Alysse Aallyn

Category: #Healing

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Party Castle – Mon 9 July 79 – 7:50 PM

                                         26 hours without T. Spoke to him last night and 

    again this afternoon. His acceptance of me is total, but it comes from a position of strength and I have fears of being annihilated.

    Last nightI experienced hallucinatory states – drove home the wrong way – felt something was happening to the car – re-experienced my swallowing problem. Resolved my panic by starting a poem.

                                         Sat night Toss and I read the diary passages where we lost our “divinity” (his word) together. He cried and told me what he’d felt like from his “side”, wanting to be male & in control, feeling helpless & immature. Agreed if we had married then we’d be divorced now. 

    11:05PM  Trying to read Oneness & Separateness. Not well suited to me right now! Much as I want to be a mother the thought of a demanding infant between me & T now is truly horrifying. Insane fears of rejection and abandonment – why on earth should I trust this man? Called T at work! 

     Complete craziness. He reassured me we will have private alone time –

    -a real vacation in the Berkshires. He said champagne arrived. 

    Called A & we discussed Mom & Dad – how they rewarded “self-sufficiency” and responded to neediness coldly. Makes it hard to be honest now but 

    I hate this weirdly formal relationship with my own parents.

    Avril says there is no retraining them.

    Sat 14 July 79 – StormFall Farm – 11:15 PM

                                         Oh, my God who would believe it – here I am 11 

    years later!  Told T about my uncle last night as we made sexual 

    “confessions”. He was completely calm about it so it’s no longer a 

    Big Secret. He insisted I read his ex-girlfriend’s letters.  She was a 

    Piper Cub to his Concorde, believe me. He kept carbons of his letters to her!!!! Not very loving letters – but downright fatherly. In a bad way.

                                        T’s actual father and he smoked cigars last night 

    after dinner leaning against the mantel – they were so beautiful together I felt stunned. Wrote a poem: 

    MY HUSBAND SMOKES CIGARS WITH HIS FATHER 

    BY CANDLELIGHT

    Your profiles cut my heart like glass.

    Go ahead. I’m a bleeder, I’ll

    Still be here when you look back.

    Your father is a silver-headed

    Walking-stick; his elongation glows with far less heat.

    You’re his nemesis; and he’s used to it.

    The wooden floors are washed cornelian

    Perhaps by sunset

    Perhaps by jealousy of girls who

    Lost you; judged too soon the temper of your eyes

    Wrote too many letters or

    Not enough; the wrong kind

    Addressed to the pale law student with

    The cinderblock heart;

    Traveling commentator with the hundred

    Dollar bill rolled inside his shoe,

    The long-haired Pinkerton guard.

    You learned to suck the cherries

    Scarless from the tree; it’s no mean art

    Broke a few at first; we all did.

    By what right am I the winner?

    You chose me in thirty seconds leaving

     enough time to smoke another cigar.

                                         Everyone wants us to marry before May. But I feel I need some time in Kentucky first. Toss told me last night that on paper he is a millionaire. Here’s luck, because if I keep on keeping on, I’m a pauper! 

                                         Tom’s grandmother’s response was “I am not surprised.” 

     She committed herself to reading my  published “thriller”. 

                                         At dinner he announced I’m the only woman he’s ever wanted to marry. Tom’s dad said he thought his son would be a bachelor forever. 

    Privately we affirmed absolute sexual fidelity forever. Will we be able to keep it?

    Plush Palace – Wed 18 July 79 – 4:55 PM

                                                  Boring day but good tips. Magnificent party at 

    The Third Edition last night for Avril’s birthday. (I didn’t care for Avril’s latest “honey” Vigo but was secretly furious at myself – she should date as widely as possible. 

    Maybe I was affected by T who is a snob and a purist.) Drinks, fruit & cheese – then dinner at The Old Angler & Frank Langella in Dracula. (Not a good version.)

                                                  “Finances” discussion with T. He talked me out of selling my car. I worry about being dependent on him but he says it will be fine. 

    Sounds to me like he is living on a knife’s edge – working part time, going to law school, selling stock when he needs money (which he is loathe to do being naturally frugal.) Too tired to make love last night but we started up in the middle of the night – both asleep. Unknown doors keep opening – then there’s another one.

    Castle – 1 PM – Thurs 19 July 79

                                         So happy I can’t take it all in. Feel like someone 

    recovering from a long illness. Read Cheever’s Goodbye My Brother – as satisfying as a novel. Last night we made love for hours and hours but –

    I just couldn’t come – kept holding his face saying, “Is it really you”? Dancing with Barbara the Kikuyu and blonde Joyce of the day-glo costumes that light up in the dark. 

    3 PM Party Castle – 24 July 79

                                         First real friction last night – very predictably, about my job. I’m irritated over the assumption that its sordid and brutalizing. It is totally NOT the same as the dancers in DC!!! LIFE certainly CAN be sordid and brutalizing – but I like this club because it ISN’T and I’ve tried others. We discussed HIS job of muckraker/professional advocate which also has its sordid and corrupting aspects. 

    Duh. His last girlfriend gave him shit about it (and refused to read his newspaper!)

    So it’s a sore point. He should really understand. There was a horrible moment when he felt foreign and alien – but I expected it – too much intimacy always causes a backlash. Trying to read Sisters & Strangers.  The Victorian novel is not yet dead.  

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 Party Castle 12:05 am 2 July 79

                            Wrote D an angry farewell poem.

    “HOW DID YOU MEET?”

    You saw me naked

    I saw you too close- up.

    Between the green glimpses

    You cut mountains down to size;

    I’d no idea that one could take such charge of space.

    You hovered, teaching –

    Drinking vodka,

    I drank wormwood –

    Everything’s my fault. 

    Now I’m a toad-dweller,  

    Nostrils pierced by thorns 

    Falling face-first through every hole;

    You were the king the ghost pines saluted.

    How you dove and danced!

    Speeding through your love-drunk universe, you

    Infected me with your own whiteness

    Dizziness, till all my blood drained out.

    You challenged God;

    I was just the echo following after.

    Yet here I am after all this time

    And nothing promised remains of you.

    Or, “Good luck with Sleeping Beauty’s castle!” That’s what he gets for messing with my heart. Can’t show anyone – most certainly not him – 

    – and it isn’t really finished – and I don’t think it ever will be. But thank God for diaries. Diaries can be told anything.

                                         Reading Secrets in the Family – it is so superb

     I am going to buy copies for all my sisters. Looking forward to discussing it with Toss. I’m beginning to miss him now – he’s so deep and interesting to be around – so alive on many more levels than anyone else – challenging all my levels. Falling in love – happy, crazy.

                 Thurs 11:05 – Plush Palace – 5 July 79

                                        Back at The Plush – it’s catch as catch can in my 

    present situation. I am alienating managers left and right. But I am happy crazy and who cares?  

                                        Because on the third of July Toss asked me to 

    marry him and I said yes!  Here’s how it happened. On Monday night we ate white clam linguini and Crenshaw melon while listening to Keith Jarrett’s Koln Concert  – then – came together in delicious, soul-freeing sex; two perfectly matched combatants recognizing each other not just from childhood and youth but school and dreams.  He was eager to learn how I could best be pleased – so I surrendered to the inevitable. Fireworks!

                                        He left me sleeping there in the AM – I heard thumping downstairs but I know he has roommates so didn’t think anything of it – 

    – when he came back for lunch he discovered the door broken in and my purse missing. Keys, wallet, everything. I had to call into work – had to call a locksmith to give me keys to my car. 

                                        Toss doesn’t know what else they stole because he doesn’t know what else is supposed to be in this house – called his roommates. They came, police came. So we spent a day of intense babbling and the worst kinds of petty annoyances – but none of it mattered because he was there. In fact, I welcomed it; it was an extra opportunity to be together. 

                                        At one point I said, you know, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.  He said, if I believed that, I’d ask you to marry me. I said, if you did I’d say yes. 

                                         So he said, “Do you want to get married?” 

