Alysse Aallyn

Category: #Gender

  • Inspired Pleasure – the Dance Diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    8PM Sat 6 Aug 77

                                Be careful what you want in case you get it. Devon and I are suddenly in the midst of a very satisfying love affair. He called 5:30 yesterday – wish it had been earlier because I was in a psychic tailspin.

     Immediately tidied the place up, anointed my body, put on my black silk jumpsuit exploding with roses (last worn on date with R.)  He came in wearing tight jeans and a linen safari jacket – we had a very silly time over wine.  Christ he can look beautiful when he wants to.  Out to a restaurant – I ordered a “flaming volcano” and they had it! More silliness. 

     D. said, “Going out with you is an experience.” He couldn’t compliment me enough on my general gorgeousness (heh heh heh.)

                                We saw The Deep which was just what we both wanted – titillating glossy glop. D. kept initiating PDA’s (which he never used to –

      Wow has this guy grown up! He used to act like the Amherst PDA Police were everywhere!  He suggested we go to bed! 

     No loitering on couch!  Sexually he has all the time in the world –

    he’s all out for my pleasure – his orgasm of no importance.  He’s particularly good with my ass and I LOVE that. (He treats every sphincter like

     another pair of lips – I’m in a threesome with myself!) I always felt like he was “holding back” – not any more.

                              Tendernesses and confidences growing. Nice to be loved!

    He goes on and on about the beauty & sensuality of my body; my sexuality

     “like a storm!” (Like dancing.)

    Sun 12:30 PM Deck 7 Aug 77

                              Sitting over coffee, grits (to which Mrs. McManus has now addicted me) and Dorothy Eden. (The Sleeping Bride – very good!)

    Praying like mad for writing money. 

    Lucky things worked out the way they did – keeps me from obsessing 

    over R.

                                Bike ride! It’s a form of prayer.

                     6Pm  Hammering away – great scene – getting the good stuff –

    – typewriter ribbon gave out! Come on! At 6 PM!! It’s like having your horse shot out from under you. I was going to spend the evening writing. 

    Goddamit.

                       Starting to worry about R coming back from the Finger Lakes – he

    knows where I am – would he show up here? Aack!  No!  Impossible.  

    He can’t be alone. Wouldn’t drive that distance without a captive ear.

                                Reading Jane Aiken’s study of Jane Austen. Don’t feel a moment’s anxiety about D. Miss dancing terribly.

                                Mon 8 Aug 77

                              3 PM On deck loving the rising wind, reading The Scalpel 

    of Scotland Yard (Spilsbury). A perfect day. Trapped here for a few hours till the man shows up to fix trash masher – but at least I got my “naked exercises” out of the way. Today’s a scorcher – using air-conditioning for the first time. Cheated on my diet – ate a whole can of tuna. 

    Packed in water, fortunately. Body screaming for peaches and 

    almonds. Gutted the Pevensey library. They are running out of 

    books for me.

                                12:45 PM Tues Aug 9 – 77

                              Coming out of my coma to write agent a note.  

    After 3 months of not being “pushy” surely SOMETHING should 

    be happening.  I decide I am suffering from a disease that should 

    be called “Dickensitis” marked by severe self consciousness and 

    complicated by “Plath syndrome” (brutal social induction flashbacks). 

     Freezes me in my path. 

                              Loving  Solzhenitsyn’s article on Shakespeare & Tolstoy.  

    But do I love Devon?  Before all of this I would have said yes, very 

    casually but sometimes the better you get to know someone the less 

    you can love them.  He was at pains to explain his theology – but it doesn’t seem to involve God – it’s all interpersonal relations – which I

     have to say I think is just weird!  He wants to be “of service” to people and he’s aware – but suspicious about – the “mysticism” athletes get into. 

    I hate to say this but it reminds me of my mother.  Any  “be wary of people who have an inner life and try your best to get rid of yours” philosophy 

    is a major turnoff for me.  When we talk about “self-perfection” and “self-cultivation” we are talking about VERY different things.

