor does, she has a house on the pond for $175 “long lease” she wants me to take. Says it has a Franklin stove and I could “bike to town.” I admit I’m interested. Jervaze has offered to come to the island with me in March – I really shudder at the thought of introducing him to my parents, how to tactfully say, Please don’t ask him about Ideas and only offer him one drink. Last night I let myself into his apt, took a shower, tried to use his sparkingly hazardous blow dryer, gave that up, crawled in bed with him. I had lots of Ryder-induced fears that he wouldn’t be there, in bed with another girl, etc. But no. There he was, nude, gorgeous, asleep – and when he woke up, happy to see me.
5:25 PM Plush Palace – Sat 14 Jan 78 Snakes dropping into paradise one by one. First, although Jervaze is incredibly easygoing – it is impossible to get him to state a preference about a movie or a restaurant, for example – (had to drag him to Eastwood’s Every Which Way But Loose) I can tell he is nervous about introducing me to his brother and sister in law. Should I just suggest we lie about what I do for a living? I guess that wouldn’t really solve anything. Sartre is so right. Hell IS other people. Then there’s my mother – the latest demon fondling my ear. Once a woman has made herself vulnerable to a man, she’s through. Uncommitted sex brings out the worst in men, blah blah blah. Because it’s “too perfect” from his point of view. I am “causing him moral hazard”. Yes, I tell the voice, and it would be perfect from MY POINT OF VIEW TOO IF YOU WOULD JUST SHUT UP. WE ONLY STARTED DATING A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO. But one can’t shut out THAT voice so easily. Mystified by Willard Gaylin’s irritating Caring. He acts like mutual dependence or interdependence is some “failure” of personal autonomy.
Powder Mill Road – 11 PM Sunday 15 Jan 78 Jervaze “dropped by” this afternoon. Since it’s such a long way from his place to mine I was astonished. Is it that I can no longer believe a man will climb mountains for me? Or is it just my sensitivities to Jervaze’s strangely inchoate “disabilities” warning me and sending up red flags? We had a nice talk – he seemed faintly down – then he had to leave because he needs to get up extra early tomorrow. I was in too good a mood to work on my novel, bought clothes instead. 3 pairs of pants, sweater coat, five pairs undies, one gauchos. All clothes size 7. Packaged MSS when I came home so as not to feel too unproductive.
Coleridge poem taken by Virginia community college screed. No money. (Natch.)
DEEPER INTO COLERIDGE
“Music is beneath me” wrote the fat man, angering his wife by stealing her broom for walking scattering the straw. He loved to pack a nightcap and declaim upon the moors. “I would have married a servant girl could I but be sure of her affection.” But be sure! Some men are never fated to be sure. Amidst politicking, pregnancies and penny-pinching, he found the time to fall in love with the Wrong Woman. No wonder he took opium to distract him from the faceless fiend that follows after most of us but specially him who knew so well to court it. In his mildewed study he sits alone clutching his bad heart and writing “Ours is not a logical age”
Mon 27th Dec 77 11:00 AM
See Dracula on Broadway – pure pleasure with some
honest scares. Frank Langella very sexy. At Italian dinner Mom and Dad push island hard, but I know the old people would never leave me alone. They’d be worse than R. Still, there’s something magical about being protected from the real world by the ferry – places you can’t get to easily are wonderful just for that reason. Mom and Dad say further I can’t be serious about my writing or I’d have a job in publishing or magazines! I’m so rocked back on my heels its hard to argue. It sounds so sane. But why won’t it result, really, in another “hostage taking” of my soul, which, so, so regrettably, appears to be so damn fragile? Becoming one’s self is life’s greatest challenge – and so far it does seem necessary to abjure group (gang? Team?) endeavors. Writing doesn’t satisfy unless it comes out of the wild side of me – my secret side. There’s always the temptation to rip open the spider and get the silk out faster. Dad rolls his eyes – it’s the old “I’m an artist so I can do what I want” argument again. How to tell him yes, he’s right. Yes, I’m taking advantage of my education, my family, my “privileges”; it’s who they made me. No going back to some invented Dust Bowl life of drudgery just so THEY can “feel superior & good”. They insist they don’t WANT to “feel good!” It’s about what’s “right!” My turn to roll my eyes.