    I said, “I think so,” and there it was!  He said I’m the only woman he has ever wanted to marry much less asked. We even chose the children’s names – there are going to be two of them – a boy and a girl of course; a combination of our old addresses! Had to call Aunt Frederica to give her the good news because 

    she’s the one who had to give the hospital permission to stitch me up ten years ago after our first unfortunate night together!  (She was drunk of course. Both times) 

                                     Toss asked me to come back to Kentucky for his

    last year of law school.  I “shouldn’t miss this part of his life.” Dogs too, natch – we are a package deal.  

                                        He has a house he’s rehabbing that has so many 

    rooms it is known as the Hilton.  When I said I would come that was more important to him than our engagement even.  He says I can file for 

    divorce in Kentucky’s understanding Commonwealth. He ordered a case of Moet Chandon, saying now we have to drive up the coast and

     tell everybody. I am a little scared to tell my parents – this suddenness might only seem another strike against me.  We told Avril and Maureen – they just stared – obviously thinking we both have lost our minds – it will take them awhile to believe in it.  I told Avril about Kentucky – 

    she says she can handle the house; she can always rent out my 

    room to a college student if she feels pinched. I want to leave some money with her – at least $1000 – had the brilliant idea to sell my car. 

    Wouldn’t want to be impoverished in Kentucky and I don’t want to be on “retainer” from T.

                         Last night I read Toss The Duel and his eyes 

    filled with tears!  He said the only flaw he sees in this arrangement is that one of us must surely predecease the other!  Could it really happen?  Could we grow old together? Could it be that I will never make love to another person?  Wrote a short note to Bruce, 

    telling him I will definitely be needing a divorce, sooner, rather 

    than later.  Now I am trying to write a letter to D; but honestly, 

    what is there to say?   Summing up our relationship seems only

     to dismiss it.  He has already fallen far, far back into the past.  Toss is my future.

    The Duel

    Europe without you

    Was a funeral feast.

    I recall the procession of your letters

    Far better than 

    The stream of luckless suitors

    Trying to distract me.

    Virgins aren’t distractible.

    Your seductive missives stalked me.

    A fatal ploy was that nude photo

    Adam lonely in his garden.

    I came right home.

    I well recall the ceremonies

    Of that night!

    Your shyness

    My perfume

    Our ignorance

    Wild and hard 

    A riderless horse.

    I did cry out as the candles burned.

    I swear there were some moments when

    We actually saw each other.

    But if this magic sword cuts both ways

    Why was I the only bleeder?

    They peeled me off

    And dropped me down a mile

    Of antiseptic hallway –

    A princess in a bucket.

    It could have ended there

    But at your school I haunted you

    A chilly-breasted demon.

    My daytime incarnation seemed mature:

    I fooled everyone;

    We chatted as you prepared the skin.

    I bit down hard and 

    Tasted  only

    Suture wire.

    You wrote and broke off 

    Our association.

    Years groaned by

    Like convicts chained

    We served our terms with no time off

    For bad behavior.

    Lust had luster,

    Excrement was ecstasy.

    The castaways the whirlwind 

    Flung upon the sand

    Were calm, polite

    We knew our way around. But

    That look you gave me!

    Our unborn children shivered

    In their sausage skins 

    Fully aware

    Their time had come.

    The tale was done

    The frog-mask

    Shivered off

    We saw:

    The you of you

    The me of me –

    Masks 

    Unmirrored

    Scars 

    Unscored

    Virgins not but

    Innocents Restored. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

        Starlight – Sat night – 23 June 79

                                        What a week! I have discussed it with Avril in depth but I still don’t understand it – I’ll just write it out and see what happens. Got a letter from Toss Sheffield of all people – my blood-mate from high school – a wonderful letter. He read my poem in the Alumni Directory and noted I was “divorced”. (Of course, technically I’m still just separated because of Bruce’s malfeasance.) 

                    Toss is working with Ralph Nader on the  Three Mile Island problem herein DC all summer and wants to see me. The rest of the time he is a prizewinning journalist studying law in Kentucky.  Woo hoo! 

                                        Timing could not be better – my restlessness desperately seeks somebody new – someone I don’t have to explain my childhood,schooling and family to. The Boy Next Door!  At the very least I could use him as a cat o’nine tails on Devon (which D royally deserves).  Last Wed night Devon showed up in the middle of the night on his way out to California. 

     More push me – pull you. Very unsatisfying night as we finger each other gingerly like priceless objects pre-smashed, badly glued and inexpertly set.   

    He invited me out to Calif. in Sept. Long wait, big ticket, which is the story of Any Girlfriend of Devon’s Life.  Might be able to manage if I get that MasterCard. 

    On the other hand he said our parents were “hoping we’d get together” which is major turnoff.

                                        GiGi came into the club again. She obviously misses us. Said she saw Buck the other day and he spoke of me fondly. There’s a load off my mind. Leave ‘em sighing, that’s my motto. 

                                        Toss Sheffield put the phone number of the house where he’s staying in his letter – I’ll call him tonight around ten. Wait till he finds out what I do for a living. Or I might not tell him. It all depends on him. 

                                        He said he missed me at our tenth reunion – only went because he thought I’d be there! I didn’t go because I didn’t want to “explain my life” – and if I tell him, there’s a possibility everyone might know. Can I handle that much exposure? 

                                        Struggling to read Joan Didion’s Slouching Toward Bethlehem but she is pretty depressing.  Read Millheiser’s The Mirror. 

    Absolutely stank. What was Putnam thinking of to choose that novel over mine?  Shows there’s a factor here I don’t understand.  Wish I was a multizillionaire with my own publishing co.

                 Castle 26 June – Tues – 10:30 PM

                                        How to describe my ecstatic dinner with Toss? He opened himself up to me like a book. “Take. Read”.  He loves the universe –

    – but in a healthy way – vibrates to it and wants to be overwhelmed, then empowered by it.  Just like me! He explores the DC area with the zest of one “learning” a foreign country – touchingly amazed that one eats the whole of a fried crab – “Even the eyebrows!”  

                                        We discussed everything  – politics, theology, my marriage – his parents’ divorce – his horrifyingly determined Catholic virgin of a high-maintenance girlfriend – he chose her because she reminds him of his grandmother.  He admits it! 

                                         This is all scary but I feel I must ride with it. He is so 

    intelligent – such a relief to talk to someone who knows the difference between a prodigal and a prodigy and can tell a scherzo from a schizo. 

                                        He showed up for dinner at Queens Chapel Road, driving an immaculate yellow Rabbit.  I was frightened to so much as look out the window – I said to Avril – “Tell me what he’s like.” She said, He’s exactly the same. 

                                        And he was. Gorgeous poet’s face (Rupert Brooke)-

     – long blonde hair – wrestler’s body – maybe a little too thin. (He’s had a rough hardworking year of self-denial following Bad Relationship.) He wore a white cotton sweater and what looked to be the same corduroy pants he wore throughout high school. I wore tight white capris and my pink gauze blouse.  He noticed my body immediately – how hard andslender – asked if I was a runner. I told him my doctor says I have a runner’s heart – but no, I’m a walker.  I like taking my time to see all there is to see.

                                        We had swordfish prepared on my new gas grill. 

    We responded to each other in exactly the same way we did right before 

    he left for college – his eyes feasting all over me – so humbling and overwhelming to realize someone loved me so deeply at such a painful period of my life. We marked each other in every meaning of the verb.  I feel chastened and grateful to have such an effect on another person. We have so many similarities – both listened to Miss Goggins as children!  

    We can each quote whole skits, tossing back bourbon in brandy snifters. 

    As soon as I was drunk enough I declaimed my poem about how we spent Class Day in the treehouse. 

                                        He didn’t remember the frickin’ treehouse!  The memories of people who don’t keep diaries are appallingly patchy. I showed him the trunk under my bed – decorated with flowers and my childish handwriting – and gave him the diary that described those nights!

                                        He was open mouthed;  he stared at me as if I were a witch.

     Who knew diaries can come in so handily to resurrect the dead?  He told me I am a fabulous writer and should never give up.  That the purpose of existence is to find what you were born to do and do it.  No one else in my life talks like this!

                                        There was no lingering hostility over our unfortunate parting – our fundamentally dishonest Dear John – Dear Jane letters. No game playing – none of that.  I can’t even recall who touched who first – 

    – my guess is we lunged at each other – it must have been mutual. 

                                        Well, if I’m a witch, he’s a knight in shining armor. 