                               I casually told him the more I get to know him the lessI know him – and he was very pleased!  (Relieved.) He didn’t say why –

    but I know he doesn’t want to be “easy”.  I didn’t tell him he’s still held fast in Sleeping Beauty’s overgrown castle, in my opinion.  Don’t think 

    I can get him out of there. I always try to plan my strategy if he tried 

    taking the relationship up a notch. But he can’t suggest we live together while he’s a divinity student.  Think I can relax about it and just enjoy his magnificent body.

                                 Take, eat. Old wounds between us are entirely healed. 

    If D is stuck in SB’s castle, where is R?  He is unborn, a baby 

    dreaming in the womb. “When I grow up I’m going to have lots

    LOTS of girlfriends but they will all be PERFECTLY RESPECTABLE 

    and SEXUALLY DYNAMIC but only when I say so!” 

                              I regret most working so hard to make him “certain” of

     me, to make sure he knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling.  

    I put my cards not only face-up on the table, I handed them to the guy!  

    Not many people would be mature enough to handle that. Never

    discuss what I am feeling with D – haven’t mentioned R after our 

    preliminary intros “what have you been up to”.  I’m not sure he even knows how I make money in Washington.

                              8:45 AM Wed 10 Aug 77

                              Like the alcoholics say, one day at a time!  Exercises, 

    diet, sunbathe, bike ride, swim, etc. Doing a good job at that – horrible 

    job at writing – because I don’t hear from agent.  Confidence completely collapsed.  Sitting on the deck feeding Ms. McManus’ Caesar salad

     croutons to a squirrel.  He really likes them.  Reading Berckmann’s A Thing That Happens To You. Finished Thalberg’s bio – ho hum.  

    No swimming – maybe bike ride in the rain (just a misting). 

                              3:30 PM 11 Aug 77 – Thurs

                              Depressing letter from Chloe – she wants my help 

    with her MSS.  I agree with Henry James – all I can do is My Thing

     My Way. But I have to seem really approachable if I want radio

     work.  Conundrum. Catatonia.  Devon called.  Do I want to get laid? 

     I think so! Reading about grave robbers produces a poem;

    RESURRECTIONIST

    Unearth me, lover

    I’m a jewel now

    Melted

    In that crevice you once loved so

    Well; it’s an ingot now,

    a socket

    For our mingled liquid

    Essence

    Suck it up with

    Dust-lathered lips

    Strip

    The flesh as you once did

    The clothes; I’m burning

    Cinder-hot –

    Let me astound you with

    My time-perfected skill

                              Sat. 13 Aug 77

                              7 good pages writing, then bad letter from Ryder asking is our “living together” a ”condition” of “my return”?  Where the hell did he get that?  He just wants something to react against.  He can’t imagine a relationship that isn’t controlled by implied threats. He believes in

     working and suffering so much then – let him work and suffer. What would annoy him most?  If I don’t respond!  Ha ha! Let the panic begin! 

    Need to become more private – simply to protect myself.  For all I know he’s relishing the torture he goes through.

                              Devon and I had a glorious date – splendid dinner (steak!) 

    then made love all over the floor. He played with my body until he got it roaring and pulsating like an express train.  The way he handled me, 

    gripped me, held me, crushed me even – made me ask about his other girlfriends.  He said no, he never gets as much “touch” as he wants.  I said, 

    “Except with me”.  He said, “Except with you.” Over dinner he said 

    matter-of-factly that we are so alike loving me has always felt “narcissistic” to him.  I bet!  Happy, happy, happy… Picked up The Edwardians –

    I can’t get into it.  Keep seeing Devon’s body plying me, bending me…I know somewhere out there lies perfect happiness, waiting to astonish me. 

  • 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

                       Fri. 24 Sept 76

                       Checked my acct – $54!! Don’t know where it came from 

    but I will spend it.  Sent poems to Chloe Aparo, borrow bike from 

    Shoulders. Ryder wants to go horseback riding, we went to see 

    The Tenant instead. (Cheaper).  R managed to discuss it intelligently. 

    Trying to research the occult for Secaire.  Reading bad suspense 

    novel – Geoffrey Turtons Devil’s Churchyard. I liked all his other 

    books. Dump it for Aleister Crowley’s Diary of a Drug Fiend. $10 

    to live on for 2 weeks. Mom & Dad sent emergency check.

