Alysse Aallyn

Category: #Family

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                              2PM Sun 14 Aug 77

                              Sitting on the deck even though it’s just about to rain – 

    back from long bike ride watching family barbecues.  Will I ever have children? I feel so exactly balanced between Ryder and Devon like a ball in the air 

    – but could fall at any moment.  Finished The Edwardians – made me long to read Trollope.  Vita Sackville-West’s work is like a death wish. 

    Maybe Pevensey Library can rise to some Trollope. Downy woodpecker 

    2 ft away.

                              Finished The Dark Island! An outrageous howl of 

    self-pity!  Mom & Dad called all worried about Avril. She & Mason had to borrow money after selling $4500 worth of stock in June! Dad wants to deal financially with Mason instead of his own daughter!  I was cool and stayed out of it.  

    I don’t even want to imagine what they say to the others about me. I sent Avril a letter that said I would buy her a round trip plane ticket any time she wanted – even for just a short visit. Talk about work and suffering!  I’m sure she feels stuck in every way with this guy. Down to a dinner of bouillon & smoked oysters. 

                              Tues 16 Aug 77

                              D’s & my relationship “plateaus.”  Each of us may have 

    given all we can spare. At least there’s no Mutual Punishment.  

    Womantried to get me into conversation at mailboxes – she’s an accountant whose boyfriend works on missiles.  God they both sounded like the dullest people imaginable.  Tried not to blanche.

                              6:00 PM  Couldn’t resist $10 phone call to Avril. She’s 

    hanging in there but doesn’t like Calif so far. She’s not going to school because Mason thinks he ought to be able to pay for it!  So, so sick after using her money to live on.  She’s looking for some clerk job. Still thinks 

    this guy might be The One, even though sex is once a week and she’s not satisfied.  After that I called Devon who should be back from psychomotor class but he wasn’t in. 

                              Midnight – Could get psychotic about D not returning my call – however I refuse. Let the poor man live. He lacks time for an ACTUAL other girl (although I know there are plenty of letters & phone calls with girls he cultivates.) 

                              10AM – Wed 17 Aug 77

                              Devon woke me up in the middle of the night, wondering if I was “psychic”.  He’d had a horrible day –  had to take a “pregnant friend” to the clinic for abortion (not his kid.) This is a new one. Can’t imagine him lying about something so bizarre – I didn’t ask for details –

    just told him it was a “sudden impulse” (true).  Called the bank – my money was in but only $987 (it’s never  as much as you expect.) From shit comes flowers, as they say. Called Marc Kramer and left message whether I can hitch a ride to Maine with him (he goes almost every weekend). 

    Finished Life of Waugh.  Cramps.

                              Sat 20 Aug 77 

                              Poor Devon!  He brought pizza and a very good brandy –

    (too good –  drinking it woke me up in the middle of the night) suggested a movie.  I said I wanted to Talk.  Told him all about my week; everything – 

    novel, phone call with Avril, breaking up (mentally) with Ryder because I “realized there’s another way”. Felt it was time to share. He asked if it had anything to do with him I said it did but he shouldn’t panic – it’s a good thing. He asked did I want to know about other girls? I said yes. Would I be jealous? 

    Maybe – but it wouldn’t impact on him.  He talked about his friend who had the abortion – she’s ready to take him on but his feelings for her are “clinical”.

     (Uh oh. She’s in trouble. He could be lying to me about Who’s the Daddy or lying to himself, most like.) She’s 2 yrs older than him.  

                              Then there’s a girl he met on the train – they’re just friends so far so he doesn’t know her well – but he’s curious.  Then there’s the English girl – he definitely wants to bring her over but neither of them can afford it so far. He seems to have a sex/romance dichotomy going so 

    I’m not jealous exactly – it would be like being jealous of someone’s fantasies. However, it doesn’t make me respect him more.  And he instinctively knows that – he can’t be the daring demon lover or swaggering ski coach 

    with me when I know too much about him. Fortunately, I suggested we bring the mattress up to the deck – we had a big, hilarious struggle through the house but it was worth it. Wonderful making love in the fresh night.  

    Gave him the full treatment making him yelp like a coyote. 

                              Cold in the AM like Maine – hard to get out of bed but he was worried someone would see us so we had to push mattress through 

    sliding doors to dining room floor at 6 AM.  Layers of secret lives!  He is SO DIFFERENT from the way he seems but aren’t we all!  Drove to the Idyllwild Mkt for breakfast – got lost as least six times but who cares it’s a glorious day – bought peaches, blueberries and mocha java beans.

     Then we went swimming – stopping after at the mailbox.  Rejection of Secaire from HBJ!  What a blow and in front of Devon of all people!  

    Worst of all was editor’s comment – I had fallen between 2 stools – “straight” and “gothic.”  Ugh.  Lowers my opinion of myself in my own eyes. 

    Fortunately, I didn’t cry.  

                              Devon did his best to comfort me. He compares it to 

    skiing which is 4,000 failures to one success. Said it’s ridiculous to consider myself a failure. I thanked him said he really cheered me up –

     he said it made him look forward to ministry!!!  (He can’t wait to get his hands on some “troubled young women”.) He’s going to a 3 day 

    retreat at Peterborough.  Period coming on. It doesn’t faze Devon. Reading Harold Nicolson’s diaries which are quite a treat.  I was afraid he would 

    be all Churchillian. 

                               2;30 PM Mon 22 Aug 77

                              Can’t write, so ready to return to Maine.  So desperate I 

    watched TV (Rhoda: Apotheosis of the Career Girl). Feeling crushed about Secaire and Demon is not far behind. When your mind is divided it’s hard to go on.  I always feel genre works actually have the potential for highest dramatic quality – mystery, discovery, transformation, revelation – telling the complete truth about everything but I just don’t know how to convey that. Also, I’m kind of worried that Devon will see my departure as  “because” we punctured the fantasy with honesty ; ie I’m “punishing” him –

    (that’s what Ryder would think, plus he would howl “I deserve it” then behave even worse) and of course it sort of is true . “New data” does affect everything.  But I miss the dogs & worry about them.  Dad has yet to figure out their gender (calls them both “boy”). 

                              Went clothes shopping got GOREGOUS skinny jeans! 

    Look so good.  Called Devon but had to leave an awkward message with Random Guy (ugh I hate that.) Thank God for diaries!   Best therapy 

    possible. So much cheaper than a shrink. Diagnosis? Sheer greed.   I always want everything.

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    1 July 77

                       Today I should start my new novel – always the worst 

    part.  Lauren called to APOLOGIZE for our dinner.  I said nothing

     to apologize for I had a wonderful time.  She said she had an

     “off” night and they are upping my print run from 100,000 to 

    110,000.. So I guess I’m “on” again in case I write another Eng 

    gothic historical paperback they like (don’t hold your breath).  

    Threw aside Berckman’s Crown Estate suddenly can’t stand 

    other people’s writing. 

                       Very disllusioning dinner with Chuck Kornowitz. My 

    piece de resistance crab manicotti in Newburg sauce turned out 

    exquisitely but he only cared about the booze. When I mentioned The Great American novel he said it’s been written and offered to send it to me.   He edited it!  He only laughed at one thing I said – 

    he called Athenaeum a “very, very small publishing house” and I 

    said, “More of a hut, really”. He obviously thought I was going to 

    have sex with him so that he would read my book. I turned him 

    down but offered to make up a bed for him on sofa (he really seemed incapacitated by drink but he blamed it on jetlag.) He insisted on leaving, looking very cranky. He did wonder aloud who the hell I think I am?  What’s a little sex between “friends” (or supplicants & donors?) 

                       Letter from Devon (I needed it) cheered me up extraordinarily.  

    Just in the nick of time. I’m a loner, he’s a loner too – do two loners

     make a party? Having a hard time feeling beautiful when I am not 

    dancing and 50 situps a day and one filthy bike ride are no substitute.

     But this seminarian writes a mean letter. Loved  my novel. Looks 

    forward to servicing – er surveying Boston in my company.  Four

     hours on novel produces 8 bad pages. It’s a start. 

                       Ms. MacManus foisting her probate lawyer nephew 

    Henry on me. He came over to invite me to the beach 

    (and help me walk the dogs.)  He’s a pale,

     pale Ryder (he’d have to be Peter Frampton to arouse me at 

    this stage) and I feared he’d get sunstroke but I said yes. Saw 

    Jabberwocky – very Monty Python. 

                       Wrote a long wailing, complaining letter to Avril.  Try to 

    read Women & Madness but it’s too poorly written and repels 

    every attempt.  Norah Lofts White Hell of Pity – very depressing. 

    But you’re pretty much asking for it if you pick up a book with that title. 

                       11:00 AM Sun 3 July 77

                       Had to walk Genevieve’s dogs all the way to Columbus 

    & Ninth to find NY Times.  Henry cancelled – I didn’t know why till 

    Ms MacManus told me he found out I wasn’t Jewish!  Now she tells 

    me! (She’s not Jewish either.)  Reading First Person Singular – 

    actually some helpful dating advice.  Is it too crass to count on 

    having sex with Devon July 20? (That’s as long a wait as I think

     I can stand.) 

                       12:45 PM Mon 4 July 77

                       Almost strangled the dogs today. Sam rolled in horseshit 

    in the park. Had to wash them both.  Then they bothered me so much

     during my exercises I had to lock them up.  They howled.  Penance all around. Ms. McManus invited me to see New York, New York

    . We enjoyed Unsung Cole last night – and she is going to Martha’s Vineyard so won’t be around to make me her new chew toy. 

                       11:25 PM  Wish I could read the future. New York, 

    New York none too reassuring about male/female relationships. 

    Reading Leonard Woolf’s depressing Downhill All the Way.  

    His mind so different from Virginia’s you could call it “antithetical”. 

    Tomorrow’s excitement – double feature of Shame and The

     Passion of Anna.

                       12:25 AM 9 July 77 

                       Ryder’s divorce final. His relationship with me?  Still in 

    “separation” phase.  Trying to hate him but it’s not working. Pity 

    the petty man who revels in bondage. Feeling sorry for all his 

    future lovers is the best I can do. He would respect me more if I 

    was less sexually excitable, and that’s the ugly truth. Totally 

    resigned that Harcourt will reject Secaire. Went to Patti Smith 

    concert with Brett’s brother.  Kind of fun the way she barks out

     her poetry; but little too butch for me. He is an incipient pedophile 

    remarking on every thirteen-year old he saw (or possibly he was

     just trying to annoy me.) 

                       11:45 PM Sun 10 July 77

                       Loved  Rhoda Lerman’s The Girl That He Marries

     – never were reviews so misleading! 

                       July 14, 1977

                       Power out in the whole city! Living by candles. No 

    elevator doesn’t affect us readers. Doorman up and down the 

    stairs with flashlights looking for old people.  Dogs poop on 

    balcony. I seize any excuse not to write.

                       9 PM Fri 22 July 1977 – Mrs. McManus’ condo 

    Pevensey Old Farms

                     New deal: all I have to do for luxe pad is write an 

    article for Mrs. McManus’ real estate mag. I think rich people 

    are masters of bait and switch – I was supposed to be doing HER a favor – but of course I say yes.  Contemplate novel about homicidal house-sitter called Other 

    People’s Houses  but I see from Books In Print it’s been taken.