    Only he can rescue me from this hellish situation I’ve fallen in with Devon – with all of them.  That devon could make love to me the way he does and not want to 

    see me till Sept has been playing tricks with my mind.  Devon uses me to flagellate himself and I can be so much more than that.  

                                        It’s definitely fun to talk to someone who has 

    exactly the same background as me – someone who reads and gets all my references. I was beginning to feel like an exotic (about to become extinct) rarity. He wants to date me solidly the whole time he’s here –(he leaves in Sept – that mystic date).  Fri we’re going out – also probably Sun and the fourth of July. He says he’s never gotten over me, 

    never loved anyone else the way he loved me. He wants me to come to his family’s place in the Berkshires in August – where I last went at 18 years old – why not say yes?  I turn down work joyously while the managers gnash their teeth. It’s only money.

                 10:00 PM – Party Castle – Wed 27 Jun 79

                                        The inevitable panic reaction has set in – am I out of my friggin MIND?  But it’s my battle and I’m dealing with it. I hear myself saying WAY too much around him as if tempting him to find something to be disgusted by and to reject me – why can’t I just shut up and enjoy this? 

    Because I can’t believe he really loves the real me – we haven’t seen each other in 10 years. I plunge gratified into the dizzying sensory experiences – he is very sexual and willing to talk about it – everything he says turns me so ON.  Heavenly  night of ecstatic sex.  Trying to go SLOW, not empty out my bag of tricks all at once. I resent my own anxieties and my fear of being vulnerable. Here at work I wrote a poem about our past – The Duel.  It’s still a mess. Will I ever be able to show him?

                                         I even like his snobbishness – he’s more elitist 

    I guess you’d say. He assumes we’re  “up there” – and it’s others job to qualify, to climb up to “our level”! That’s so refreshing after Usher Glayne’s oppressive weirdness!  He just takes it for granted we’re in a class by ourselves; special people trying to do special things. And our tastes are so similar. He doesn’t plan to stay in Kentucky – wants to live in New England with its fall, its woodstoves and frozen lakes. I can barely comprehend such confidence much less contain it.   Imagine being free forever from the fear that the party’s happening elsewhere.   We ARE the party.

                                        I said I felt safe with him – he said he wasn’t sure 

    that was justified – looked at me like a beast longing to rend, but restraining itself. Wild frissons! He must be horrified by how fast things are going – 

    I have never met a man who wouldn’t be. But he’s driving this train. Told me he’s been so celibate lately –  very upfront discussing his discouraging relationship with a virginal anorexic perfectionist frightened by everything who compensates by torturing herself and all the people around her.  In a flash I realized, that’s exactly what Devon is also. 

                                        Toss says he feels “stormed” by me –dizzied – by whoand what I am, the summit of my “magnificence”. Wow!  Such flattery very scary. How can he possibly mean it?  Yet he seems so honest, so open. 

    What will he do when he finds out I am human after all – a creature of mud and sludge like everyone else?       

                                        Reading Margaret Drabble’s The Needle’s Eye  – 

    not so good as The Waterfall – beginning to be turned off by her towers of verbiage. My own life is so much more interesting. Good phone con-versations with Toss – I am beginning to trust him. When I told him what I do for a living he was totally unfazed. “I knew you couldn’t get that body walking!”  Tomorrow we explore Annapolis. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 Queen’s Chapel Rd – 28 May 79 – Memorial Day

                                        Very staid and old-lady weekend working on the 

    house. We have a wonderful big backyard with gas grill – A. and I “broke it in” yesterday for shish kebab.  Last week’s trip seems months ago already. 

    Thought about getting pregnant by poor D all day. Am I using him? Is it wrong? Nah. I am giving him a chance to be more than he is – and he doesn’t need to know if he can’t handle it. I haven’t even told Avril about this –

    – and I won’t unless it actually works. With my irritating body I might not be able to get pregnant just because I want to. 

                                        A and I saw Peter Sellers in The Prisoner of Zenda –

    – just awful.  Sunday we went back to the Unitarian Church – unfortunately it was a downer.  The worst memories of childhood surfaced as we were lectured on current events as if we were a class of high school students. I would rather hear about personal fascism than international fascism – that is the real spiritual problem.  Bullying a captive audience seems eminently fascist to me.

    We recovered at Ms. K’s Toll House – such a fun place. Spent the afternoon trying to write a poem about how beauty and finiteness are the same thing – when we love someone’s beauty it’s their mortality we are in love with. Not laying a glove on it.

                                        Saw Alien in the eve – the treat of our lives – what a rollercoaster ride! We both adored it. I’m now officially giving up on reviewers – the Washington Post said it wasn’t as good as Star Wars.

     What is wrong with people!!! Apparently reviewers have to pass some sort of idiocy test.

                                        The “cure” was completed when I crawled into bed with Bloomsbury Portraits.Fabulous people. These are the ones my father refers to as the “sexual degenerates.” I adore their interior decorating. 

    Sex lives not so much. Going to ask Maureen to make me a dining room mural.

                                        By sheer good luck I don’t work till Wed.  So I get a real rest. That feeling of pressure negatively impacts my work.

    Slept twelve whole hours – which means I may be up half the night – but I don’t mind if it’s productive. I especially like walking the dogs in the middle of the night so I can ignore the leash law.  They are so good about voice command. 

                 2pm 30 May 79

                                        To my surprise novel goes well. Finished first 

    bloodletting scene.  Reading Flannery O’Connor’s The Habit of Being – love it. Dreading work tonight – not ready to get back.

                 1:15 AM 31 May 79

                                        Hard night. Feel like I have had some protective 

    coating scraped off my eyes and I can see everybody’s pain. Everyone  is in pain. Not pleasant. Must armor up.

                 Plush Palace Fri night 1 June 79 7:50 PM

                                        Had to stop at dance store to buy fishnet Danskins on my way to work. (Kristi darns hers but I’m too lazy). Horrible traffic jam coming and going – then they were out of the ones with the seams which are the only kind that properly shape the buttocks.  So I bought a black pair. 

    They only look good close-up. So I arrived in an automatic bad mood – put on my black costume with the little mirrors. I’ll go to the Maryland Danskin’s tomorrow. Feel better after a couple of bourbons. Now I can see how dancers get into the booze not to mention the bute. Trying to do too much. 

                                        Working, fasting, writing the Great American Novel –

    (it’s turning into the Great Canadian Novel) – something’s got to give.  

    Two bagels, after two bourbons, I’m cutting myself off.  Zachary coming in tonight. I feel I’ve had it with the purely recreational sex (with quarrelsome underpinnings) that is all he can offer. At least I have a good excuse to turn him down till June 22 – I’m booked solid. 

                                         Idly reading George Weinberg’s Self-Creation. Ho hum.

                                        Working with Kristi tonight. She has the most perfect body I have ever seen but is totally neurotic about it.  She can’t appreciate it herself. I speak to her in monosyllables because I don’t want to get sucked into her game of “How can we improve me” that she lays on other dancers.  

    She’s a “yes, but” type; never pleased with anything. 

                                     Fatima came in hawking her used makeup. She is so bizarre. Claims she needs to sell everything for an “important medical operation.” Won’t say what it is – she probably just wants to ruin her breasts as is the fashion lately. Maggie’s breasts are hard as stone.  She’s destroyed her own body. The air is heavy with female paranoia. Specific personal worries degenerate at a moment’s notice into far-flung government conspiracies.

                                        Nervous about upcoming visit with Devon – at least twice a day I decide not to go. If he knows me better than I think he does, he may guess what I’m up to.

                 8:30 PM Sat 2 June 79

                                        Rescued today – got four nights work instead of a possible six. Thank God. Bought wonderful music on the way to work at discount store – all Tchaikovsky’s orchestral music and Purcell’s Fairy Queen. Therapeutic listening after boogy-oogy-oogy.

                                        My parents finished Memory – want to know who Oz is based on. Uh oh. That rattled me. Should I tell? Decided not to and feel like a coward. But they wouldn’t believe me any way and that would be way too painful. They translate any vulnerability or sharing into “no wonder you’re so sick”.