                       6:25 PM – Sun 3 Oct 76

                       Fabulous dinner party last night. Steak tartare, crab 

    and cheese casserole, lots of wine. R and I fall asleep in each 

    other’s arms.  We have more sex “broken up” than when we were 

    dating. Got offered $3.50 an hour for 4 hr a day legal secretary!!! 

    Out of their minds.  Trying to sell my wedding dress for $150 – 

    got one porno call.

                       Tues 5 Oct 76

                       4pm appt with Environmental Defense Fund. Howard 

    Nemerov such a relief after Auden.

                       Thurs 11:30 PM 7 Oct 76

                       Typical Tyler St evening. Lying in bed (alone) powdered 

    and polished from bath. Maeve and Avril out on dates. R is working,

     I’m reading Quest for Theseus. Got too depressed reading 

    Shirley Jackson. Her life solutions: food and cigarettes – plenty 

    of both.  Lost EDF job –  as soon as they turned me down I 

    decide I want it!  To WTTG to apply for “production asst” job – 

    200 people spilling into street!  Didn’t bother.  How write about 

    love if it’s impossible?

                       I owe Maeve money – she doesn’t like it and I don’t

     like it. Tension almost unbearable waiting for my check.

                       R offered jobs in Pittsburgh & Detroit. (He says he 

    doesn’t ever want to leave though it’s the only way to make more $$.)

                       12:55 PM Wed 13 1976 These are the times that try 

    women’s souls. Desperately accepted switchboard job at Broadcasters Agency because it looks easy and I can think my own thoughts.  

    Replacing a girl going on maternity leave so I’m not stuck if I don’t 

    like it. Agent sent check told me not to cash it for a week!!! Thinking 

    they’re all scam artists. Reading Diane Johnson’s brilliant Lesser

     Lives. Avril depressed over Mason. Maeve depressed over George.

     I am buying diet pills because of sedentary job.

                       Switchboard – Broadcast Agency 9:15 AM – Fr. 18 Feb 77

                       New notebooks such a thrill. Always a fresh start:  

    I could almost become anyone. Worked 3 full days this week – 

    more $$ in the coffers. Avril coming in to Broadcasters Agency 

    to apply for Zelma’s old job – $8500/yr for 7 hr day.  Hope she 

    gets it. Brought in The Voyage Out today – I WILL finish it –

     bring it to its knees. Perfect example of everything usually wrong 

    with first novels. Don’t like her novels as much as letters and diaries.  

    Talk about peering through a glass darkly. Oh well. Still drinking 

    coffee and picking the fuzz out of my eyes. Period’s arrived with its 

    usual exquisite timing. Once I’ve finished Secaire (needs a final burst)

     can rewrite Find Courtney. Sort of a love story there.

                       10:30AM Sun 20 Feb 77

                       R and I went on ski weekend to Massanutten.  

    Didn’t work.  Never felt so far from him, and he realized it. 

    Opal & Garrett over for dinner last night – their relationship is 

    boring when I’m alone and don’t have R doing all the work for me. 

                      Drank too much out of sheer boredom and because I was 

    depressed over R, then I get depressed over being depressed 

    and drink more.  Clearly he’s worthless and I must be too if I can 

    get depressed over him. No good work on novel. Filing, cleaning, 

    paying bills takes up all my time and my room still looks like a filthy hole. 

    Hermiting seems only option (cheaper, too). Must learn to roll 

    with the punches.

    Fantasizing about Devon because 24th is his birthday. Bad sign.

                       1:00PM 21 Feb 77

                       Dizzy from dieting. Not dancing very bad for my body.

     Current weight 122. (Opal says I have the perfect body. Glad 

    someone appreciates it.) Ryder suggested jogging – bad mistake.  

    Instantly attacked by colds & flu. Instead of eating go to library on 

    my lunch hr to take out books. Went to see The Sentinel somewhere

     in the burbs with Avril and Mason, who drove like a crazy person 

    (“I’m not afraid of death!”) Never again. Ghastly flick. Mason moving in

     – his money is good.  Another secret to be kept from landlord. A guy 

    at work (Keith Dalrymple) is courting me. He looks all right, though 

    he has receding hairline. Kind of old.  Asked to read my novel. I gave 

    him my poems instead. He needs to hit the ground running.