                       Lying here making new breakthroughs in the art of 

    writing sideways; disinfecting my ear from swimming. Wanted 

    to write about Monica Dickens’ Man Overboard or N Ephron’s 

    Crazy Salad or at the very least make a New Plan for My Novel 

    but find I can’t. Was very “good” today – swam, bicycled, some 

    writing. Allowed to eat anything here luckily her food is not too 

    outrageous – hamburger and zucchini salad.  Marinated artichoke 

    hearts.  

                     Refuse to shred my nerves further by hating myself.  

    My body’s not perfect but I do feel on the home stretch to self-control.  

     Give me six weeks and I’ll be flying.  Emotionally, I’m a mess.  

    Devon brought up marriage and I am smotheringly certain that I 

    can’t live up to either of our expectations as a parson’s wife. 

    Might be fun to try – but that’s not the point.  I fear the idiot side of me that just keeps coming out. Can’t seem self-assured, playfully 

    grave instead sexually voracious and maniacally ridiculous. 

                     Anyway Intuition told me he would call tonight between 

    8-10. 

                     He called at 8:30. I cracked too many jokes – conversation 

    painfully bizarre.  He seemed calm and unfreaked. He got a new

     job that gives him more “room” (he’s a waiter- he’s sick of teaching 

    people) asked when he could “show up” and suggested tomorrow.

                     Moving a lot faster than I expected from my memories of 

    Shy Boy. Do I want to have my fantasies played fast and loose with in this way? (Am I over Ryder?) Do I want to get over him?  Or are mismatches of Time & Desire my Fate?

                       I am certainly NOT turning down D’s offer to see what 

    there can be for us. Companion? Lover? Second self? Brother?

    Alas he is too blindingly handsome for me to be rational.

                     If he comes tomorrow there won’t be time for more than 

    necking (has to get to new job by 4.)

                       Forget “July 20”, entered on my calendar as S Day. 

    I WILL NOT MAKE LOVE TO A SCHEDULE. We have to have 

    a night alone to make things happen.  I can be patient – can he? 

    Well, I can be honest.  Best anyone can do.

                       10:45 PM  Back from a walk, reliving my years as teenage 

    prowler. And peeper.  These walks are very informational as I spy 

    couples hanging plants & merrimekkos, having fights and pouring wine. 

    Macramé is de rigueur. Try to imagine Devon & me in similar situations. 

    Maybe he won’t be a parson forever.

              Celebrate my freedom from R. Nice to know I can go to parties without fearing R’s paranoia & restrictions mixed up in his exhibitionism & flamboyance. Freeing me maybe to be those things. Fantasize 

    pleasurably about long drives with D – my hand on his thigh – separate but equal thoughts unfolding with the journey.  My emotions a difficult horse to ride.

        11:50 PM

                                Interrupted by phone call from R. 

    Offered to send me money. What is wrong with him? 

    He said, “You were right the way you always are.  When are you 

    coming back to me?”  Loves me, misses me, wants me back. He’s 

    been sick – Emmys a complete bust – his TV show cancelled – 2 

    directors actually fired (25 people in total.) Today’s the first day he’s 

    been back to work, amazed not to get a pink slip. He’s taking a two

     week unpaid leave to go to the Finger Lakes and find his soul. If 

    they fire him so what. He refuses to take out of town job.

                                He really worked me over – gave me a bird’s eye 

    view of what life with him would be like.  For example, said, “his 

    place is my place.”  If he means “move in” he knows I’ll say no 

    because his skyscraper doesn’t take dogs.  He asked, “When 

    do you come down to get your furniture?” I don’t like him having 

    all this information.  Thank God for D.  Six weeks to decide 

    whether I even want to return to Washington. I write a poem for Devon. 

    Angel Clothes

    You are like a ripe peach

    Swollen in the summer of your life

    And as the peach surrounds its stone

    Your skeleton enwombs your soul

    But thinly.

    I often see it shining

    Through the hollows in your cheeks.

    I need your body

    Need to know its shadows

    Sound its pleasures

    But as the stone

    Though small at first

    Must grow; feed off the dying peach

    So your spirit must transhume your flesh

    Disgorge it in

    A thousand peaches a thousand summers a

    Thousand eternities more beautiful than

    You or i

  • Inspired Pleasure – the Dance Diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Shadowe Island 23 June 77 11 PM

          Walked around corner of my parents Cape Cod house to 

    The deck – there’s Devon sitting with his Mom and my Mom and Dad. 

    Waiting for me.  He is still dreamily beautiful; cut glass profile, 

    muscles shining through clothes;  a star. The understanding 

    between us electric as always – hope I did not gape too 

    obviously. 

             I felt a “reaching-out” from this shy man bubbling up 

    from the deep wells of his most secret personality. 

    Seemingly uncertain of his power and frightened by his own beauty, 

    Utterly obliterating poor hopeless, impossible Ryder, which is just what 

    The doctor recommended.  

              I must have babbled something as they gave 

    me a huge Tanqueray gin and tonic. Mom has that 

    wrinkle between her eyes whenever she looks at me 

    like there is no book I can publish, job I can take, no man

     I can marry to iron out that wrinkle. 

             We hear them talking about us as if we weren’t there:

     “1972 was such an important year for them, that Winter 

    Carnival;” “Why don’t they get together if they love each 

    other?” “Kids these days think marriage just a piece of 

    paper.”  Just a piece of paper?  You won’t get a rise out

    of me over that.  I pass my life in a blizzard of papers, 

    which may (or not) survive me. May (or not) bear any 

    ultimate meaning.

             His Mom offers me studio apt in their ski chalet – 

    $125 month utilities included.  Staking an early claim to 

    any progeny I may produce.  I say, No thank you,  I need 

    a city. Still, it gives one furiously to think.

             When Devon left he lifted up my chin to kiss 

    me – tight familiar “everyone’s watching” mouth and 

    prickly blond moustache. He says he’s going to England 

    for a week. Invited me to Boston after. I imagine us 

    unpeeling at the station, two nude souls confronting one 

    another. Rank terror. The body reacts first, hands trembling 

    violently.  All I could do to keep from just savaging him in 

    front of everybody. I could hardly hold my drink. 

             I am an easy catch, too.  He quoted from my poem

     “the one you wrote on the bus” when I visited him at Amherst –

     I had completely forgotten about that one. Quote to me from 

    my own work and I become your slave. 

            Poor Ryder! He never thought of that! I know he will “feel” 

    This moment, the moment I lose interest in him; he will lift his head – wherever he is and whatever he’s doing – and come after me.  Just when I don’t want him any more.

    (The quote: “memories like stones I’m free to choose and

     in life’s rivers, eventually lose”)

       Still true. 

     Barnacle Cabin – Sat June 25 – 77

                 I can tell it’s early by the light but can’t find out what time 

    it is without waking someone.  Health complete.  Walked the dogs all over Heath Island, ran into Paul Morris who just bought the Burnside Inn. He invited me back for coffee and brandy, to show me the changes he has made. He sneered when he asked me if I thought “exotic dancing” was “art”.  I said Sure, why not.? It can be. He read Boston Globe “exposé” on “strippers who are just little girls.  They were all molested by their fathers.” I told him they get better tips by calling people “Daddy”. 

             Paul has a mysterious live-in girlfriend who refers to herself as The Sinister Chambermaid. Helping him renovate the place, traveling with him from Boston where he is a university professor.  Since they are not married I wonder about their “financial deal”.  Let me guess, she invests her labor, you own title and cash?  But now I have a good excuse to stay at the Inn and I am considering it.  They have electricity for my typewriter and the Barnacle doesn’t.

                       New York City, 96th off the Park Sat June 25 77 ll PM

                       Suffered through my sister’s wedding – a day of hideous 

    rain forcing us out from the rooftop garden to huddle in the restaurant.  

    I wore a gray silk backless tuxedo pantsuit – halter-top and bare midriff 

    – Mom did NOT approve. (Looked ravishing if I do say so myself.) 

                  Someone asked Dad – about me – “How many of you are redheads? 

    And Dad answered, “Hardly any of us.” Bride tells me she chose Brett because he would make a good father.  Says she’s coming back pregnant from this honeymoon if it kills them both (they take temp, every morn, etc.) Mom all dewy eyed.  I feel like replaying a few “deleted” scenes from Genevieve’s past of which Mom is blissfully unaware but loyally refrain, thus retaining my title as Official Bad Daughter. Hey, it’s a pivotal job.

                       NYC 10:45 PM Sun26 June 77

                       Last night Avril came into my hotel room to stop my wailing and we talked till 2:30 AM. We both agree “fireplug sex” – you stand there while I spray you – is out of the question.  She says women 

    who expect nurturing from men are always disappointed because men lack the nurturing gene.  Hmm. This is not true of Ryder OR 

    Devon (it was true of Bruce.) If we’re going to talk about “nurturing” 

    we have to face the fact that plenty of mothers seem to lack the 

    gene too – they don’t care what you want or who you are they are just trying to smack you into “shape”.  That’s the kind Ryder is. 

    Devon?  Remains to be seen but the way he talked about my novel – 

    seeing me inside it – gives me hope. 

                       Went to see 3 Women tonight with Best Man (Brett’s 

    brother) on the Doobie Bros principle of “why you in such a hurry to be lonely one more night?” But he is still in college.  Immature frat 

    boy.  Any relationship speculative at best. There’s Genevieve’s bike to ride when the physical becomes overwhelming on my 3 wk housesit (while they are on their honeymoon & Devon is in Eng) will pass fast. 

    Hearing I was “house-sitting” in NYC parents’ friend at wedding offers me another outside Boston – perfect for seeing Devon whose theological 

    college is nearby. That’s a definite yes.

                       I REALLY miss dancing. Yet creativity heals all. Conquers 

    my fear of ultimate impotence.  The act of creation – even if others don’t agree – has a purifying effect. After all, we can’t live in other people’s heads

     (it’s dangerous to try). 

                       Tues. 28 Jun 77

                       Walk Genevieve’s miniature dogs, tend fish & plants, take bike

     ride, wash hair, see Swedish flick Man on a Roof (long Lincoln Mercury 

    ad). Bought huge-brimmed red sun hat with single rose in Greenwich Village. 

    Walked HUNDREDS of blocks to NY Pub Lib but they won’t let me take anything out. 

                   Planning next novel, A Demon Roused.  Need to give Jewell some past 

    crime. Infanticide?  But under sympathetic circumstances.  Or maybe murder

     of Stephen Ward-like pimp. Bad news at publisher: Harcourt acquires Pyramid and my editor dumped (lunch with her Thurs).  Could be good news for me (lunch with new editor tomorrow). Trying not to feel 

    dragged in to dumped editor’s hysteria.  

                       Out to dinner at Fiorello’s last night with Brett’s brother, 

    then Altman’s Images (which he knew I wanted to see.)  He is trying to figure “a way in”.  There is no way in.  Images  exquisite. Much better than 3 Women. Transitions so elegant they hardly existed. 

    Wish I could do that. Didn’t want to ruin it by talking about it.  Very 

    reminiscent of La Prisonniere. My previous all-time favorite.  Sent R. my Pevensey Old Farms address so he won’t harass M & D. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.                      

                       Listening to Vivaldi and reading Haskell’s From Reverence to Rape –anything I can find around here. Genevieve likes novels andI HATE other novelists writing (usually). New editor Lauren changed our Monk’s Inn lunch to dinner.