                                        D’s most recent letter suggested canceling our date –

    – he’s about to be ordained and must “purify”. He wants to escape from his past – which I’m a part of.  Get it?  He knows me so well he psychically intuited where I’m at, or more likely he inhaled a whiff of neediness and we can’t have that.  He must be the needy one. 

                                        Zachary and I went out to breakfast after work last night. 

     For an “artist” (I use this term very loosely) he has less intuition than a stone. 

    His compliments are so over the top I am filled with disgust but he doesn’t 

    appear to notice. Had a horrible insight I now can’t get rid of. I am his Devon –

     – the Great White Whale.  Horrors!  Will he now try to get pregnant by me? 

    Thank God, the sexes AREN’T the same.

                                        Feeling a little slowed up by O’Connor’s prejudices in Habit.  She seems too content to be a creature of her era. Tried to read Caroline Gordon because of friendship with F – but not my cup of cappuccino.  

    She is Edith Wharton strained painfully through Somerset Maugham. Instead

     I am branching into a self-help jag – brought a book tonight called The Gift of Grief.  Is this a gift anybody wants?

                                        Avril and I trying Silver Spring Unitarians tomorrow.

                        Party Castle Tues 5 June 79 – 12:35 AM

                                        Devon ordained Sunday. I blew up under all the pressure yesterday – sobbed and sobbed.  Avril said she would go out, get a part time job and just give me the money.  I am so jealous of her for being a full-time student I guess. What an idiot.

    I apologized. I am experimenting with giving up writing. Why force myself to do it? I just won’t do it – enjoy life and job at least for awhile – till I have to write. We’ll see when that is. Trying to read bio of HP Lovecraft. There’s an object lesson wrapped around a cautionary tale.

                 Thurs 7 June 79 2:40 PM

                                        Foolishly agreed to go to the Belmont Stakes with Don, my patent lawyer who is now a regular at the Castle. (He has forgiven me for my hair.) Now I want to back out.  He says we can have separate rooms, he’ll pay for everything, etc – he is going up with a whole party of people. I can’t believe I am going to get into this whole ordeal of having to get to know someone again. What would he do if I said absolutely nothing about myself?  He doesn’t even know I’m a writer, for example. And if I go to Belmont, can’t see Devon.  

    It’s all too stupid – have to think of an excuse to get out of this. If I ruin him as a big tipper what a dope I am. I guess this means I have gone through the whole dating thing and emerged out the other side.  Ready for the next stage – whatever that is. Invited again to present at the Writer’s Conference at Coltsville. Shall I tell them I’ve given up on writing?

                 Castle – 11 PM – Thurs. 15 June 79

                                        Don came in wearing tennis whites (purple in the 

    black light) complete with racket like a Noel Coward character. I told him I was emotionally involved with someone else and just couldn’t go. He just sort of nodded and left without getting a drink – or tipping me – so he probably came in only to see me. Relief.  Freedom beats money any day. I secretly hope he never comes in again. I will live without the tips. I applied for a MasterCard – hoping that will give me a backup way to manage emergencies. Dramatic scene with Jordana tonight – she came in sobbing – her boyfriend wants her to marry him and go to Florida and she doesn’t know what to do.

     I said what I always say, take the risk.  So she quit. Managers are furious with me.

                 Queens Chapel Rd – Sun 17 June 79

                                        Exhausting weekend at seminar. I was supposed to give a reading from Blood Memory. I was a nervous wreck beforehand, sweating, had to switch my breathing to manual – the works.  It went fine. 

    There was so much silence and building tension – then at the end, the release was cathartic. Bravos. That was the good part of the conference.  

    The classes were the bad part. 

                                        Students disappointed that I’ve had only one book published and I’m still poor – they feel I might not be a “real” writer and I don’t blame them. Lamely told them about switching agents. I could have used some more stage presence or at least some bald-faced lies. My lack of confidence was broadcast far and wide.  Having my period. Damn.

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                             11PM Starlight Wed 7 Mar 79

                                       Very down night. Only $70 so far. Need $600 to

     keep my bills current. Bryony wailing because the state took her children away.

      Sometimes seems like the pain of the helpless is smothering the world. Tony’s 

    the bouncer tonight and he’s all for letting the men stick their bills down the girls’ G-strings!  No thank you.  Wait till Gentleman Randy hears about this. 

                                                Reading a bad German mystery – the mystery being why he wrote it, how it got published and why I’m reading it.  Fantasizing celebrating spring by getting all my hair cut off. Hmmm. Jean Seberg? Could be sexy. 

                                                Wish I’d brought Kafka’s Letters. Making 

    huge floor pillows for my housewarming party. Longing to sink into classical music & bubble bath, followed by Oleg Cassini sheets & cup of diet cocoa. Having my own house really is a dream come true.

                                                Mon 20 Feb 79 – 12:20 AM

                                       Such a depressing party I got drunk just to be “out” of it.  Avril & Ben making out in a corner all evening. Usher brought me books and a bird of paradise flower, Stockley gave me a beautifully framed tiny drawing of crustaceans –

    but then cancelled that by attempting to corner me all evening. He covers up the soul he doesn’t believe in with a repellant fleshy brutality – life is kill and conquer – 

    – eat or be eaten.  Honestly, now I’m scared of him. Afraid to even argue with him for fear of launching something irreversible. Luckily, he next fastened his lasers on Yvonne. Poor Yvonne. Save yourself, I should say but was relieved to be off target. 

    Plan to ask Paz to schedule me for just two nights. On a self-dare, 

    I sent my poem about Rossetti’s model to Usher.  

    LIZZIE SIDDALL: The Woeful Victory

    Be still or I can’t paint you.

    It is evening and

    I almost knew you.  Who are you

    Fair one?  Your mouth is stuffed 

    With poppy hair 

    Fate coils between your breasts

    A snake –

    Your tongue’s torn out.

    You must be the echo of my thoughts.

    (“I am the motionless cradle.”)

    Your flesh takes fire from my setting sun.

    Can you free me, O Lady of the Sundial?

    My eyes grow dim.

    (“Perfect love’s not found this side of heaven.”)

    I shall paint you vermilion

    Butcher nightingales and use their tongues for brushes

    Melting foil & verdigris

    To the tune of Canterbury bells.

    Stay awhile, Fair one.

    I almost thought you spoke.

    (“I am the face rising from the pool

    to drag the drinker deep.”)

    I will bury you in manuscripts, I will

    Visit when there’s time. Someday

    We might marry, but

    I am not whole, dear lady.

    I am not myself.

    Who are You?

     (“I am thyself. What hast thou done to me?”)

                                                Tues 28 Mar 78

                                                Extraordinary spiritual experience.  A haunting.  Someone standing behind me in the empty house. I turned and no one was there but power only increased.  At first I was afraid – then felt a melting richness of love –

    – coming at me, into me from outside of me.  I realized it was Jesus.  Relief.  Followed by –

    Confidence.

                                                Of course, afterwards I question it all over the place.  

    How could I be so certain?  Maybe just an ordinary haunting by a peculiarly loving ghost?  Maybe a thing in my head?  But I do have that memory of certainty and bliss to cling to.  Very powerful.  It’s out there – somewhere.

                                                Starlight Thu 14 Mar 79 – 10:00 PM

                                                Started out as a very bad night – trying to dance myself exhausted – then some guy tipped me a $50 and I ate an orange and now –

    I feel better. (Feeling so unbearably fat I bought diet pills.  Then “dinner” of cashews and wine.) Finished Prayerbook for a Skeptic – I liked it. Fortunately, I brought along a ton of reading. Had to dump Joyce Carol Oates’ Do With Me What you Will when I became disgusted with zombie heroine. NOT as good as The Hungry Ghosts (but reminiscent of McCarthy’s Groves of Academe.)   I’m in the mood for something different.  Not, however, C.S. Lewis’ The Four Loves which is deeply annoying. Women are “unqualified” to be “true friends”. Isn’t that the “know your place” argument?

                                                Maybe what I need is Thos Merton’s, Seeds of 

    Contemplation.               How to switch the physical into the spiritual – that’s what I can’t figure out.  Sexual longings intense – my body on fire. 

                                           No wonder monks beat themselves. Peace and

     concentration in the dressing room – we are all doing doubles. Yvonne is fine.  She is more than a match for Stockley – saw through him without a problem. She just acts interested in all men regardless. On principle. 