                       Tues. 22 Feb 77

                       Mason trying to talk A into moving to Calif with him. Uh oh. 

    Maeve also wants to move out because I’m critical of her

     “dating” her married boss (they have sex in the supply closet). 

    She believes his tiredest lines.  “Drop him – he’s outrageous 

    and destructive,”  I say.  I’m one to talk. Will use her room for 

    my study.  Try to live without roommates. Sent Devon a long 

    grey silk scarf for his birthday.

                       3:40 PM Wed 23 Feb 77

                       Keith Dalrymple amazingly told me he loves my 

    poems. Wow. Having good literary taste definitely works with me! 

     Having a drink with him tonight.  Had to struggle to keep myself 

    from hurling cash at a gorgeous $50 suit in going-out-of-business 

    dress shop on Dupont Circle. Slogging through Mrs Dalloway –

     it’s her best book. But all this blind struggle not my thing. Require 

    some consciousness. I guess we were reptiles in those days just turning amphibious.

                       Thurs. 24 Feb 77

                       Can’t seem to write poetry anymore. Cocktail bar buffet 

    with Keith (Avril calls him a “dim bulb”. We are very critical of each 

    other’s honeys.)  He’s a Woolf novel – smooth glossy surface, 

    violence and trauma beneath.  He is intelligent – quoted Frost – 

    38 yrs old – divorced (was married 15 years!!!) I sat swilling 

    Scotch and giving him the hairy eyeball – do I have the strength 

    for this? He blanched when I ordered escargots chablisienne. 

                    Wouldn’t even kiss him. I demand exceptionality and refuse to settle for less.  Whatever else you can say about Ryder, he’s definitely one of a kind. I am in a unique position compared to other women writers. Given the chance to rise above sexual 

    strictures.  Bought an exquisite pair of very high-heeled boots. I tower over Ryder – in more ways than one. Heheheh. 

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

    6. ENTREGARME – SURRENDER


    EVAN
    I am utterly becalmed.
    What I dread most is silence,
    The latest form of impotence.
    I need stringing up and tautening.
    This is the
    Revenge of love. Its revenge on me.

    EVA
    I am suffused with love because I am free.
    My work becomes our child,
    Our extension. Immortal. Still,
    Something vanishes when you’re not there.

    EVAN
    Elayna broke her hip.
    How irreplaceable she is to me.
    Our brand of married happiness is entirely unsung.
    I shrink to leave her even for a day.

    EVA
    I’m sorry it wasn’t fatal.
    Am I so dispensable to you?
    You love no one. If you turn against me
    I’ll die in a week because
    I have no one looking after me.

    EVAN
    Turn against you! Agonizing!
    In spite of the hangover of humiliation
    I broke down all reserves so we could be together.
    A very happy day and I was sorry to leave you.

    EVA
    Wed & sad.
    Past distress muffled by age & habit.
    Today we meet formally as if at a garden party.
    A promise unfulfilled.
    Miracles happen but
    The gift of love is guilt & pain.

    EVAN
    You looked so ill
    I was nagged by fear I bored you.
    I long for the happiness of old age,
    Guilt free, pain free, fear free.

    EVA
    I invited Elayna to lunch.

    EVAN
    I am not best pleased.
    Your ghost will haunt me till I die.
    The day you come to like each other
    It will be poison to our love.

    Elayna rarely admits depression.
    I have had not just love but loyalty.
    You force ruthlessness.
    It is a good thing your throat is sore
    Or you would never stop talking.

    EVA
    Are you sending me your signet ring?
    I want something solid to remember you by.
    A last communion.
    Dodging death, I fight off this
    Paralyzing loneliness.

    (EVA fades away. EVAN is alone.)

    EVAN
    Is the flaw in love a flaw in me?
    I never should have married.
    My heart jumps with pain like a hooked fish.
    I am rudderless. Upon your death
    My ring comes back,
    All your contrivances revealed.