                       Chuck Kornowitz offered to read Secaire – I invited him to dinner here.

                       Wed 29 June 77

                       Disappointing meeting with “editor”.  I guess dinner went 

    as well as it could on the surface – but Lauren doesn’t like me and 

    eager to wash her hands of me.  Damned if I know why. Trying not to take it personally.  She is furious at being in “paperback division” (subtext: “throwaways” ) and says my new  novel being read by someone else – guy promoted over her who used to edit Westerns.  

    Think she enjoyed my panic at this news. 

                       Tried entertaining her with usually reliable Tales of Childhood but she was not amused.  Probably considered it all bragging.  She was what I expected, mousy bun, tortoise shell earrings, presumably raging hormones. Dinner with me was something she had to “go through”. 

     Work, not fun.  Said she is forced to read two novels a day but prefers memoirs!  That’s what she reads for pleasure. I ate snails with lots of garlic and I think she was a bit disgusted.

    I conjectured you could take out an eyeball with those special snail tongs.  Since she was not turned on by this idea I could see she is not the editor for me. 

    Snails were delicious, however. Anyone who loves mushrooms 

    would adore snails.

                       Lunch with on-the-way-out-editor Ruby a scary experience.  She made me meet her at a laundromat where her clothes were in drier!  Went to a Mexican restaurant around the corner, I ordered Sangria. She wore old jeans, ill-fitting shirt, had a price list in hand.  

    Trying to get me to hire her as freelance editor!  She showed me 

    her poetry collection (awful: title “Twitterings”.)  Says she has a 

    novel ¼ done. Praised me awkwardly by saying I am “a real writer”. 

    When I tell her I just want to find out what I need to write by patiently building house of cards in my head she tells me people like me are trampled underfoot by the thousand and I need her to make my novels acceptable.

    Her qualifications are that she has been fired by all the big publishers (they are “consolidating”!) But she also expresses disgust with them.  She is probably right on facts but she needs to work on her presentation. 

                       I was horrified.  Wanted to be friendly because she bought my book, but when I say why pay someone to rewrite your book in a way you might hate she say there are no guarantees in life.  You have to go with whatever “works”. That she is not working seems too rude to point out.  I agree the world’s a dark wood but I need to find my way out alone. She drank 3 bullshots, I order coffee frantically afraid I’ll have to drag her and her laundry home. We split the tab both probably thinking the other should have treated  (last time out was on Harcourt’s dime). I tried to act like I might be thinking about it but I don’t have a good face for hiding when I am absolutely appalled. 

                       Purged my mind at Visconti’s Conversation Piece.  

    Especially reveled in the beauty of our modern Dorian Gray 

    Helmut Berger and  the “footsteps of death” in apt. overhead. 

    Very Edith Wharton. Dinner at Old Ms. McManus’ Sutton Place apt. (whose Boston house I will sit next.) She shows off her latest antique acquisitions.

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

        7:50 PM Sun 15 May 77 
    Justifiably proud –  paid ALL my bills and sent off my

    galleys. Nothing like money! (Stupid car needs a new clutch.
    It’s always something.) Able to refuse “help” from Mom and Dad
    who are dithering about whether I need to be institutionalized.

        Told them I was working at a “restaurant” (Let them

    assume waitressing. They know I can’t cook. PP does serve food;
    State of Virginia makes people who serve alcohol serve something to sop it up with. Good old Virginia. ) Sent M & D a DEVLYN cover.


    $57 left in my acct.; $100 in my purse. (Open a savings acct tomorrow).

        Ordered a beautiful Vietnamese print ($80) for Genevieve’s

    wedding gift (last time she got married I sent candy. Well, I wasn’t invited!) Horseback riding did make me horny however – Ryder & I made love like a pair of wild animals. He may be compact, but he’s beautiful.

    Cleaned the entire house. Now darkness falls .– it’s
    time to walk the dogs. How I love peering into people’s windows.
    When I get back, strong tea with milk and the “splendeurs et misères”of Monica Dickens. Or will I succumb to that modern master of the Grimm fairytale, Agatha Christie? No poetry, but plenty of trolls.

        10PM Mon 16 May 77
    Finally got a reaction from agent to Secaire.  I was

    physically sick when I opened it but she was full of praise. I could
    teach Poe, Verlaine and Mallarme a thing or two! She’s sending it
    to Harcourt but telling them it’s “too fine for a paperback”. Says it’s also readable, which is a thing more “precious than rubies”. I was really afraid of what she would say after our literary discussions and her poetry sneers.


    So elated! Hit the library today and hit it hard – Nancy
    Mitford’s novels, Hilaire Belloc’s Letters, life of Brontë. Delicious
    dreaming.

        5:35 Pm Broadcast Agency – 17 May 77 
    Enjoyed Helen Bevington’s The House was Quiet


    cuckoos and thrushes and loblolly pines.

        Bored to tears with this stupid switchboard job but you can’t say

    it’s “hard”. I’m the last happy dodo in a world of dinosaurs – all this
    equipment about to be ripped out. In 5 mins I get to disconnect
    phone, walk to Church St (parking’s free in Mafia territory). Drive
    to Arlington. Fish sandwich for dinner, read about Unquiet Haworth while wearing G-string & stockings. (So appropriate.)

    Expanding
    my house hunt to Rt 450. (Towards Annapolis; might need Dad to co-sign.) Obviously I can handle 45 min commute. (Don’t like rain, however.) Aware El Diablo is nothing but a hunk of junk. Future of American literature is fragile on some of these May nights.

        Broadcast Agency Thurs May 19, 77
    Only $134 in my saving acct and $7 in checking, curse that

    clutch. Crisis brewing with R. He is jealous and suspicious that I am out so much in the evening. He’s the one who wants to be non-exclusive so let him sweat. I have too many negative emotions about him – that he’s a coward, for example. Which would make him angrier – if I was dancing or screwing some other guy? (Which I have no desire to do and he should know me by now.) I think he sees my privacy and aloneness as infidelity. While he’s doubtless experimenting with “goofy chicks” who’ve “never been touched”; I’m only “unfaithful” with Shelley & Brontë.


    But that’s STILL too much for him.) After all this time if he still doesn’t realize I’m the best, the hell with him.

        Worry about the dangers of psychic scars. They can SEEM to heal,

    but sometimes they re-shape the life beneath. All I know, is, contempt is the ultimate relationship killer. To love is to be happy with! Boy scout methods won’t work with me, the sabre-toothed tiger. Our relationship may already be fatally spoiled by resentment and revenge.

        Last night audience bored and hostile, but who cares?

    Bouncers won’t let them show it! We are goddesses to be revered and if they won’t worship at the shrine they’re out. Compared to the Shalimar, Palace is sheer joy. We are never hassled. God forbid if they try to
    touch us! They are bounced on their heads in the parking lot.
    If I have plain grits when I wake up at 9:30 or 10 (also coffee and
    orange juice) I can last till 4. Hunger peaks at 5. Salad, then rush
    to work – when I get there I’m not hungry anymore. Would like to cut the burger habit.


    Need to sew my G-strings but Merribeth can see me
    through the glass and she won’t leave. Reading Robt Fish as an
    antidote for poor Charlotte Brontë’s pain.

        1:00 AM Plush Palace – 20 May 77
    Four dancers tonight. Less work, more intellect. (!) Fred,

    the cook, insists I try his potato pancakes and they are DAMN good.


    Can’t say no. Long wailing phone call from Maeve this afternoon. Why is it we can see other’s relationships so clearly? “Dump him”, I always say. Am I telling myself something? R & I make date tomorrow night.


    Now wearing black velvet, smoky eyeshadow, black stockings and glitter I look in the mirror and am astonished by my own beauty. Take that, Ryder, you poor bastard. Eight mins and I’m up – One more dance and home. Front table of impressionable navy cadets eminently shockable.

        11:30 AM – Sun 22 May 77
    It’s all over, baby blue.  Getting up my strength for our date

    tonight by sunbathing in back yard – literally cooking in coconut oil.
    R. complained on Fri he called me “all night long” and I wasn’t home.


    Aww. Could have told him I was writing but lying just postpones the inevitable (because next time he’ll come over.) So told him I would explain on our date. A poem came suddenly : In the Butterfly Pavilion.

    This evening you said you wished
    I was more conventional.
    I bowed my head. I did not speak.
    Outside the animals leaned together,
    Breathing lightly; waiting
    For my answer.
    Cats-tongue ferns
    Swelled up like swords, pushed out a stink
    Occluding fields of vision while
    The rabbit-bloodied lawn curled away. 
    Phlox flamed  
      Sows littered in the cyclamen
    Dwarf stars broke free as
    Frazzled molten ore raced across a sky
    Darkening to night.
    Summoning my power
    My hands stay folded in my sleeves.
    Nighttime is my kingdom.
    .

    Exhaustion from the violent motions of the pendulum.
    I made dinner, but he refused to eat. He said, “I think
    I know what you’re going to tell me. “
    I said, “I bet you don’t.”
    “It’s another man.”
    “No. I’m dancing again. I’m living here alone. I need the
    money.” (I should have said “it nourishes me UNLIKE
    SOME PEOPLE” but I’m a coward too.)
    He said very dismissively, ”Well, if that’s all you think you can
    do.”


    He who read my novel! Bastard! He said, “Well, the ball’s
    in my court.” So I guess, that means “Game on!” (Was it ever
    off?) And he left! Put his dinner carefully away in the freezer
    (I’m not made of money) and took the dogs on an hour’s walk.
    Now I lie here again in Paradise – baking, basting, trying to recall
    every detail of the last time we had sex. Because that’s all I’ll ever
    get from him.


    11:30 PM
    Session this aft with Chloe at Pacifica and a young PBS guy
    named John about writing a radio play for kids. I threw out some ideas.
    Then out for dinner with Chloe who complained that her husband has a mental illness given to him by the Army .

    And I think that I have problems. I reject “victim” AND “slut”. The
    poet alone in her lofty palace. Feels like an abscess has been lanced.
    Heard about a great apt in Takoma Pk that’s OK for dogs.

        Broadcast Agency – 4:20 PM – Mon 23 May 77
    Present tenant says do not mention dogs so I am out of

    love with Perfect Apt. Would rather have a house. Lots of calls today.


    I seem to be getting fat – but I look so good – much too good for 128. How I hate to starve but it’s the only way. Need to be a fine-honed racing machine.


    Considering entering Courtney in the Saxton fellowship.
    Can I get a readable copy? Lack of sex keeping me awake at night.


    Now I know why people take drugs. Devon writes to say he’ll be in
    Maine on the island but not at Genevieve’s wedding for “financial
    reasons”. I plan to do my best to seduce him. Reading Mitford’s
    Wigs on the Green – not as funny as it is sad. Pastiche, really –
    Wodehouse is better. But I feel that way about E Waugh’s humor
    too – that it is basically tragic – “this is all we can expect”.


    Asked me when I was moving, when going to wedding.
    He couldn’t be hinting for an invite – if I show up with him my family will have me institutionalized for sure. They never could figure out what I was doing with this hysterical little man.


    We’ve said our fond goodbyes. If the ball is in his court,
    it died there. Need to buy a dress for wedding. Macy’s? My mother criticizes me for:
    1) Making money
    2) Caring about making money
    3) Needing money AND
    4) Buying inexpensive clothes. AND fake jewelry. A lady
    never – etc.