    She says if you want to choose, you’ll have to compare offers. So sensible. 

    Tomorrow a day of cleaning & working in my study.

                                                Sun. 18 Mar 1:50 PM.

                                                Terrible nightmare about Usher Glayne. His face 

    melted showing the skull underneath – two hideous holes of darkness.  The world is fierce, cruel, we are all hobbled. Wake to astonishingly gorgeous day. 

                                             Worked on expanding short story Erin – cleaning away deadwood –

    –  it’s only going to be 30,000 words but the hell with it. Can’t “produce” to “compete”.  Want to find the intrinsic shape buried within. The secret meaning.  Letting it speak for itself makes me happy.

                                                Adoring Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. (Wish I had written it.) 

     Then it’s off to the library á la bicyclette for more theology books to understand my haunting. 

    Apparently lots of people have had it. 

                                           Obviously, I should worry more about Success and the fact that I’m dirt poor but I am interested in a different kind of immortality. 

    I have arranged my life so carefully to do exactly what I want.  

    Seems a shame to ruin it now. 

                                                12:30 PM Mon 19 Mar 78

                                                It’s a problem that I don’t like Usher’s poetry. At least he talks about sperm and chastity so presumably is not yet dead from the waist down. He’s successful and I am not, so criticism from me sounds like sour grapes. I call to thank him for the books he send me; a woman who is probably his wife answers. Should I be embarrassed?  We are NOT having A Thing. So, why?

    Out in the yard with dogs trying to read Teilhard de Chardin.  Hot sun.

                                                Café Rabelais, Wed 21 Mar 79 3:25 PM

                                                Pleasant 3 hr lunch with Usher discussing literature

     – he had to run away leaving me with my coffee. Tried to get me to pretendto be willing to date his friend who is wheelchair bound.  I have a feeling this was the whole point of the lunch. I want to talk about literature, he wants to give me away to his friends. I said No. But couldn’t I just make nice? I said no. 

    I’m not that kind of nice. 

                                           I took revenge by asking if he lives with his wife. 

    He said “sort of”.  Their child is “a problem”.  No one can write within a mile of this child.  (Poor wife. Luckily her life doesn’t matter!)  Usher seemed taken aback by my questions so maybe I won’t hear from him again. 

    Good lunch, though. Very cuisine minceur – lots of different dishes and you don’t feel full afterwards. (Rabelais would have been very disappointed.) I top off my coffee with a glass of blond chartreuse. 

                                     At the Phillips, I saw a Goya that made me want to burst into tears. 

    Note to self: reorganize Courtney entirely around paintings. But which artist would be perfect to express my anti-heroine?

                                        4:20 PM Thurs 22 Mar 79

                                        Today a model for what all days should be.  

    I’ve passed unscathed through the financial hysteria of closing on a house, even have money in the bank.  Sparkling weather; spring is definitely here.

    A day of sunbathing – the first are always the worst – skin a white blubbery mass. 

                                     Reading Kroll’s book on Plath symbols – gives one furiously to think.  She wants to find everything in the poems themselves – and of course – that’s exactly where it all is. Plath controlled by potency symbols.

                                        I am sick of Devon’s letters – he must “shield his eyes against my radiance”.  Come on. I can’t believe he doesn’t want exactly the life he’s got. Always hard for me to believe that one can reject the sprinkles, the cherries, the walnuts on the sundae.  My family always lectured me for being attention-seeking and voracious – so it makes me shy to advance myself into anyone’s purview. Plath seemed prepared to be loved for her accomplishments rather than her being – a scary compromise.

                                        Although I do recognize that I am trying to 

    experience my own “wholeness” through the eyes of another with all 

    the danger that implies. Currently trying to kick my sugar cravings.

                                        11:30 AM Fri 23 Mar 79

                                        More sunbathing – my own skin smells 

    intoxicating to me. Like pool water, like beach sand, childhood. 

    Dixie – “God’s lioness” stretches out beside me, wind ruffling her fur. 

    I write a poem about dogs.

    Sticks

    Peter’s dog

    Went on fetching sticks

    Long after it was dead.

    We’d find them on the stoop

    Arranged In patterns

    Pete would sigh and say

    That’s poor old Monk all right

    Still missing the people games

    Heaven won’t allow

                                        Add it to my ghost story book.

                                        Unexpected tear sheets in the mail from Usher 

    – his reviews of Plath. He says he didn’t think it “professional” to disclose

     that he knew her – that seems unprofessional to me.  Makes his comments seem underhanded: pale. He says diplomatically about my poetry that I’m a “rare being.” Hmmm. 

  •              Mon 18 Dec 78 – Plush Palace 6:30 PM

                                        Horrible day. Everything that can go wrong has. 

    Mailing off mss wildly expensive.  Drove Avril around because the Gremlin is in the shop again. Reading Bodyguard of Lies – history having its usual soothing effect.  (Everything much worse for everybody else.) It looks like I will have to work two jobs in Jan to pay for this house.

    Maureen the costume designer wants to rent a room in our house – that would help.  She wouldn’t be a problem – getting a masters in textiles at U. of M so not the usual flaky personality that finds itself onstage. Concluded I really have to break up with Z. It won’t be hard – just stop seeing him. 

                                        One good thing did happen – I was lying in bed at 

    1:30 AM nodding off over Bodyguard – phone rang. I almost didn’t answer it – how could it be anything good – but I thought it might be Avril with some emergency. It was Jervaze! He’s coming back. He’s been offered “crew leader” position in his old job at the Pentagon with a $5,000 bump.  He wants to celebrate by taking me out – we can go to Clyde’s where we partied for his birthday last year.  I hung up feeling good – 

    until I thought this will give me a reason to give up Buck. There’s no way Jervaze won’t find out about him. Ugh. Confrontations. Unless I can keep J out of club? Doesn’t seem possible that he is off the sauce. Must make sure he gets a place of his own – he will be living with his brother to start with. He sounded sober, I’ll say that for him.

                 Plush Palace Tues night 19 Dec 78 – 7:30 PM

                                        Wiped out my savings account to pay bills – well, 

    that’s what it’s for.  We got the Queens Chapel house!  Target date for the move is March 1. Avril  and Maureen very excited. (It really is huge. 5 beds, 3 bathrooms, divideable into 3 suites. Perfect. Huge kitchen, dining room and fenced in yard.) I contemplate writing a book of poems called The Lives of Dancers.  Trouble is, I’d have to tone it down to make it believable. Got one poem already – Impure Women.

    IMPURE WOMEN

    Between my breath and your breath

    Beneath the phallic philanthropic statues on

    The volcanic dragstrip of my city

    The wounded in the scorched earth policy

    Of love

    Muster, linger, await

    Embodiment.

    Pills to make their hearts race faster have

    Stopped their faces dead as clocks

    That witnessed crimes unspeakable

    To mothers versed in tabloid gore.

    Who will bring them

    Absolution now that I am gone?

    In the fresh wounds of a

    Seconal summer

    The stopped children meet

    And kiss.

                                        Is it the approach of Christmas that’s bringing all 

    the old boyfriends back to me like elephants to a boneyard? Ryder

    called. Marc Kramer refers to me his “dream girl” and can’t get me out of his mind and we’ve been out what – three times?  Buck gave me my present at the club – he looked adorable – bath goodies. 

    Don-the-Patent-Lawyer who’s been hanging around the club lately asked me out for New Year’s eve.  I had to refuse because Merrill and husband will be in town but I told him to try later.  He seems interesting –

    – like to get to know him better. Mature. Always trolling for someone presentable to take Home to Mom.

                 Boston to Rockland shuttle 11:45 AM Fri Dec 22

                                         Thank God I brought this diary in my purse. Bad flight feels like Week 7 of the flu and I need something to take my mind off stomach. 

    Love people-watching at the Downeast Gate – there’s a novel in that all by itself. 

    This flight goes straight up the coast.  Avril is sleeping in the co-pilot’s seat – let’s hope she doesn’t have to assume the controls.  She is trying to get a march on the insomnia she always gets around parents.  We just missed Genevieve and Brett – they put 2 planes on this flight and they must be on the other one.