Detroit, 11:05 PM, Thursday 29 Dec 77
At the adorably, impossibly 20’s Tudoresque manse my sister
Merrill is restoring – it’s lovely here. Merrill and her husband say dancing is “sex work” and “sex work” is “OK” if its “regulated so “sex workers aren’t exploited.” I get annoyed that nobody can tell the difference between dancing and prostitution! Lots of things cause “erotic titillation” – breathing for example. Still, I find I’m inclining toward taking a two-month break in March and going to the island to write. Is this family management? But one of the reasons I like dancing is because you can “pick it up and put it down.” Well, we’ll see.
Thurs night 29 Dec 77 9:30 PM
I find as I distance from Ryder I remember some good things
and that makes me happy. He was so unique. It was fun knowing him, watching him perform impromptu magic for street children and restaurant patrons. More extraordinary really than poor old Jervaze who in spite of his glamorous looks drinks way too much and hates his job. Also R knew me as a “not dancer” which J doesn’t – maybe that persona obscures who I really am. I remember the excitement of watching Ryder make his television show – unexpectedly sweaty physical labor in choosing camera angles and shots, timing, music, close-ups – building the tape as the excitement was happening – more in common with sports than some couch potato activity like editing. Greek Town for dinner after the Renaissance Center, so the night ended in a wild bouzouki. Day occupied with antiquing – especially fun since I am reading Rumer Godden’s China Court, which is basically a love song to things. It made me worry that there are not enough details in Demon – what should I add? Perhaps buy a Vogue to see.
Dreamed about Devon last night. Wonder; what
he’s up to. Maybe I’m being psychic again. Getting some peace of mind about him as well. Merrill’s daughter comes to read over my shoulder, then when I move to hide the diary says, “Don’t worry, I can’t read cursive. “
Plush Palace – Tuesday, January 3, 1978 – 9:25 PM
Back at work. Can’t concentrate on The Murder of Sir
Edmund Godfrey, which is the book I brought because I keep thinking Jervaze will drop by. Dead silence from him – no call on Christmas. I sent him one card but of course I only got back yesterday. I can’t bear to take all the initiative. Oddly (especially after my dream about him) had a card waiting from Devon. Maybe I AM psychic. Evidently he regrets that love-letter – encourages me to “hang loose”. Quotes from Sister Goldenhair. In other words, don’t try to get him to plan to meet skiing, that’s just way more planning than he can handle. Kind of a pathetic specimen.
Plush Palace – 10:05 pm Thurs 5 Jan 1978
Jervaze came in Tues after my 10:00 set – with lots of little
presents for me, perfume, bears, cards, pins – in a Christmas stocking. He wore a gold-banded black cowboy hat covered with snow and a shiny black down parka, his platinum hair swinging around his face – like a visit from an angel. Or possibly a Chippendale dancer. He is too pretty; mine eyes dazzle. He stayed till I got off at 1 then walked me to my car – one kiss – asked me out very formally for Saturday night. I gave him directions to my place and he wrote them in a book – tipped his hat, climbed into his Shelby and vanished, leaving me wondering, is he gay? Is he even real? I continue to struggle reading The Young Romantics – artists in 1840’s Paris.
PLACES I HAVE NEVER LIVED
From which house came my teenage lover? I should recognize the one – where As a sick moth haunts the moon he Marked me in my blood. He’s the one who died. Women are more flexible Turning shit to gold like Earthworms; men are brittle Sharp and angry, fall so Easy out of tune. I sharpen Ears these winter days For all the sounds I never heard; Screen doors slamming – Secrets, arson, Stolen kisses Mustered music, borrowed Penchant; Mayhem – trenchant Terror – sentient.