    You figure it out. Finished Farber’s essays – very bad book.
    He seems to regard the female orgasm as some kind of personal insult –
    “Now I’ve got this to contend with!” We’re not doing it to annoy you.

    Hopelessness on the subject of sex a grave inadequacy in a philosopher I would say. Merribeth sent me to the bank today – I was thrilled to get outside – when I came back Keith called down to say he was having lunch at the Hyatt Regency and had seen me walking and wanted to say hi! Nothing to say after that. I thought of inviting him to the Palace but what would be the point? Everyone would think he’s my boyfriend and it’s a tips killer.

        12:50 AM Plush Palace – exhausted and bathed in sweat.

    Man tried to crawl onstage with me. He was in the mood to dance!


    Every dancer (except me and I guess him) is using Darla’s overdose death (suicide or accident? I say why not murder?) as an excuse to not dance. I like dancing. Passes the time faster and the tips are better. Steve managing tonight – he looks just like Dylan Thomas.


    I keep expecting a Welsh accent when he warns the old men with their balls hanging out. Great tales from new dancer Charmian –
    she has toured the entire country. Just dancing. (She has the body of a seven year old. Plasters pasties on her completely flat chest. )


    There’s a townhouse in New City I like the sound of but nobody
    EVER answers that phone. Tomorrow dinner with poor Avril and that awful Mason whom I loathe and despise. Couldn’t get through Babs Deals’ The Walls Came Tumbling Down – and Crystal Mouse was so good. Fortunately I have Steven Marcus’ The Other Victorians which is excellent. Pornotopia, indeed! Should have $1000 in savings by the 24th June.


    3PM Wed 25 May 77
    Weighed myself – I shouldn’t have. Lost two pounds but I
    can gain it back through thought alone. Reading Gore Vidal’s essays –like them better than his novels – unsettling man. Avril says Dad’s taken hotel rooms for everybody in NYC. New City townhouse a terrible shock – NOT to be thought of. R. called to invite me to the Emmys June 4. He had the nerve to say I’ll “always come back” to him. So I have to be careful not to, even when at night I howl like an animal.


    I can’t trust him to “take care” of me.


    7:45 PM Thurs May 26
    Who knew the worst was yet to come? I was talking to
    A at Broadcast Agency and a call came in and it was Ryder. “Hello
    Broadcast Agency”. I said, “You’re on the wrong line.” He said, “Your private line is busy and I’ve got to talk to you. Need to come clean and beg your forgiveness.” Uh oh.


    Yup. He invited another girl to the Emmys BEFORE me
    (that’s his story) she said she couldn’t afford to come, he invited me,then she contacted him to say she managed to get a plane ticket.

    So he’s disinviting me! I disconnected him immediately. He’ll be
    lucky if I ever speak to him again. I ought to be glad it happened –
    I was dithering. Needed a decision maker.


    I said to Charmian this evening, “Are you happy? I’m
    taking a poll.” She said, “Well, I feel all right. All that bothers me
    are asshole men.”


    So true! I think the pain is over if I decide it is. Struggling not
    to be feel ashamed of ever loving that man. Distance is required.
    Distance & discipline. Dancing makes me feel better. I kicked
    really high. Audience enjoyed it.


    3:10 AM
    Home dreading Ryder would be here – if so I was prepared
    to scream the place down. He wasn’t. Just a note – saying I was
    “right to get rid” of him. Calling himself a worthless shit! He said
    he’s “sinned” ever since he met me by refusing to admit how much I mean to him. The problem is it doesn’t matter. We are the wrong people for each other.


    8:30 PM Fri. Plush Palace May 27 1977
    The only place I can sleep is work, dozing off between
    sets. Not even masturbation knocks me out. Tempting to make
    Mon my last day but I should last out the week – I need the cash.
    Still have so much packing to do. Keith in my office the last day of
    Broadcast Agency work – I told him about the Emmys – he said it
    didn’t sound like a deathblow. Men! I had considered inviting
    him to the wedding – this decided me against it.


    3 weeks alone in NYC house-sitting for Genevieve
    while she’s on her honeymoon. Parents will take dogs. The Blessing is an awful book. Nancy Mitford not cut out to be a novelist; she’s really not interested in motivation. Only wants a forum for her retro opinions.


    4:30 PM Sat 28 May 77 – Plush Palace
    A girl left early so Laverne and I are splitting her sets.
    Courtly Jim of the hush puppy body and the Elvis Presley hair
    realizes he has to pay us more to keep someone onstage. Good tips –
    holidays make people feel richer. Only 3 days left.


    7:30 PM Sun 29 May 77
    Packed for six straight hours, ate yogurt and chicken,
    walked dogs now I’m lying on mattress more exhausted than
    I’ve ever been. Shoulders has agreed to store my furniture –
    we don’t need a van since his house is right across the street.
    Told him he can use whatever pieces he wants. Jim will be in
    to pay me Fri so I don’t need to trust the mails. Called phone,
    gas, water, elec people.

    Don’t think I like EM Forster
    (where Angels Fear To Tread) – Henry James without the
    Henry James. Edwardian didacticism makes me miss James’s
    scrupulous objectivity. Why did he write this book? Because
    he’s “The Literary Type”. Compare with Woolf’s Unwritten Novel.
    Stagger about forcing myself to gulp Yuban. So enjoying throwing things away.


    Wed. 1 June 77 – 8:30 PM Plush Palace
    $770 to take off with – not bad I think. Ryder tells me
    I am “fleeing.” Damn straight. Mom asked me what was going on –
    I said I proposed to Ryder and he turned me down. She was
    squeaking on the other end of the phone like a gerbil but I couldn’t help it. It’s almost true – I didn’t take her advice but showed him my true self! Too bad!

    Reading Forster’s Longest Journey. Still feeling another story
    trying to get through. Pretty sick of the glory that wasn’t Greece.
    Everyone in book sanctimonious prig.


    12:30PM
    Forster so foul I reread this diary. Deeply shaming.
    Maybe Forster is right: whatever you do, don’t write about what is actually going on – nobody may ever recover.


    Opal took me out to lunch at Apple Tree – painless. Crab
    quiche and 2 Brandy Alexanders. An elegant poem unspools in my head about the difference between hummingbirds and hawks.


    Will I go round in circles? Or will I fly high like a bird up in the sky?

    Like me the hummingbird
    Transcribes inner space
    Half wingtip pinwheel
    Leaving outer reaches
    To the ragged hawk that flies alone
    The hawk is:
    I am what shall be

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    11:45 AM  Sun 1 May 77

                                Keith softened me up by calling to ask if I’d been in 

    his office. He smelled my perfume. (I hadn’t.) Agreed to go out with him 

    Sat night.  Just awful.  Awful. Keep wishing he was literally ANYONE 

    else. Dating someone who doesn’t interest you sexually is like trying 

    to diet by ordering food you dislike. (I actually tried this. Ordered tripe.) 

    Howlably  stupid. Yet no one to howl to.

                                R. says he’d “hate” to think I “needed” him and didn’t 

    call. Am I the stupid one here? I think so. Sucker for punishment. Upstairs, 

    Downstairs cheers me up a little. Considering renting little house in the 

    wilds of Virginia. Or garden apt. utilities included. Dogs would like it – 

    close to clubs. Read Eliz Savage’s Good Confession – very minor. 

    Cleaning. Laundry, dishes, garbage.

                           Thinking about Sylvia Plath and the problem of panic 

    attacks. It’s all about learning to steer into the skid.

                        Wed May 4 – 77

                           Made illegal copies of novel at work, drove to Plush 

    Palace in Virginia to audition. (10 Mins down Rt 1 from Woodrow 

    Wilson bridge. 1 HR commute). VA pays better, mandates pasties 

    & stockings, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms (I’m not kidding) 

    makes sure you don’t sit with or talk to clientele. Amen! I was hired 

    immediately $90 day plus tips.  So pleased.  Got a car appt Fri 13th

    so El Diablo won’t die on Beltway. Working Thurs, Fr. Sat and there’s 

    no holdback, they pay you immediately.  Buy G-strings & pasties

    Landover mall. 

                           Avril says R “betrayed” me.  But do you “betray” someone 

    by having a weak character? He can’t help it. A says he’s behaved 

    so badly there’s no hope for him.   I think he can’t make up his mind – 

    he wants me only if I don’t want him.  Plus if he finds out I’m dancing 

    again he’ll want to “convert” me.  (He’ll think I’m doing it just to torture

     him. I don’t plan to tell.) Gave A a copy of my novel to read – feeling 

    insane – got to get reaction from SOMEBODY. Broadcast asks me to 

    stay “on call” so Mr. Pierce has forgiven me or is desperate. 

                       Plush Palace – 9 PM Fri 6 May 77

                       Very nice dressing room. Girl I’m dancing with (Darla) is just 

    awful. Find the comparison very cheering. A gobbled my novel up, says

     it’s “deep” but “obsessive”;  made me feel on right track.  How much can 

    I torture my audience? I‘ve GOT to stop blubbering and start fantasizing. 

    Who CARES about the pathos of my existence? Make something up.

                       Sat. 7 May 77

                     House is mine! Everyone moved out.  (A’s & Mason’s new 

    place just what they wanted – skyscraper urban nightmare.) Listening 

    to opera, reading NY Times, feeling like a Big Success. Dog across 

    my chest in blissful rapture. ($100 in tips last night!!!) R called to say

     I “always have a place with him” and He “has never taken my heart 

    ring off”. Is he nuts or am I?             

                     Realize for the first time he says things he KNOWS aren’t 

    true just to hear himself say them!!  Just like the Victorians – 

    mouthing something is halfway there!  Because you’re making an 

    effort! You could not imagine anyone more opposite from me. Hopeless, 

    hopeless, hopeless, as the rock musicians say. 

                       Reading Bottle Factory Outing – so wonderful. (But liked 

    The Secret Glass better.) Trying to numb weird longings to write ghost 

    stories by eating chicken potpie (regression). Wrote first draft of a short 

    story about a grandmother telling her shocked granddaughter about 

    “the time I almost committed suicide”. Very matter of fact.  Feel I’m 

    recovering from “mono-soul-iosis” – not just R but my first marriage, 

    Devon and everyone between.   Shoulders asks to borrow lawnmower – 

    asked me if I want to watch him use it.  (He knows he’s pretty.)  I do. 

                       7:15 PM 8 May 1977

                       Feeling much better, like I’ve passed a turning point.  Wasn’t 

    sure how much I could trust myself in the past, but if I’ve come through 

    this, my core must be solid, instead of the jelly mass I fear. Sitting in my

     far-from-clean study beneath my poster of Blake’s God & the Angels

    enjoying an after dinner cup of coffee. Sanity returns. A. is coming tonight

     to get her flokati rugs – that will make the downstairs look empty.   Trying 

    to finish Household’s Courtesy of Death, so I can take all these silly books 

    to the library, dump them, and get a lifetime supply of Peter de Vries. The 

    only proven painkiller is laughter. My damn novel’s made a fool out of me.

     Time to admit it.

                       3:15 PM 9 May 77

                       Called into Broadcast to sub for Loretta.  Working on Devlyn

    galleys. The main scary thing about this place is that no one works 

    here willingly. “Morale” is a poisonous miasma.  Kind of like the 

    architects’ office.