    Now that you are gone, I find you everywhere.
    It’s hard to take in the fact that
    We will never see each other again;
    Never, never, never.
    You are gone from me forever.

    I walk the streets and weep.
    Is this delayed shock? Boredom or despair?
    I will never cease to feel this pain till
    I cease feeling anything.
    For the last three nights, I dreamed of you.

    Did I anger you, neglect you?
    It’s too late to pray –
    I await your final book with horror.
    I need to know I was your life.
    Please come back one last time
    For just an hour.
    If you ever thought you loved more than I
    You are now
    Revenged.

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

    4. CALESITA –THE MERRY GO ROUND

    EVA
    Did I leave my diary behind?
    Don’t read it, not that you would.
    It’s anaphrodisiac. I am filled with envious admiration
    For the way you spend your time.
    It’s an incentive to work, being alone.
    Diplomats are never lonely.

    EVAN
    My bed gets so icy in the small hours of the morning –
    I am losing interest in sex.
    Perhaps I am already part of the spirit world.
    I am in limbo and will never escape this place.

    The teenager remains alive in me, I have a
    Panic fear of conformity
    So I cast myself as the elderly rake.
    I fear I’m the bore –
    Marriage gets me down.

    EVA
    When you go on and on about yourself
    You’re a man I don’t recognize.
    I prefer your adolescent self.
    The man of the house should be a free agent.
    A respected prowler
    Never lonely, housebound,
    Eating baked beans and drinking stewed tea.

    EVAN
    In other countries women
    Are less bossy and more decorative.
    You are jealous of my life –
    I am jealous of yours.

    EVA
    Ah the pain of your reproach!
    Not seeing you would kill me.
    I live for the memory of our every moment.
    I wouldn’t give a damn if I died tomorrow.

    EVAN
    This is the letter I would write you if I dared,
    if I weren’t frightened by the cancer
    Of your wife-hatred.
    I am overworked, wrung out.
    Possessed by you.

    You make me live at the pitch of anguish.
    Our love has roots in good and evil,
    It lives in the darkest places of our natures
    Shall we end by destroying each other?
    You have the deadlier weapons.

    EVA
    I do have a bad effect on people.
    Guilt, conspiracy, love,
    I cannot breathe without them.

    EVAN
    Boredom, dissipation, remorse,
    And apprehension– I can’t escape this obsessive cycle.
    Beneath the controlled surface of my mind
    Opportunities to be frenzied are endless.
    I’m afraid of saying something ruthless which many stick.

    EVA
    This place is full of you.
    I can no longer look at hyacinths
    Gratitude for our happiness chokes me.
    The restlessness of pleasure going to waste.
    Missing you is like an illness.

    EVAN
    If there’s a worm in this bud
    Who is the corruptor?
    Your insights are so powerful they alter mine.

    EVA
    I believe we should exchange rings.
    Is this a faux pas? Would your wife object?
    I need something in case you die of your itch or
    I fall out of an airplane.

    I wonder why Elayna’s throat won’t heal?
    I believe she is ice-bound.
    Sealing you away from life.

    EVAN
    You witch, you have
    Frozen poor Elayna’s throat.
    I begged you not to. You make all
    Suffering physical.

    EVA
    Elayna’s frozen her own throat –
    I wish you’d see it.
    Depression is hallucinatory.
    Guilt and sorrow undermine my confidence,
    I refuse to give them credence.

    EVAN
    I’m grateful when we talk calmly,
    Our fearful scenes seem so long ago.
    I’m sure the panic of youth has played its part.
    I used to hope you would love me less over time
    But now I think we love each other equally.

    EVA
You are so near me I feel we are one person.
    I feel you now beside me.
    I will make you real.

    EVAN
    I feel your longing
    As I fear your signaling.
    I owe you happiness
    But I can’t express it.
    We must believe life is as beautiful as music
    Says it is.

    EVA
    The illusions we cultivate are
    A form of courage.
    Forget my deficiencies
    Find amusement in the worldly game.

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

    3. LATIGAZO – WHIPPING

    EVAN
    Do you really love me?
    Why should you?
    I don’t any longer
    Believe In friendship.