                 Christmas Day

                                        Enmeshed in a family that’s not even close to changing age old patterns. Listening to Christmas music by the Oberlin Choir and roasting chestnuts. As always, food preparations take a disproportionate amount of time –

    – one might as well just surrender and become a restaurant prep chef.  

    Family “scene” caused this time by me – I objected to Dad making the two older daughters executors – I guess that makes me and A “executees”? He says you can’t have four executors.  A likely story. Well I felt I had to lodge a formal protest but of course it didn’t change a thing.

                 Plush Palace – midnight – Fri 29 Dec 78

                                         Merrill and Julian came to watch me dance. I think 

    they were interested. Don The Lawyer came and sat at their table – he behaved himself.  Good evening for tips. Don asked me out Wed – I explained I have a lot of demands on my time – just about to double my working schedule to buy this damn house  – so it doesn’t look good.  He passed that test by taking this news calmly. Having a sister makes me a Real Person at least.

                                          Catching up on dancers – Jerrilee’s  pregnant, 

    Fatima’s new boyfriend  is obviously an ethnic gangster. (Armenian I’m guessing.)  Jerrilee tried dancing at a club in DC where the girls “make lots of money” but just in tips – they have no salary. Rotten. I need extra hours but won’t audition there – prefer the protections offered by The Great Commonwealth of Virginia.

                 Plush Palace – 7:30 PM Tues 2 Jan 79

                                        Horrifying letter from Scott Meredith demanding money to read my novel.  His form letter didn’t acknowledge mine in which I said I was already the author of one book but went on and on about “unpublished writers new to the business.”  They obviously didn’t even read  my letter.  

    My father said,  “Maybe he knows what he’s doing since he’s Norman Mailer’s agent” but I wrote back and said non merci.  Auditioned at The Country Fair – they offered me $100 each three x a week.  Call for my schedule.  So that’s set. They have a good stage plus a barre and a pole.  

    Haven’t seen a barre since Shalimar.

                                        Zachary unfortunately back from New York and in a mood to party. Claims to have provided drugs to SNL.  Reads my novel and says it’s not commercial enough.  I’m sure he’s right, which doesn’t cheer me up at all.  Says it’s too brief – needs development which is also probably true.  Trying to write a poem about funerals called Treading Pasture.  Bad, bad, bad.  Reading Tillie Olsen’s Silences and that’s not cheering me up either.

                 Party Castle 11:15 AM Mon 8 Jan 79

                                        I think I like this place better than Plush Palace or 

    Country Fair. The dancers are totally uninterested in their jobs – they are all busy being college students, musicians and models – they rush in, rush out, spend their time studying and on the phone and offering me cash to finish their sets.  Fine with me. It’s very restful not having to make friends.  I called J’s brother – he’s due Thurs.  Probably the worst thing about this place is the commute – I need to take Rock Creek Parkway and sometimes traffic goes one way and sometimes it goes the other way. An unwary person could end up in a head-on collision. 

                                        The stage is way better than Plush Palace but the dressing room far worse – a miniature chamber behind the potato bins – très très très Colette.  With me tonight are Phoebe, ex-stewardess with a degree in languages and Tasha, very silent black fashion model.  She is gorgeous.  Costumes are not big here – the idea is to wear one g-string all night – pasties small as possible. 

    Contac really works – has totally drained my sinuses but also made me very thirsty – I am drinking gallons of water which I am afraid will make me visibly sweat. (Then pasties slide off and the woman from the Alcohol & Tobacco Task Force rushes forth with ticket.) 

    Got my MS back from Scott Meredith.  Zachary came to see me dance in 

    the new club. We had a tender moment on how tough and insensitive the world is – he is having a bitching time with his new band – wants to go solo but feels that will never get anywhere. The truth is it’s tough to go it alone.  

    Everybody thinks Gift is “unfinished’ – which – horrors – means I have to do more. The dog to her vomit. Absolutely NOT fun. 

                                        I want to start something totally, totally new.  I suppose tolerating all this barfing and re-barfing is what separates the sheep from the goats – but which do I want to be?  Sheep? Goat? Spare me the “fun” of wandering around blindfold trying to imagine what you are touching followed by the Inevitable Disillusionment of taking it off and seeing you’re locked in the Same Old Basement. 

                                        I think Buck has found another girlfriend. I am rather relieved to be let so painlessly off the hook – of course I miss the great parts of our relationship. It was starting to get unmanageable along with everything else. At least with Zachary I can level with him about my life. Tonight’s reading: Margaret Millar whether I like her or not – and I don’t like her. 

                                        Ordered a book on depression through the mail.  Need all the help I can get.  GiGi came in tonight – probably to gloat over my exhausted dancing. Even people who love it inevitably do too much. She’s enjoying being a trophy wife. She says.

  • Inspired Pleasure – The dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 3PM Sat 4 Nov 78

                                        Trouble bouncing back from the most recent 

    rejection of Gift. Wouldn’t be so bad if I felt they actually read it. My agent compares me to Mallarmé – trouble is, no one likes Mallarmé.  

    My bank has charged me $24 for being $1.70 short on a check.  

    They did the same thing to Avril – and since she has a $6,000 savings account, 

    she figures she’s paying them to lend out her money at 18% interest. And whoever you talk to turns out to be a computer.

                                        Buck and I are having a very interesting relationship. I can hardly believe it’s happening.  There’s no bickering over unmet needs –it’s very restful.  Sex could be a potentially explosive problem area – can’t tell yet – so far so good – I think he’s a learner claiming a lot more experience than he’s got. But there are potential problems associated with having sex with a person who is obsessed with speed. 

                                        My period started today and it seems cruel to task a beginner with this issue. At least Buck goes down nobly like Jacques Cousteau. But he’s not much of a talker. The most amusing aspect is how we’ve settled down socially – we have a lot of fun around other people. I am contemplating writing a story called The Official Girlfriend which will treat this from a sociological perspective. Tomorrow we are meeting his parents at a restaurant – I hope it’s dark in there because they are bound to think I am too old for him. Naturally we are keeping my job a deep dark secret – I have to be a “hostess” which really blows. 

    A week from tomorrow he has another race – we’ll take a picnic.  I love these outings.

                                        Plus Avril’s really getting along with Buck’s buddy Brady – definite prospects of a dating foursome. Unfortunately, Brady left his wife like two minutes ago and is not what you’d call “fully detached” as yet. 

    Fortunately: no kids.

                                        Sun 11:15 PM Buck amazed me by confessing that every time before he sees me he is “sick to his stomach” with worry that he won’t come up to my expectations. I am a “high status date” – 

    all his friends are waiting for him to stumble. But then when we’re together he says he just relaxes and we have a great time. I was really touched by this. It is nice that in the car mechanic’s world dating an exotic dancer is high status. I prefer that to being the Shameful Secret which I assume I was in Devon’s world. 

                                        Next week I’m supposedly seeing Zachary twice – haven’t told Buck – why am I doing this? Insurance? I think I don’t like Zachary. Am I competitive – is it just thrilling to see him come off the stage and touch me intimately? (Everyone’s jealous – the men as much as the women. Rod wants Zachary more than he wants me I think.)  But actually I don’t like Zachary. The trouble with canceling is then it would be just Buck and me.  Me and Buck. Going steady.

                 12:30 PM Mon 6 Nov 78

                                        Bizarrely warm day. Had a wonderful time yesterday at Shadonna’s wedding. Buck wore a marvelous blue suit with blue suede patches. It was indescribable – sort of like country singer performance-wear, and with his wispy moustaches and his motorcycle boots I’m telling you he was a sight to behold.   I wore my “slit to there” diamanté rainbow dress and we danced for hours. Nobody paid us any attention. We didn’t stand out at all, that’s what I’m telling you.

                 Plush Palace – Tues – 9:35 PM 7 Nov 78

                                        Avril said to me this afternoon, “My life is completely out of control and I don’t care.”  She has to drive Brady to his in-laws to pick up his clothes today because his wife took the car. There’s bound to be a glorious, satisfying, soap opera scene with a lot of screaming and object throwing – just like there was the time she helped him extract his clothes from his wife’s apartment. On top of this Brady is apparently extremely jealous – in spite of the fact that he’s technically married and Avril isn’t.  She is seriously thinking of inviting him to Thanksgiving because he won’t believe that she’s not secretly meeting a beau – 

    Or six!  However, he showers her with love, attention and sexual worship! 