                       Mom & Dad raise hell over A’s living with Mason.  I thought 

    they were so worked up about “commitment”!  Sharing an apt is a 

    commitment, isn’t it? Not according to them. Glad poor A is taking

     the storm for once and not me. Couldn’t cope with them on top of

    everything else. R. and I are trying to evolve into a “friendship”. It

      sounds stupid but there has to be some third place between 

    attraction and avoidance because each of those is obsession. 

    When I ran this idea past R he said I was his “best friend”.  This is 

    why he is so impossible to deal with.  Best friend? He wouldn’t 

    treat a pet the way he’s treated me (the SPCA would come and get him.) 

                       Speaking of Ryder, he just called. Finished my book, 

    found the Black Mass a little short otherwise liked it. Didn’t say a 

    word  about “who’s Hank based on.” Thank God. He did ask who 

    the baby’s father is – I said even Nilssa doesn’t know.  According 

    to R.  I have “no problems”. (He doesn’t know about the dancing.  If 

    he was REALLY my best friend I could tell him.) He says we have 

    the whole rest of our lives to talk.  He’s uncannily good at saying 

    what I want to hear (unfortunately).  Seeing him tonight.  Take the bus 

    home, buy wine, wash & set my hair.  If only we could get to the stage 

    where we no longer fear each other.

                       4:50 PM Tues 10 May 77

                       Well we’re not out of the woods yet but perhaps have 

    found a path.  Last night was like losing my virginity all over again 

    – we were both so shy. Slept wrapped up and embracing. Many 

    compliments on my body (no tell-tale glitter in the bed.)  He said he

     was so upset by me breaking up with him at McDonald’s he can’t 

    go to any McD’s anymore.  Pledges of love somewhat ruined by 

    an argument during breakfast about whether a novel can be “good”

     if no one will buy it. Uh oh. I tried keeping it philosophical, not 

    giving historical examples he wouldn’t recognize (which would be

     “one-upping”.) Finally stopped when he got a call from a “goofy 

    chick.” Should I be worried, I ask, and he says no. But I can’t avoid 

    the sinking feeling that I don’t dare hitch my wagon to anyone 

    so dependent on mass psychology – even as a friend – without losing my way

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

             Fri. 25 Feb 77

                       I fuss, I fume. I shriek and scream.  I circle my 

    desk warily. Cannot get into this awful novel. Stare hard at

     the clutching sisters in the Victorian photo for inspiration.

     None comes. Instead slapped together a first poetry collection

     – In the Vein.

                       5:20 PM Sun 27 Feb 77

                       Ryder will be here any minute. Driving straight 

    through from Pittsburgh because he “misses me so much.”  

    Flank steak marinating, turnips, parsnips & parsley, tomatoes

     & sour cream – everything ready but wine.  Too lazy to drive 

    to the Tick Tock. Day of ecstasy sorting books in new study.

     Sections are: crime writing, Victorians, Great Novels, the Occult, 

    Women Writers, Cinema, Politics, Science, Children, History &

     Murder Mysteries. (Move those downstairs.) Hating Orlando. 

    Why did Bowen write Afterword if she didn’t like the book?

                       Mon 28 Feb 77 – Broadcast Agency

                       Bad sex. Sore.  Feel like I’ve been run over. Something’s 

    up with him.  Mauled me again in the middle of the night. Guilt? 

    Surprise visit from landlord – heard about “violations” from 

    Montgomery County. Ha ha. Obviously only two people living here – 

    (nothing visible of Mason’s.) Landlord calmed.  Says he wants to 

    sell the place. Would we allow to be shown? I said sure. Everybody happy. Sorry to lose such a beautiful house but it is too expensive for one person anyway.

                       Thurs. 3 Mar 77

                       Long talk with Avril about Mason. He is a racist. 

    She says how is it possible to feel superior to and inferior to someone at the same time? Human condition, I say. Spring wind makes me long to shed my clothes! Poor Ryder! It’ll be halter tops and hot pants the minute temp hits 65. Finally got a V. Woolf poem –

    VIRGINIA WOOLF:

    The Membraned Sieve

    O bliss to be red admiral afeast

    Upon a rotten apple in the grass; she dreamed that guiltily

    Woke to Leonard bringing milk

    Nessa dancing bear-like on the lawn, woke

    To pain; cylindrical as seasons

    Burning white and burning blue like friends.

    The words fell fast, the blood fell faster;

    Split the membraned sieve.

    She raced the whitecaps out to sea

    Parting the waves with her mother’s hand.

           Keith and I still talk but he has made no moves. Relief.

          Mon 7 Mar 77

          Ryder says he talks so much about me associate director 

    Kerry’s asked to meet me. (He told Kerry he doesn’t deserve 

    me.  It’s the truth!)  I said he can’t come to our party at 

    The Plum – we have no room.  

              Sex too rough. Experimenting or letting his anger 

    out? Maybe I’ve stopped lubricating – my body’s ready

     to quit even if I’m not. Wants me to wake up and smell 

    the coffee. Lunch w/Maeve at Carmac’s, me splendid in

    orange leather suit, boots, bracelets. Bloody Marys. 

    I gave her phone bill – also letter from collection agency 

    about plane bill she said  boyfriend paid for. He’s obviously 

    running a scam on her.  She says she found a Bethesda 

    efficiency $180/month. Had to rush to get back to work – 

    then saw List of Adrian Messenger with A. Made up writing 

    schedule for Secaire. But the minute I start I get idea for 

    another work – story about father/ daughter/ stepmother war– 

    A Demon Roused. Who’s the demon? Reading The Ring,

     the Book & The Poet.

    11 Mar 77

              Sent home 3:30 because B’Nai B’rith under siege 

    by terrorists (3 blocks away). Police will tell us when to 

    come back. Real estate agent leads inspector thru house.  

    Bad letter from my agent telling me not to try to sell “old” stuff, 

    write in “new” vein – but she means “like Devlyn”.  No more 

    historicals for me!!!! Got to get out of this stalemated “love”

     relationship – when I tax R with things he’s said, he 

    claims he “doesn’t remember” so we never advance 

    and I feel diminished. Had to tell him sex is over – I can 

    see he doesn’t believe me.  Must ask for his key back, 

    that should do it. Dragged Avril protesting to Freaky Friday – 

    it was worth it. Barbara Harris Chaplinesque. Told Broadcast 

    I will work only one full day per week – must go back to dancing. 

            Read Ellen Glasgow’s The Woman Within. Trying to 

    rewrite Secaire in third person. Unsuccessful. Dreaming 

    about houses with deep, cool porches but tax people 

    giving me only $112. Avril crying over Mason’s “hideous brutality” 

    but she won’t break up with him. Ugh. (Feel my relationship mirrored.)

    13 Mar 77

            Made love with R for what I hope was last time 

    (he brought lubricant.) His body no longer a key to mine.  

    Think I’m started on Secaire Final Draft. God I hope so.  

    R will sulk for a while, then we’ll “talk”.  Prayed for the first 

    time, to the “life source”. Pray away panic and disorder, 

    pray for clarity, purity, calm. Beautiful long walk. Heat like July. 

     Storm burst 4:30.  Coffee, orange slices, do my nails. Re-

    read Great Gatsby, pitying Fitzgerald the while. Someone 

    should write this novel from Daisy’s point of view.  Exciting 

    way to get back into Courtney – but I don’t want to put it in the ‘20’s. 

         Told R I’m dating so had to invite Keith to All Night Strut – 

    he was pleased. Says he’s not hung up on men paying for everything.

    17 Mar 77

         Thank God for dancing. a fe moments of complete bliss each evening.

    Everyone fussing about Scenes from a Marriage.  It is excellent. 

    Reading good bio Dorothy Thompson.  Novel going swimmingly – 

    suddenly feel fearless. Sex scene perfect. Why elaborate? 

    Why elucidate? Need to be out of this house June 1 – can do,

     but should I return to dancing or take summer off? Undecided. 

    Mon. 21 Mar 77

                       Wish I hadn’t called Ryder but I did. He was very injured 

    by my sex comments.  I said I was very injured by the sex. (He says he fears me.) Goddamit feel like turning in my phone if this is how

     I am going to behave. Watched Upstairs Downstairs, Monty Python.  

    Felt better. All Night Strut amusing – Keith invited me to Voyage of the Damned. (He pronounces it Dam – NED. In a class by himself after all?) 

    Unfortunately not feeling the chemistry.  Trying to take what pleasure I can in high heels and see through blouses. Could we just date? Secaire solid, beautiful, disturbing. Avril says its very exciting. Found a shack in Virginia for $200/month.  But maybe I have to flee this state to eradicate R from my soul. 

                       23 Mar 77

                       Voyage classically awful. Majestically, stupendously awful.  

    Bad date. I talked too much. Goddamit dating’s awful.  Like those endless “teas” we suffered through in Girl Scouts.  Sex is less work (not that I indulged. He has a repellently gooey corpus.)  He took me to Alfio’s for dinner!  Scene of R’s & my first date!  Couldn’t resist telling him I used to dance at Shalimar next door. Keith invited me to his house in Potomac.  I said nix. Dumped on doorstep with closed mouth kiss. 

    Shudders of relief. Walked in on Mason in a rage over my “betrayal” of Ryder!! I said he’s dating other people. Mason said but he loves you! 

     I didn’t say his love is a septic condition. (Because Mason’s love is also a septic condition. Poor Avril.) Happily to bed with Becker’s Escape from Evil.

                       2 April 77

                       Crisis at work sending my first cablegram to France – Keith showed up looking extremely handsome.  Terrible suspicions novel is bad.

     Off to splendiferous bash – literary party.  Met Chuck Kornowitz, 

    editor from Athenaeum.  Acted interested in my work – where can we have dinner? Took him to the Serbian Crown.  He is NOT interested in my work he is interested in me. Damn. Told me the most erotic encounter he has ever had was with a stranger in an elevator!  Feels sex with complete strangers has not yet been fully explored!!! Not by me that’s for sure.

                       He drove me home, insisted on walking dogs with me, holding my hand! Weird but I don’t want to turn him off entirely. (He’s old and ugly – looks like a Gila monster.) Fighting the impulse to call R and yell at him.  Boy am I sick. Poor Keith does not know I need him for a rabies shot. Against hair of the dog?

                      Fri. 8 Apr 77

                       Agency offers me over-time while files are reorganized.  More cash. We celebrate Avril‘s new job as fake nurse at urology office.  She hasto buy a nursing uniform so patients won’t know. (Doctor not willing to pay over minimum wage.)  Still, it looks classy. Went to Black Tahiti where I had sweet & sour shrimp. Turns out I need to stay away from booze because called You Know Who came right over and we indulged in mad passionate sex all night long. R was delicate and gentle – brought me to the edge several times before finally pushing me off cliff.  Showoff. 

                       Talked about me like he’d read my work. (Praising it. 

    Thought I’d be pleased.) Then told me he’d “busy” this weekend. 

    Steeerike three!  Tragically I need a guardian, conservator AND a 

    bodyguard.  (Keith doesn’t have the build.)

                       Chloe apologized for bad writing workshop with dinner 

    after at Armand’s.  My advice to writers – learn what kind of writer 

    you need to be and get on with it. Found myself getting defensive about Devlyn – if I don’t want to write “that way” again it must mean there was “something wrong” with it!!!  Bad advice from Ted Hughes :

     “When you find yourself using someone else’s voice, stop at once.” 