    EVA
    It is a horror, an outrage
    That we should not be together. I struggle against
    The wound of not knowing where you are each minute.
    Everything you do is more important to me than my own life.
    The whole of me is with you.
    I see and feel you so distinctly,
    Your beloved cold hand in mine
    Your touch on the nape of my neck.

    Joy and agony
    – my insides torn by pincers.
    A double goodbye would have been awful
    – two bites on the bullet of pain.

    This love is like something we have given birth to.
    We must never blunt our imagination or tenderness.
    Don’t get a cold in your soul.

    EVAN
    Are these abortive suicide attempts?
    I disappoint everyone.
    Cut the cable. Set me free.

    I deliberately left one of your letters for Elayna to find.

    With me love is linked with
    A need to betray. I invite possessiveness.
    She made me promise our love would never be physical.
    I lied fluidly.

    EVA
    Even the thought of
    Such a loss of pleasure tears at my heart
    Like some medieval torture.

    You harrow me unbearably.
    My defenses are down.
    I’m filled me with a sense of ghastly injury.
    How I wish I were more beautiful –
    It’s my mouth that ages me.
    It reveals my greedy secrets.

    I want you seeing all of me –
    Even if it hurts. My work
    Is my legacy –
    You are your own child.
    You preserve your youth with the harm
    That you cause.

    I feel I am dead and already
    Interred – in you.
    You are my eternity.

    EVAN
    Repressed boredom causes blocks
    You can’t have everything.
    I am kept aloft by the conflict of
    Unbearables.
    It makes me happy.

    EVA
    If our dancing life is over –
    Should I enter a convent?
    There’s no point in being alive
    if we’re not together.
    I show my deepest self to you alone.

    EVAN
    Please – no more shaming conversations
    Over Irish whisky. Let’s cut our losses
    And get some fun from life.
    Your miraculous capacities awaken
    My belief in myself.

    EVA


    The gash in our love might close
    But I’ll never forget it’s there.
    Life with you is a remote happiness to which I cling

    EVAN
    And all this time you write such
    Fantastic books. If you were as unhappy as you say,
    You couldn’t write so well.
    I’m proud to be
    The whetstone on which you sharpen –
    I should be thanked for all your works.

    Writing to you
    Makes me itch with a beastly itch –
    Exhilarated, punch drunk
    Feeling your enthrallment
    Despite the day’s malaise.

    I can’t put my heart back in the hollow
    Where it used to be.
    You force me to see
    Myself.

    At the peak of my ambition,
    Beauty and power curdle within me.
    People are so easily fooled, so
    Satisfied with little
    identify my performance with my Soul.

    You’ve spoiled me for everything.
    Stop warning me you’ll take a lover –
    I don’t own your life and never aspired to.
    There is heartbreak here, but is the ghost in the house
    Or in me? We argue about who has the worst friends,
    But our friends are all the same. Please
    Send another psychic telegram, “You’re the One.”

    EVA
    Your last screed was a masterpiece.
    I believe writing it
    Creates that eczema from which
    You say you suffer.
    My friends at Tosca said it’s bad manners
    To make a depressing fuss
    And get other people down.

    EVAN
    Is the strength I draw from you a fairy tale?
    I am appalled by the joint misery we feel.
    Why should we not rebel?

    EVA
    You shed your light around me.
    If only we could stand each other.
    You’ll keep the blood
    Running in my veins
    Threatening to spill.

    EVAN
    Someone said I look ten years younger
    From drinking your life, I’m sure.
    I need my own room because I sleep badly and
    I like to roam at night.

    Tosca is too emotional to be good taste
    But I’m happy you enjoyed it.
    I feel far from you right now but
    Underneath
    I’m outrageously glad.

    EVA
    Your diplomacy fascinates me.
    Your mettle is the stuff of history.
    When young I resisted education
    Like a fool – But
    It makes everything comprehensible.
    What kills me is having to deal with people.

    I tie myself up writing
    Imaginary conversations with you –
    It’s possible you’re a creature of
    My invention. Our pattern seems set –
    Or is it?
    If treachery can’t break it,
    There is no death.