    She says the gorgeous deep dents on the sides of his thighs are worth every minute of it.  

                                        Went out last night with Zachary – we had a sandwich and drink at Booeymonger’s and saw Animal House.  He was driving his mother’s car.  He is assembling a band called Prairie Dust and he’s in some kind of power struggle with the lead singer who is female. He needs to be the prettiest person in any band.  He says Rod – playing Daddy Big Bucks – foisted this woman on him.  Combination of protégées. 

                                      Because Rod works in radio and is paying 

    for the tape mix he has Zachary right where he wants him.  (She is a fantastic singer.)  Rod might just find his mojo after all. 

                                        Following the movie, I finally met the Zachary Folks – now that there’s no point in it.  Got along like a house on fire with his Dad because I knew all the obscure Giraudoux plays he had framed posters of on his wall.  I quoted:  “And the sewers will be fragrant with jasmine…”  

    which was my line in Madwoman of Chaillot.  I could tell I was a 

    considerable cut above the street people and space chicks Zachary usually drags home. 

                                        They must be worried as hell that he’s gay – his 

    room is full of what can only be described as pinup pictures of himself. 

     Little do they know it’s worse than that – he’s into anything that would be into him.  Bestiality would be frankly appraised on its merits. “Is it a good looking chicken?”) House full of unbelievably beautiful, unbelievably uncomfortable furniture – striped satin Empire sofas – stained glass windows – wrought iron candelabras – that sort of thing. His mother very wary – fiercely Catholic – thin with a long blonde pony-tail and a long horsey face –but actually quite intelligent and attractive.

                                        Zachary’s room is full of crosses and Gonzaga 

    pennants – I should have realized this boy has all the earmarks of being terminally mauled by priests. Parents frantic:  when will he get a “real” job. 

    College was such an unpleasant experience all shudder when it’s mentioned and no one’s willing to discuss it.   I’m betting drugs were involved.  

                                        Of course Zachary wanted to have sex in his narrow twin bed – right beneath the picture of  “The Holy Father” (he doesn’t even have a lock on the door!)  and  I have to admit I found the Chabrolesque aspects of the situation arousing. He seemed to lose track of the fact thatit was me – but his orgasms were more explosive than ever. 

                                        So there I am again;  “The Official Girlfriend.”  Could I put an ad in the paper – some kind of specialized escort service?  “Impress your friends – terrify your parents!” 

                                    Buck doesn’t know about Zachary and since I don’t care who else Z does he must realize I’ve got a back burner – but the truth of it is that between the two of them they’re barely one boyfriend. 

    One is charming, affectionate, trustworthy and dumb as ditchwater; the other is upper class, complicated, interesting, artistic, totally untrustworthy (most likely a male whore.)  It’s a damn shame things have to get like this. I just don’t know how good at “keeping secrets” I can be. Need to go home and get some sleep. If have to get down to Funkytown one more time tonight I won’t be answerable for the consequences.

                 1:45 PM Wed Nov 9 –78

                                        I’m in need of a “carte d’identite” so I can look at it and figure out who I am. Read the first draft of The Speechless and the accompanying comments of my college writing teacher. She bollixed it up.  Her deconstructive destruction seems purposeful – I don’t believe she didn’t know  how good it was. Can I save it?  I know I should work on one thing at a time but apparently my mind doesn’t operate that way. 

                                        In the mail a letter from a publisher offering to read my poetry – for $50.00. Took me longer after that to sink to the necessary depth to get some writing done. And it still probably wasn’t any good.

                 Thurs night – Plush Palace – Nov 9 – 78

                                        Working tonight with Roulette and Jerrilee – wonderfully hilarious old hands.  We laugh until we fall over. 

                                        “How Deep Is Your Love “ is throbbing through the walls, Maureen’s got me in a costume-trading whirl and Roulette is so heavily into the Jack Daniels she is showing everyone pictures of her dog. (A Doberman.  Who looks exactly like every other Doberman I have ever seen.) 

    Suddenly I’ve acquired a whole new dancing wardrobe. But will it make me a new person?  That’s what I want to know.

                                        With a view to listening to Marc Kramer for once in my life because he’s rich and I’m not Avril and I went house-hunting.  The trigger –

    – wonderful broken down old house in College Park (complete with white pillars) – I called to ask the price.  Real estate agent sucked me effortlessly in, entering into our quest with gusto. I am almost 28 years old and although I don’t make much money – apparently I make enough.  The house was hopeless. It needs $50,000 on the roof alone. But the agent has plenty others to show us.

                                        Bizarro letter from Ryder.  He said “after that visit I thought you’d never trust me again” and  “I bow down to you.”  Which visit? 

    The one where I allowed him to give me a massage? I refuse to inquire further because that’s exactly what he wants me to do. He is just needled that I have so obviously given up on him.   Why am I attracted to these weirdos? I know the problem between us is that I want a mutual relationship and he wants a pack animal.  I want to be with the person I love and “love” makes him want to run away (because it makes him feel “out of control”).  But where is the fun in telling him this? He couldn’t use the maze clue even if I gave it to him. 

     So I write a short note telling him I’m busy with Zach and Buck.  That should fix his jealous wagon.

                                        I didn’t tell him about the hours of sexual bliss Buck and I shared last night!  Buck is warming up nicely – invited me to his parents’ house for the weekend – they will be away. Unfortunately, he snores horribly – sounds like he’s strangling.  By-product of motorcycle racing. Needs that cartilage cleared out with a vacuum hose.  Trying to read Rumer Godden’s Breath of Air. Boring and unctuous. Put it down for Dear Scott/Dear Max, which is of course delightful. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 Powder Mill Rd  Thurs 19 Oct 78

                                        Still balancing thank God. Had lunch with dancer 

    Yvonne – she said she still wakes up having screaming nightmares about Warren (he was killed in a car accident. Faced smashed in by a coke bottle he was drinking at the time. He bled to death.) At least I don’t have those worries.  I sleep like a baby. Worked on costumes. 

                                        Waiting for Avril to go with me to Interiors. Reread my stuff. Think there’s a great deal to be said for the short, short novel. 

    Maybe encapsulate them into short stories? But no money there.

                                        I remain unappreciated because of refusal to hook up with some “movement”.  Drown rejected.  Started dividing the novel into geographical locations – Hooks Lane, Paradise Road.  Would make good short stories. 

                 11:30 PM

                                        Awful, awful night. Dancing badly, shoes broke. Rushed 

    out and bought another pair in my break. Pasties fell off –  carpet tape of inferior quality or possibly I sweat too much.

                 12:15 PM Oct 23

                                        Sitting by phone feeling illogical joy.  Wonderful date with Buck – restaurant with lots of wood and Tiffany lamps – just a pleasant, free-flowing conversation.  No sex at the end – hug and kiss in doorway.  “May I call you?’ I told him yes – invited him to be my date Nov 5 at Shadonna’s wedding.  He said he would.

                 Fri 27 Oct 78

                                        Concord, Mass – the grave of Nathan Bond.  

    Seems a good place to write – sitting on a gravestone in the sunlight. 

    So, what was last night like? I arrive to the theology college and another student goes up to get Devon – I overhear him say “There’s a very good looking girl here to see you and I mean very good looking.”  Hecame down looking so different with a new silky beard – exclaimed over and over again about my gorgeousness.  We went up to his room and were making out on his narrow plank of a bed when the radio played Ambrosia –

    – How much I feel. Too much for me!  Started to cry and lost a lens!  

    Now Devon thinks I’m a psycho – which I am. Luckily (for him) and sadly for me psychos are his specialty. Wish he wasn’t so unctuous about it. 

    When he attacked me with those eyes I had to get myself a drink – broke out in shivers and hives – thought I must black out.  He was talking in general ways about what he wants out of life – he seems to be expressing fear he can’t find someone better than me. I did my best to get him back to specifics – even saying a woman can’t propose to a man (Well she could,

     But if she proposed to this man she’s never hold him.) 