    Nothing ventured nothing gained under that theory.  This is not making me eager to hit the “literary events” as Chloe advised. The “noise” interferes with my working mind.  

                       Hostile questioning from Mom and Dad who don’t know 

    why I don’t move closer to Devon!!!  They say “playing the field” is

    cheapening my brand. Reading Mrs. Starr Lives Alone.

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    6:30 PM 9 Aug 76 – Shalimar

                     Writing carefully so as not to mess up my fresh 

    polish.  Got here early – Fessenden bus much better.  Rick 

    Marl in tonight talking about R’s divorce.  Said I should hear 

    his wife’s side of the story. (He’s met her.) I don’t want to hear 

    his wife’s side of the story – what would I do if I did know it. 

                    Sounds like they should get a divorce – she’s not resisting so 

    obviously she had as many problems with him as he had with her. 

    The fact that he spent so much time here is bad news for any marriage.

                     I was very impressed by his job – a TV news director 

    is a king – he sits in a the control booth with all the camera angles 

    in front of him and tells everyone what to do. I said nothing, but I 

    enjoyed the way they looked at me – very admiringly – where did 

    SHE come from. Little do they know – R won’t tell them. If they 

    dine at the Shalimar, they’ll find out. Fortunately, they’re all good 

    family men – eat lunch out of a cooler then rush home to fix the 

    automatic garage door opener and read a bedtime story to the 

    little ones. 

                     Reading Mortal Wounds and loving it. Fun to compare

     the George Sand period to the Notorious Woman TV series last year. 

    Went on a picnic with R. then saw Robert Shaw in Swashbuckler.

    Ghastly flick. I wasn’t too rude because R liked it. Told him he should 

    have seen Anne of the Thousand Days.

            Sent out 12 poems. But I’m trying to force myself to stop writing 

    poetry and concentrate on novel. There’s no financial point to poetry

     – Alas.

    11:35 am Thurs 12 Aug 76

                     I’d like to write but I must pack for the trip and it junks up my

     head. Mss, 2 ribbons (in case) correctype, The Romantic Egoists, 

    Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald’s Scrapbooks, and the wonderful 

    portrait by Julia Cameron of the two little girls clutching each other 

    which I see as the cover of my book. Sad to see the way Fitzgerald

     tried to force his wishes on the universe – force it to see things – 

    to be – his way.  No wonder he admired the rich – they’re the only 

    ones who sometimes – very infrequently –  get away with that. But 

    they are not enviable nevertheless – it’s always a naked emperor 

    situation.  Zelda’ s constant references to “not having a past” interest 

    me exceedingly – that way madness most definitely lies.  This is what 

    happens to people who insist on “living in the present”; they become amnesiacs.  Idea for a poem.

    F. SCOTT FITZGERALD:

    “To the Spoils Belong the Victor”

    The butler’s name is Gin;

    He never gets the girl.

    The Heart’s Café is terraced –

    Cantilevered exits exalt

    No core. At the Pony Bar

    Payment is upfront;

    Robert Service and Booth Tarkington

    Left prints on ice;

    The service is bad but

    There’s a reason for everything.

    Back at the Alhambra someone who might be Ernest

    Puts the moves on someone

    Who looks like Zelda or possibly it was

    The other way around.

    They never get these stories straight.

    Here’s the one they played last year:

    Sole is déclassé but at least

    There’s always caviar.

    Look on, look down, look it up or read

    The menu.

    Floorshow Tonight: Van Wyck Brooks &

    Edmund Wilson Debate:

    Artist = Self-destructive Sport?

    Or Fad? Or Fate?

                      I guess I’ll need  clothes – so I must do laundry.  I also should 

    clean house for poor A – it’s only fair.  No writing; circumstances militate. 

                     R working very hard to get to the point where he can take a 

    vacation – he didn’t get in till 2:45 AM.

    Shalimar – 3:30 PM –13 Aug 76

                     Was sitting on a box of Lite Beer sipping coffee and 

    reading Miss Read when Carmen warned me that the boss 

    might fire me for reading. Apparently writing he doesn’t mind 

    so much, probably because he can’t imagine anyone keeping 

    it up longer than 10 mins at a time. R. will be here soon, then 

    we hit the bank, pick up my stuff and we’re on the road for the 

    Finger Lakes.  Five hours alone in the car.  I find I have a lot 

    of inhibitions against voicing boundaries in our relationship – 

    mainly because I don’t want to be lied to.  I want to find out 

    how things really are. For example, he spent last night in 

    Gaithersburg with his wife. Now her I’m jealous of, because

     he used to love her, used to think she was a “catch” and 

    was surprised and gratified that she “descended” into 

    marriage with him.  

                     I probably won’t ask him if they had sex because 

    it would be making too much of it. He’s said before he wouldn’t,

     and she definitely wouldn’t. But I can’t believe a woman who 

    knows she’s losing a man might not change in her feelings – 

    just to see what power she has left. I would, if he wanted the 

    divorce and I didn’t. Will I be able to tell just by looking at him? 

    R feels the right to be jealous and possessive over me, which

     I don’t grudge him since I’m naturally monogamous. He feels 

    no discomfort making rules for me. But he should.

    6:00 PM Saturday 14 Aug 76 Finger Lakes

                     Lying on the bed in our tiny TINY two room cabin – 

    with just a curtain separating the rooms – I was going to write 

    here about how much I love my job (I really miss dancing so 

    much when I’m away from it – the ideal thing would be three 

    sets a day for life) – when R came in, threw himself on me,

     tore my clothes off, began kissing my breasts and exploring 

    my tan lines and pressing his beautiful valued body hard hard

     hard into mine – and you know what happened next.  If he turns 

    the fan on high I don’t think the other campers can hear our little 

    yips and screams.  At least I hope not. We spent last night in his

     grandmother’s house in Binghamton, New York. 

                     She bedded us down in separate rooms – he gave me a

     long lecture about how you have to respect the house rules of 

    whoever you’re staying with – and then who do you think showed 

    up in the middle of the night saying he couldn’t sleep. It is ecstatic 

    to have sex almost without moving – this must be what Tantra is like. 

    We were directly over her and the bed creaked so we didn’t move a 

    muscle – absorbed and shed each other like snakes. Wonderful.

                     Next stop was R’s cousins who own the cabins. I don’t know 

    what to say about them – plastic flowers and Sonny James. My state 

    of deep shock probably resembled mental retardation. Some people’s 

    houses are frighteningly ugly. Their clock has eyes,  they keep the 

    plastic on the lampshades. I just sat there while the ethnic and sex 

    jokes filtered around me.  Who could blame R’s first wife for 

    shunning this bunch? 

                     I would not choose them for buddies either. And the fact

     that they are renting us a cabin doesn’t appear to mean we will 

    also get privacy – so I have taken to wearing my glasses. Number 

    one – I don’t see as well – number two – it creates a kind of screen 

    between me and them.

                     The Lake is beautiful – but I don’t need to go in more than 

    twice a day – I also don’t have the patience for the fish-a-thons that 

    absorb the rest of them, dawn till dusk. 

                     Plus one time waterskiing was plenty.  Since dinner is a 

    vast barbecue down at the beach every night and we only have 

    sandwiches for lunch and cereal for breakfast there is not that 

    much to do, thank God. Sadly the dinners are followed by 

    hours of dancing, drinking and fighting.  I go to bed early to read 

    but R stays and plays “peacemaker”. Tonight he says he’s going 

    to let them kill each other and join me. Therefore I can set up my 

    typewriter on the kitchen table and get right to it. People keep 

    coming to bring me coffee and cookies – I think they really 

    want to see a writer “in action” – at the end of this trip I MAY 

    be 20 lbs heavier. The rest of my time is spent sunning and reading.  

                     Unfortunately St. Secaire going VERY badly. Complete

     horseshit, alas.

             I’ve started it four separate times. I think at this point I just 

    have to keep going and hope it’s possible to clean up the mess later.

                       Tuesday 17 Aug 76 7:30 PM

                     Outside a fair number of people, all high as kites, 

    revving their engines and swearing they’re leaving and never 

    coming back. I don’t know if anybody’s actually going to GO 

    or not but I wish they would.  No wonder R had nothing to do 

    with these people for four years – he may conveniently blame 

    his wife but the truth is none of them can stand each other. 

    Pack of wolverines. I’ve been left totally alone and am well 

    out of it – they may have forgotten I am even here. Last night R 

    was so depressed he just lay on the bed exhausted by them. I 

    tried to explain to him about resentment and the resulting succubae 

    and incubi thus created. (Subject of my novel, in fact.) 

                     He said something about “our next 25 years” that just 

    floored me. Even my husband didn’t talk like that.  Remember 

    saying to my father – I would be fine if I could only find a man who

     treated me as well as I treated him. Dad – so ready to take 

    anybody’s part over mine,  said, Has it ever occurred to you at 

    you might be hard to live with?  Such a typical Daddy remark – 

    the more you think about it the worse it gets.  

                     Well, R treats me better than anyone else so far. 

    He’s almost talked me into looking for a new job when I get back – 

    and that’s a lot. But if he wants to introduce me around, can’t lie 

    about what I do, etc etc. (This group – doesn’t know about my job –

     he says they’d eat me – and him – alive. I can scarcely believe 

    they would take the moral high ground with me but I suppose 

    anything’s possible.) 

                  Tried to read a Redbook someone brought – 

    shouldn’t do it.  So depressing.  Could never write like that or 

    be like that. If that’s the standard this whole thing is hopeless. 

    Then I picked up a book by Grace Livingston Hill.  I’m going to 

    include her in my article on female pornographers.

                       R told me he had the impression that if I didn’t have my 

    novel to write I would probably go bananas. I said probably. I tried 

    to prepare him for the very different kind of vacation he’s going to 

    get in Maine – where people very deliberately leave each other alone.

     If somebody sets off down the beach and you wanted also to walk 

    on the beach – you’d turn and go the opposite way. R says in his 

    family that would be grounds for a six-year grudge punctuated by 

    sobbing, screaming and threats of suicide.

    12:10 am

                       Went night fishing with R because he wanted me to.

     Wrote a wonderful poem about Coleridge – just came to me in 

    one piece. Couldn’t really share with R – he doesn’t know who 

    Coleridge is. So I showed him – Haunted Wedding. 

    HAUNTED WEDDING

    The pregnant car disgorges

    Only us. It’s winter.

    Drunk as silver fish

    We beat our gills as light

    As hummingbirds.

    In an amethyst ring

    Of drypoint trees 

    The half-built house

    Gapes and swells

    Its timbers stink of sap.

    Windrill fields occlude

    Our crossing, so you carry me

    High above the thorny osiers.

    We sleep aloft for safety

    Locked and levitating

    In this space of air 

    One season only,

    Unseen by angry outriders;

    Bloodless in our wedding robes

    Like the doubled membranes

    Of the frozen flowers

                     This triggered a fight because he says it wasn’t written 

    for him.  (If he jealously searches my work for other lovers 

    madness is assured.)  He almost talked me into thinking it a 

    bad poem.

                       I feel my mother’s disapproving stare on all of this – “

    don’t ruin what you have by trying to get something else” – as 

    if showing R this poem would  be a deliberate way of hurting him 

    by making him feel inferior – part of her larger accusation that I 

    channel so much energy into writing I’m no good with people and 

    that’s why my relationships suffer.  All I can say is, thank God for 

    my diary.  