Avril and I found a perfect black sequin tube top while
we were out promenading yesterday – I’m going to wear it with my black silk trouser suit. She thinks she found herself the perfect apartment too – a studio in a skyscraper with a great kitchen, huge closets, only $216 month utilities included, says she is going to look for another week before she decides. Financial fount M & D don’t want her living with me because I am a “harmful influence.” We saw Armon in a bit part on TV last night – there weren’t any credits, but I knew it was him. Listening out of one ear to gossip – Gina says the bartender at the Starlight is bisexual and that Tony the bagman is her male lover. She is big, he is little, I can’t imagine them together. He is called the “bagman” because he runs between the clubs in a Lincoln filled with bags of money. Gina also says that she is a priest in a mail order religion and that her breasts are real and her ex-husband raped her nine-year-old daughter. I can tell for a fact those hard breasts are fake so it does make it tough to believe anything she says. Last night went out with Erika to see the new Bunuel (in spite of her claims to revere him she failed to notice he used different actors for the same part) and to eat at Chateau Gesundheit. Depressing conversation about how terrible men are – says her ex-husband is a cross between a psychopath and a momma’s boy – she naturally assumed because of R that this would be my favorite subject. She also says all exotic dancers and showgirls were molested as children and as a result are lesbians who hate men. Asking or inviting? All I can say is that all little girls have unpleasant memories of Adult Men but this is just a chip on her breeze. A breeze I think I better stay out of in future, perhaps. I also get tired of hearing the Marxist slant on Life. Love doesn’t exist, people do everything for “self-interest”, etc. etc. If that is true they are doing a piss-poor job of it. I think people live for fantasy and some people’s fantasies are very, very cheap. Hoping drinks with Maeve will be more fun.
Midnight - 6 Jan- 78
Crazy with love. Jervaze and I had one of those unforgettable
dates last night – Took him to my favorite restaurant in Ellicott City – Coco Lane and we talked for hours. He loves dogs – wants to raise Grand Pyrenees. His favorite cats are English blues. Wanted to be a vet except he always hated school, so that’s how he got into working with his hands and he thinks there’s no way back now. He loves WC Fields and horror movies. The thing I love about him most (apart from his astonishing beauty) is his natural courtesy, his dignity (he is very polite to anyone in a service position – the exact opposite of R who acted as if being exigent was the same thing as being discriminating. Status.) He has such an aura of gentleness and calm, just like those big dogs he loves so much. His isolation, I like too – he’s the only male I’ve met in quite awhile who doesn’t travel in a pack. He has a brother in the same job locally – that’s why he came up from Alabama – but he plainly thinks suburban Virginia is the “fast lane” and I don’t disabuse him. He eats seafood by preference and wants to live on the water. He probably drinks too much and could be an incipient alcoholic. My parents would be totally, totally appalled but of course it doesn’t take much to appall them. Alas, he hasn’t finished my book – claims he’s “working on it”. I am waiting for him to outright say he doesn’t understand it – maybe when he knows me better. When he kissed me goodnight he only kissed me – a relief at the time, since it was one less worry. Now of course I wish I had some clearer indication from him that he finds me even attractive. Is he polite or am I resistible? Don’t want to be resistible – we’ll have to change that.
Sat -1 pm 7 Jan- 78
I’m at the Starlight – our club owner owns this one too – it’s huge.
How I hate this stage. It isn’t a true stage but a runway winding through the audience, which means you must keep walking all the time – and they try to fill it by having several girls up at once. One can’t build any audience hypnosis – people pay less attention and have more business meetings – and tips really take a nosedive. The bartender is a grizzled old lesbian who stares right up my crotch – supposedly to see if my stocking seams are straight (they aren’t. Fortunately she doesn’t offer to do them for me – but she still watches.) Four of the other girls tried to get me to let them smoke dope in the dressing room – I told them no. They’ll have to go out back with the alley cats. Thank God Glee – who has a lot of class – backed me up. So the two of us had the dressing room to ourselves, which made a pleasant change from watching the others trying to disguise the scars from their breast operations. Book I brought – The Pleasure of Ruins – does not go with this atmosphere in spite of its title. R called me here – says he found me thru Randy who was impressed because Ryder’s on TV! I flatly told him he is scaring the life of out me with this behavior.
But he seems to know just how far to push things, amazingly
we had a wonderful talk! Gentleman Jim lets us talk in his office: very respectful of our “privacy”. He obviously thinks we are dating. Wonder if he will tip R to the fact that I have a “honey on the side” at the Plush Palace? Jesus! I told R I am sick of his “psychotic twin brother” (good idea for a novel, actually) and he really laughed – admitted he has “a Jekyll-Hyde” thing going on. (It’s actually worse than that – it’s really Hyde and Mr. Nastier Hyde – but didn’t say that. Keep conversation light.) He promised to stop calling me at work.
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.
NOCTURNE
Reveal
Yourself to me
To my inner palate
An artist’s palette
Moth-winged hands
Fluttering
Crescent thighs surging
Urging
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
Angelspit,
Lovespawn
Dipin my styx of roe your
Musky caviar
Sensate wanderer you
Suck
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.)
Unfortunately 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.
Alysse Aallyn 