                       Writing now with my feet in R’s lap while he plays cards. 

    He strokes my toes from time to time, as if I were a cat. We came in

     from fishing and he just took my pants down – such earthy 

    sexuality has never existed for him. He told me he’s never 

    been so happy.  And as for me? One side of my multi-prismed 

    personality is happy, but some of the other sides are complaining. 

    Difficult to contemplate an existence where I am not mentally alone 

    six hours a day. 

                       One of the reasons I like my job is that it leaves that part 

    of me remarkably intact – dancing is a lot like sleepwalking. If I get 

    another job there’s a strong chance I’ll have to interact with humans. 

    Hell. And we both know how humans can be. Then I might be too 

    exhausted emotionally and battered psychologically to have the 

    energy to write – it’s a serious risk.  Those architects ran roughshod 

    over me. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – The Dance Diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Fri. 16 April 1976 – 2 PM – Train to Philly – a zombified
    redhead in suede coat, oversized purse & glasses.
    Lacking mirrors, we lose our faces. Got to get my emotional
    house in order but I can’t think how. I used to have a
    roadmap and none of this was on it. What am I? An idiot?
    No. Just an addict of spiritually orgasmic livnig. Still, all is
    grist for the art mill.


    Reading The Fortunate Miss East, a charming,
    charming little novel. Aunt Fred picking me up – I’m scheduled
    to read my poetry at Baldwin School.

        Zevin Towers – Wash DC 9:30 AM Wed 21 Apr 76
    Baby sis Avril and I are totally broke. We are eating

    our way thru Mom & Dad’s supplies. The grapenuts went first
    then the soup. Now we are on sauerkraut and spinach.
    Playing Fleetwood Mac & Jimmy Spheeris while sitting on
    the balcony looking over Rock Creek Park. You don’t see one
    building; Washington DC masquerades as a virgin world. I
    need a job by next Mon. Something tells me I can’t finish my
    novel and sell it in time. I refuse to be a cubicle drudge again
    so what is there? Nude modeling sounds dangerous. Topless
    dancing?

    Avril admits she sits on a park bench instead of going
    to class as she told Mom! Uh oh. She says she just can’t “make
    herself” do things. What a relief to have someone worse off
    than me.


    How I wish I could fall in love with Marc Kramer. He’s longing to buy jewelry for someone! I could sell that rather than the contents of this old folks’ apartment. But he’s too sane if anything andwears funny old man lace-up shoes.

    Plus he’s covered in a thick mat of dark fur. And there’s his endless talk about shorts,hedges, futures. PARALYZINGLY DULL. Raining outside.


    Isn’t life rotten?

        10:50 AM Sun 2 May 76
    Answered an ad for “go-go girl”.  You wear fringed

    bikinis and go-go boots and dance for the troops! No
    more than 2 gigs a day (gotta drive there) and
    each one only lasts an hour so $60 seems very generous.


    She asked for my “experience” – I said I used to be a Maxim’s
    dancer! (I didn’t say it was for the nuns’ THEATRE
    SCHOOL in Minnesota!)


    DeeDee is giving me my schedule tomorrow.


    Tips are welcome because I don’t get paid till the 15th. Have
    to clean this apt and I don’t want to at all. Dad says apt
    lease up in two months so I’ll have to find somewhere else
    to live (Mom refuses to live here because 16th floor.) Dad
    says men are put off by us because Avril and I are too
    “masculine” by which he means determined, decisive and
    pleasure seeking. (A. very disappointed because she’s had
    two dates with Paul and no sex yet.) Reading
    Spink’s Hans Christian Andersen and his World – what
    a painful ugly duckling story!

        Tues. 4 May 76 9:45 pm
    Totally exhausted. Had to dance 2 hrs at Andrews

    AFB because my partner didn’t show up (but it’s double the
    money.) Jefferson Starship’s Miracles my favorite song to
    dance to. Soldiers always want to play I’m A Man and
    that’s no fun. Of course I have seen Spencer Davis’ dark side up
    close while I was trailing around dragging an echo-plex after
    rockstar husband Bruce. Would be reading The Place at
    Whitton     by Thos Keneally if I could keep my eyes open.

        11:20 AM Sat 8 May 76
    No word from Beautiful Faraway Perfect Man

    Devon about whether he will ever visit, but speaking of
    attractive young men I had a “conversion experience” at
    the Ft. Myers’ officers club yesterday. I was registering
    at the front desk when this young man with dark curly
    hair and the face of an angel asked me who I was and
    what I was up to. I was wearing my go-go outfit plus
    military-style jacket so I did stand out. He wore a sweatband
    around his head and was all set for running but his plans
    changed in a flash. He would rather watch me dance instead.


    His name is Frank and something Italian. Took me down to
    the dark Hideaway Club and watched me the whole time –
    playing and replaying the Pointer Sisters’ Chick on the Side.
    I gave him my number and he gave me a $20 tip. Does he
    represent a break from lonely masturbation? At this stage
    of my relationship with Devon I can hardly be unfaithful.
    We shall see.


    Marc Kramer called offering to fly me to the island
    and back for Memorial Day weekend. I have $266 in the bank.
    Should I take him up on it? Just doesn’t feel right.
    Wouldn’t be able to get rid of him when I wanted to.
    I hate feeling “beholden.” Reading Norah Lofts’ Hauntings
    to help me with my ghost stories.

        2:15 PM – Sun 9 May 76
    Lying in bed surrounded by Sun papers. Have decided

    to get tix for me and Avril to Royal Danish Ballet’s Triumph of Death,


    Royal Ballet’s Romeo and Juliet and All’s Well That Ends Well
    at the Folger Shakespeare Library. So glorious having money.

        Tues. 2:30 pm 18 May 76
    Guy came forward at the Army Navy Yard, offered

    me his card and said I could make a whole lot more money
    dancing at his club. I have to admit this rushing around in a
    car is getting old – our Gremlin AKA the “el Diablo” is acting up. ThinkI will go to his club, talk to the other dancers and see what
    the scoop is. It is “topless”, but so what if you aren’t supposed
    to (or expected to) “fraternize’ with the audience. There is a stage.


    Went to look at a townhouse off Dupont Circle –
    2 bedroom, $435 a month but no place for dogs. Can’t live without my dogs forever.

    Jeannie and I perform at a private party in
    Annandale. I am nervous but she is completely cool and they
    are content to look. Avril has a new man – Jack.

        Wed 26 May 1976 – The Parkway East
    Waiting my turn to go on. Thought I was going to have

    dance alone but thank God Darby finally showed up – fucked up,
    but she can dance. (Her boyfriend brought her.) Phoned Devon –
    boy that was stupid – to see if he wanted to go to the island for
    Mem Day Weekend. He is playing in a tennis tournament and not
    “available”. Every time I reach out to him I feel like a sap.
    Never know whether his mysterious “tides” are “in” or “out”.
    He did his best to sound warm and affectionate but he is obviously very stressed – he was actually panting! Now he’ll have to meditate for a week. Must let this man go.

    When I wail about him, Avril
    makes me laugh by saying, “He’s GAY! He just won’t admit it!”
    But I have to say in the sack he didn’t seem gay to me.
    Genevieve invites us to NYC for Mem Day weekend.
    She has filed for divorce and fallen in love with someone else.
    Ex Kent doesn’t know but she warns us he is calling everyone in
    the family begging us to intervene.

        2 PM – 9 June 76
    Sun night I invited Frank and his roommate to dinner.

    Horrible. They were 45 mins late and my blintzes were ruined.
    Avril & roommate took against each other immediately. They
    brought Thai sticks, we refused to smoke. On an up note I
    took a cab to the Club Shalimar (Gremlin in shop) and the taxi
    driver was so excited about having a poet in his car he didn’t
    charge me. Said he had never met a poet before. (Gave him
    a poem on the spot.) Shalimar seems possible – other dancers
    like it but constant turnover; no one has been there long.
    Bouncer very nice, and I can take a bus there so A. can have car.
    Tempted to risk it.


    11:05 PM – waiting for Jeannie in the empty Bethesda
    Naval Officers Club. She is giving me a ride home. She is an
    interesting person – has done a lot of nude modeling – showed
    me her portfolio. Very Playboy. Officers keep marching through
    in their whites. They are very polite.

        Fri. 11 June 76 8:15 PM - 
    Things could hardly be worse.  Got my hair cut the

    other day – I only wanted a trim – he absolutely butchered me.
    It is barely shoulder length and it looks like a cow slept in it.
    I hate all hairdressers, gynecologists and dentists – you’re just
    completely helpless in their hands. Plus I got another piercing
    in each ear and the left one seems infected. Now my face looks
    crooked. Also having my period so I am swollen up like I’m
    pregnant. Avril has a college friend (male) coming for the
    weekend and she is beating herself up – “Why did I say yes?”
    She would call and cancel if only he had a phone.


    On the plus side, tips at the Shalimar are really
    good and the dancing is as energetic as you feel like –
    which means standing there swaying is Just Fine. You
    can rock yourself to sleep if you want to. Of course my
    ego won’t allow too much relaxation.


    Piece of good news – agent loves my gothic novel!
    Reading The Royal Victorians. Gremlin seems stabilized
    so Avril applied for a job as a driver with a messenger service.

        Fri. 18 June 76 ll:00 Am
    A’s friend a complete bozo.  Fortunately he has other

    places to be so we hardly see him. Huge sigh of relief and
    lesson learned. Let’s just hope he doesn’t steal the silver.
    DeeDee and I come to a Sad Parting of the Ways – her
    money too small, gas costs, etc.


    A and I got a wonderful 3 bedroom in Chevy Chase
    on a charming little side street but the landlord very snooty
    about only 2 tenants. We said OK, OK. Big yard. I can
    have my dogs! Moving in July 5. Struggling with Christina
    Stead’s Puzzleheaded Girl. She is overrated. Maybe I can’t
    read fiction any more.

        Fri 25 June 76 – Club Shalimar 
    Eating free scrambled eggs the cook gave me:

    “Somebody’s got to eat them” while waiting to go on. A lot
    of interesting men come into this place. None perfect obviously
    – and unfortunately I need more than perfection. I need
    mysticism, competence and money-earning capabilities. Shalimar owner seems to be something of a gangster.


    I got 2 standing ovations today.


    The job is actually enjoyable. I am really getting
    into it – dancing for pleasure – for the connection with
    the audience. They stare spellbound like deer in the
    headlights. Feel like I’m living in a Simenon novel as
    I learn the ins and outs.


    Avril loves her new job – thank God – they
    want her to do dispatch (no wear and tear on fragile Gremlin)
    and the drivers are all foreigners who don’t know the city.
    She’s always yelling at them to “Look out the car window
    and tell me what you see.”


    Met the most charming little man – a TV director
    at a local station – speaks sign language, is a magician
    and a karate black belt, he’s just so full of joie de vivre.
    His name is Ryder and his excitement about me puts
    my non-relationship with Devon in a new light. Reading
    Meyer’s Ibsen.

        1:15 AM – Sat 3 July 76
    We’re supposed to “wait” in the dressing room

    but they don’t seem to care if you don’t so I spend all my
    time talking to Ryder. He says he’s just separating from
    his wife and it’s extremely traumatic. They have been
    together since high school. He’s a tad hyper – always on
    the go, but very entertaining. He usually brings me gifts –
    flowers, magazines, stuffed toys and cards. Also he’s a
    diver and underwater photog. Today he brought pink roses.


    Avril warns me not to fall in love. Just date.
    Easy to say! I want security, privacy, ecstasy, exclusivity…
    and love. It’s a problem!


    The oilman came to the house today says he’s
    shocked we have no credit references and will have to pay
    COD! Fortunately, I had just got off work and I had the cash
    on me but I don’t like it at all. Guess we won’t need
    much oil till winter. Let’s hope.


    Ryder gave me a long spiel about how he
    gave another dancer a ride home (Darlene) and she
    expected him to go to bed with her and he said, I don’t do
    that. I could tell he was sounding me out! I said,
    I don’t either! No sex, ever! Sex, bad. He laughed till
    it hurt and he begged for mercy.

    Poor Avril had a long hard
    day – 7:30 AM to 6:30! I promised to take her out to eat at
    Steak & Egg if she picks me up. She said make it Bob’s
    and it’s a deal.

    Sat 10 July 76 – 9 pm – Shalimar
    7 hours packing at Zevin Towers before I showed up here.

    10:30 AM Tues 6 July 76
    Sitting on a mattress on the floor of my Tyler St

    bedroom surrounded by a jumble of stuff. So exciting
    starting a New Life. This time I am waiting for the gasman
    – if he doesn’t come by 1 pm I have to leave.


    9:25 PM – sitting in the Shalimar dressing room
    eating a plum. Last night A and I saw Antonioni’s The
    Passenger.     Goes down with La Prisonniere, Persona,
    Pierrot Le Fou     and Weekend as one of my favorite all-time
    films. So perfectly constructed it was like a series of Canalettos.
    Ryder just asked me if I wanted to go to dinner some-
    time. I said sure. He asked me about a lot of Italian food I
    didn’t recognize – I said I like everything. Covered with sweat
    from dancing to ”No one knows what its like to be the bad man…”
    have to take it really slow, freezing in a series of poses. Then
    suddenly I meet someone’s eyes and he drops his drink.

    I hate packing. Getting to
    be a bit of a trial having Ryder in the bar all the time. His
    expressions embarrass me to dance around him. I said I
    thought this place was full of stories. He said, don’t stay
    here just to pick up stories. He said he would “subsidize”
    me to keep me from “doing this.” Hmmmm. Right after
    talking about how little money he’ll have when he splits
    with his wife!


    He’s been offered a job in Detroit for a lot more
    money – that’s how they get ahead in his business –
    jump from station to station. I told him he should take it –
    turned out that was the “wrong thing” because he hoped
    I’d want him here. But I told him, I’m a citizen of the world.
    I can go anywhere. Fear only empty experiences. So he says,
    why are you doing this? I said, to meet you.
    Otherwise he is perfect. So charming, smart and
    funny, with so much ambition, spirituality and humility.


    4 sets left – then 2 days off. Just bought 3 costumes from
    Sunny for $30. Feeling personally confident in a way I
    haven’t for years. R invites me out to dinner next week.
    Have to buy special shoes so I won’t be too tall and tower
    over him. Today marks year and a half since my separation from Bruce.

  • The Demon Lover – a play for two voices by Alysse Aallyn

    VOLCADA – CAPSIZED

    EVA
    Allen’s buried.
    Without husband, I re-experience my youth.
    Oh, the bafflement of the young!
    I broke off my first
    Engagement because I loved too much
    And cast about for a spouse I could
    Control. I believe you did that, too.

    EVAN
    I experienced our parting as unbearable.
    I had to run away –
    Your rush of talk was like someone bursting into tears.
    I felt like an executioner robbing you of sleep.
    Without you
    My nose began to bleed and
    It’s been bleeding ever since.
    We must love each other less to become more tranquil.

    EVA
    I am a witch and you should fear me.
    I glow with contempt and boredom and fury.
    I don’t understand why
    I can’t experience life by your side.
    We share the same senses,
    The same vein of joy.
    Our life together is timeless, continuous.

    EVAN
    Your letter fraught with dynamite.
    I can never be alone, it is me and the gin bottle.
    I am home nowhere now – except with you.

    EVA
    Please don’t get yourself into a state –
    But Edgar has proposed, forcing me to face the fact
    That I literally cannot live without you.

    EVAN
    I dread you will succumb to Edgar.
    You called him “sweet” and “cozy” and “brilliantly entertaining”
    And I am none of those things. Did you bewitch him?
    I ask in my persecuted voice.
    It would be your ultimate justice, sending me to hell.
    We lose each other by inches.
    Aren’t we doing that already?

    EVA
    I can’t show Edgar the brutal candor
    Behind my loving kindness.
    He mistakes the hostess for a person.
    I arrange my flowers in symbols of you
    And everyone’s too stupid to notice.
    To bed alone again tonight.
    I wish Elayna would die.
    Then we should be equals.

    EVAN
    I must refuse your guilt.
    I feel a shift in the angle of vision
    Further from you than ever.
    A foreboding so final it seemed the end.
    Your pleading for our life dissolves my will.

    EVA
    I am gnawed by an aching hopeless wish.
    Loneliness leads to breakdown,
    Becomes dementia. I batter
    Around the rooms of this castle,
    Brightly-plumaged,
    Knocking into furniture,
    A tragic bird who’s trapped indoors.
    Even dizzy with drink I maintain the frigidity
    Of an Edwardian hostess
    Intolerant of scenes at meals.
    Without you life’s a half-lit room.

    EVAN
    I’ve become a character in your melodrama
    An absurd scalawag of romantic vice.
    Let’s reject this
    Hopeless dilemma.

    EVA
    What could be more beautiful than our ten days in New York,
    Among perverted architecture.
    No loss of illusion there, rather an increase.
    I’m in the midst of a dreary financial crisis,
    Having breakdown on my feet.
    I hope I don’t sound too shocked and sad.
    You are life to me as nothing is.
    My fingers still tremble,
    Touching you after 17 years.

    EVAN
    This is the Eva I first met, first knew, first loved.
    We waited it out and didn’t lose each other.
    I was sane or mad to doubt you & myself.
    We are like two people sweating blood
    I dread losing you
    But Elayna’s power still holds me.
    One of you may do me harm.

    EVA
    Thanks for the cash,
    I hope it doesn’t embarrass you too much.
    You are a reviver and a balm.
    We shall be in Paris together before we die.

    EVAN
    If you want me to be unselfish, let me be unselfish.
    You are my greatest friend. I’m
    Trying to keep off the drink while you’re here,
    Otherwise I know I’ll wreck everything.
    Three manhattans makes me crazy.
    Your feverish cheer does not seem solid.
    Is this the wreckage of our love?
    Once frightened of your clinical eye
    Now I’m more frightened of my own.
    I’ve matriculated in
    Your fearful university.

    EVA
    We sheer away in horror
    Scenting fumes of evil
    As we lose control.
    Defeat and exhaustion, alarm and despondency.
    Demoralized and sad.
    Slam down the lid on pain and resentment:
    I have taken against your family.
    Let’s dance. To sit
    In silence denigrates our love.

    EVAN
    My heart aches for you.
    We talked for the first time in weeks
    About hurt and resentment.
    I could manage my life if it weren’t for you
    And you could manage yours if it weren’t for me.
    You infect me with your despair and I flee to my wife
    To release the pressure.
    Her quickening influence works my imagination.

    EVA
    I hate that you travel the world without me.
    You pervade that place as God pervades our hearts.
    I obsess that you’re in places where I’m not.
    I could not live without seeing you. Yet
    Our visit may turn sour.

    EVAN
    Everything except your beautiful self rusts
    Or dies or goes away.
    My love only seems dead;
    it’s alive underneath. If you die
    I shall never forgive you.

    We need ideas that are less about ourselves.

    EVA
    My rage is based on my assumption
    Of togetherness and my
    Secret fear you’re being got at when
    We could be so snug together.

    EVAN
    I hurt Elayna tonight
    But there’s no help for it.
    She cares for me and I only care for a life apart.
    A clean break, an amputation
    Makes me frantic and guilty.
    She says we have a happy marriage only because
    She willed it. This smell of death and decay
    Makes me long for sex.
    Could you help me find a girl – any girl you choose –
    Or will you call me a sex mad degenerate?
    Panic makes my hands shake.
    I thought of Elayna and I wept.

    EVA
    I received your sad, wild letter.
    I accept that you can’t free yourself.
    Do you accept it?
    I feel so very near you.
    I accept that you make sex
    Desperately with strangers –
    Do you accept it?
    Can anyone love such a cold-blooded person?

    EVAN
    How silly I am, I thought
    I reconciled to our ending,
    Expecting a collapse of tension & illusion.
    But it’s a prospect I just can’t face.

  • Sleeping Orchid – Creative Boot Camp for Sensitives & Empaths with Alysse Aallyn

    Miracles – Love

    If This Archetype Chooses You – You are surrounded by magical possibilities. Are you dreaming of eternal bliss? Floating in connectedness? In Love the boundaries of the other disappear, all is forgiveness. Merge fearlessly, knowing you will be able to get yourself back any time, soothed, improved, and healed.

    We Are Creatives for Love – Love is the spirit that animates the empty spaces between humans. Once charged, these spaces become a powerful force for growth and change – uncharged they are so much dead air. This is the space that creatives protect. Love is the longing to be truly alive and to share life with the Blissed, Blessed Others.

    Our Yearning Defines and Connects Us – As children we thought we knew about miracles but it seems we have forgotten. As creatives we fight for our ancestral memories of trust and closeness. How we long to be reminded of the ecstasy of selflessness, to re-experience the borderlessness between creatures that makes a dead universe come alive.

    Love Is Our Armor – It’s a spiral, our labyrinth, remember? We can’t go back, we can only go forward. We practice techniques and invent others as we design and redesign purposeful maps in a threatening and uncertain world. We have the collective confidence of all the brilliance of the creatives who came before us. Someone loved us once, eternalizing the golden moment, now we can re-create and perpetuate that magic by creating our own miracles.

    Creative Danger – Danger lies in narrowing, exclusionary definitions of what ‘can’t” happen, what “won’t” work. Creatives explode restrictions all the time. Love must ever open outwards. As soon as we turn Love into a zero-sum game with a shut-off valve focused on our own narrow gratification, Love dies.

    Creative Opportunity – Love Is always a Miracle – It can restore the dead to life. It can open minds, it can awaken hearts. The possibilities of a creative are endless because we have chosen, with our flexibility and our sympathetic understanding, to be endless. Close your eyes and assume yoga’s starfish pose. We are open to what the universe longs to teach and once we commit to pass it on, we form an unbreakable chain, free at last from the bonds and the limits of selfishness. Clasp the hand (or paw) that generously, trustingly takes hold of yours. Let’s venture forth together.

    Models & Mentors – ‘to love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides”
    – David Viscott

    “Miracles don’t happen to you, they happen through you.” – Mary Davis

    “Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get, only what you are expecting to give, which is everything” – Katherine Hepburn

    “Love gives you a piece of your soul you never knew was missing” – Torquato Tasso

    “You’ve got to see the miracle to be the miracle.” – Jandy Nelson

    “Love is the gift of oneself” – Jean Anouilh

    “I love you for who I am when I’m with you”
    – Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    #Haiku: Love Transfer

    The secret of breaking
    Any bad habit
    Is to love
    Something more