                                        Obviously, he loves me. That question answered. But there are bigger questions. But as much as I deserve love? Seems like not. He’s incapable of making the kind of statement I need him to make. He wants to get a clinical psychology degree and he hinted that I wouldn’t be such a disaster as wife to a psychologist. (Flattering?) 

                                        I told him he has a fear of “emotional success” and he agreed.  He astonished me by making passionate love to me – I didn’t have to do a thing (other than wear my short pink gauze peasant blouse and the denim gauchos that show my bellybutton) –  he couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough. Very satisfying – wasn’t an inch of my body he didn’t kiss – including my heels. I told him my heels had never been kissed before – so he kissed them again – also sought out all the other unkissed places.  I do feel satisfied for at least a century.  We went out to a Greek restaurant for dinner, then to see The Deer Hunter. Powerful movie. Crazy, just like life. Christopher Walken lovely. 

                                        Drove to Concord in pouring rain.  Inn is no Night 

    at the Plaza – more like Early Hardy Boys.  Read Violet Clay before falling asleep. Dinner tonight with my cousin Tory – pumping him about Hill School experiences to use in Paradise Road.   Buy some wine for tonight and celebrate my own existence.

                 G’s place – NYC – Central Park West – 30 Oct 78

                                        Why do I do this to myself – visit Genevieve?  

    I just realized the mirror in her hall is a fat mirror. I did eat a lot of 

    junk food on this trip but I don’t believe I look this bad.  On top of that,

    Genevieve’s life is a fat mirror to my life – that’s the truth.  We just saw Chabrol’s Violette – we both have a pash for him – but agreed this is not his best – plus the only Chabrol we know of with absolutely no romantic elements.  It’s probably something I will end up thinking about a lot – and rewriting in my head – so maybe it’s Ok after all. Wrote a poem for Devon 

    – Practice Cuts.

    Practice Cuts

    The dead gush cruelly after dying;

    High time to change 

    Get religion

    Have yogic visions

    See god 

    Be a nun

    Be a self worth knowing.

    Time is gunning for me

    Arthritic fingers

    Scrabbling at my dreams

    Playing old tunes 

    scratchier, less sensitive.

    I’m a body in search of a car wreck

    Crime scene consubstantial;

    The old deus ex machina

    Disaster;

    Blood is so good

    At erasing uncertainty

    Bringing back

    A taste for life.

    Reduce me, silence

    To the essential bones

    Of my non essential self

    Fortify some other ego

    Mine’s tired;

    Peel from my eyes the thickened skin of grief

    Unstop my ears from the dust of

    My own consequence

    Free my feet from judging splinters

    Life passes from my like a fever in which

    I cry out and cry out and yet

    No sound is made.

    Out

    Like the tide 

    Cauterize

    The woof-warp pattern

    So plain that even I can see it.

    Teach me not to envy

    The gulls their mirrored flight

    Unmeasured unlike my own

    Reduce me to

    Unbending bones of my

    Essential self

    Dark sister;

    She;

    The soul I was

    Before

    I became me.

                                        Can’t turn it into a presentable poem – yet – however, it did make me feel better writing it.  I guess I don’t like being Devon’s flirtation with damnation. Writing really is the best revenge.

                 Plush Palace – Thurs 2 Nov 78 8:30 PM

                                        GiGi’s last night onstage.  She is very down. Charlie is making her quit because “no wife of mine blah-blah-blah.”  Eddy says she’ll be back: can’t find these perks in any other job. I am dancing well. 

    Apparently, no one but me realizes how fat I’ve gotten.

                                        Both a good and a bad day today. Worked hard on Gift and Drown – sending out query letters – took pkgs to post office – 

    only to be told a MS has to be bound to go mss rate. I made them look it up in the manual so I won’t have to go through this again. 

                                        They treated me like this must be personal – I’m 

    trying to “catch” them in mistakes – forgetting I’m the customer entitled to service who doesn’t want to pay extra for no reason at all.  And the book spells out what services I get – in case they forget.  Apology letter from Tory: his girlfriend “out of line” to be so jealous during our paella dinner.  She did seem strange but since she’s an artist I didn’t question. I respond with a short note saying I think my questions were just too personal for her ears so I really cannot blame her.

                                        Reading Edmund Wilson’s life like watching a slow-motion car wreck – horrible man. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 7:47 PM Plush Palace – Sat 9 Sept 78

                                        Dinner with Rod. He is handsome, rational, helpful, kind and forgiving.  Unfortunately, he’s also some unknown Third Sex, a complete zygote.  If he’s gay he’ll be the last to know.  

    After three glasses of wine I found the nerve to say he must have noticed we have no sex life. He talked sententiously about how we’re both cautious, both been burned before,give it time, etc – it sounded good, but I knew it wasn’t true. Something’s wrong with him. The last months of his marriage he slept sexlessly in same bed with his wife – at the very end her boyfriend even joined them! (Nobody did anything.)  Strange and unhealthy.  

                                        We went to watch his protege, Zachary play guitar in a coffee -house at Tyson’s Corners.

    Now there’s a guy with a noticeably sparking electrical overload. I was turned on to him and he was turned on to me but of course nobody did anything. 

                                                 Rod was absolutely serene, probably didn’t even notice. But would he even mind?  I can’t mention it because Zachary is basically a sewer rat.  It is not a sign of emotional health to even consider  counting coup with this guy. Pity Rod’s so perfect. Waitresses gaze at us adoringly.  Mom and Dad would love him. Wakened this AM by postman thumping on door with package – turned out to be twenty copies of Flatiron with my Resurrectionist poem spread – I’m going to send every one of them out. 

    Makes such a perfect gift and peace offering I may order 20 more. 

                                        Reading Nathanel West’s horrific Miss Lonelyhearts.

                 Plush Palace 6:10 PM Wed 13 Sept 78

                                         Mon Avril and I went to the play Mrs. Cheyney – it was excellent –  then to the Apple Tree after to dance but the volume of turkeys pitched up way too high. We made a wonderful evening anyway – picked up effortlessly right where we left off  – complete with psychic communication like imperfectly sundered Siamese twins.  Then off to Rod’s in my black satin suit – he had a bottle of champagne to celebrate Farrar, Straus & Giroux wanting to see my novel (I know better than to celebrate a thing like that.)

                 2:25 PM Thurs 14 Sept 78

                                        Wonderful letter from Devon affirming and reaffirming his love.  Very healing. Asked to keep the photo I sent him of us when I was seventeen. Described me as “majestic, mature.” Ooooo. Reading Gore Vidal’s Edgar Box stories. Difficult letter from Mom.  She doesn’t seem to realize she can’t “win”.  Her will cannot prevail.  If she keeps insisting we will only become more alienated. Good diet day – eggs, grapefruit, almonds. No booze. Lots of water.

                 Powder Mill Road 20 Sept 78 2:00 PM

                                        Avril and I met for drinks and steaks, then to White Flint Mall to see Rituals.  Hal Holbrook surprisingly good. Trying to read The World of Somerset Maugham  in bed – fell asleep at 11 – didn’t wake till nine!

                                        Finished letter to Genevieve answering hers in which she lectured me on wearing “tight pants”.  Groomed dogs, dishes, vacuuming.  Sent Flatiron around – wrote letter to Devon.  Re-read Mimsey. I think it’s a little gem but can’t be pried out of its’ setting without destruction.  Maybe I should send it around anyway, even though it’s so short.  Also found old MS of Secrets – 

    Not bad. But the real eye opener was my writing teacher’s horrible editing – suggested I change “opaque” to “grey green” – “pressed her eye against the window” instead of “applied her eye”, which is what I had. Ugh and shiver. Counted up my bills. Tight. I hate hand-to-mouthing. Will sell stock. Zachary told Rod he is attracted to me. I don’t know where that will go – it surprised me.

      He is ballsy. See them both at tonight’s party.

                 Tues 26 Sept 78

                                         Strange party. Lots of people.  Zachary was there, visibly lusting. Rod seemed perfectly comfortable about Zachary and me.  

    He is the weirdest ever. Repressed gay? Asexual? Pod person?  Put his arms around us both.  Z very effusive –  he is “onstage” all the time.  I stopped myself from saying, “Show everybody your appendectomy scar.”  Let him reveal himself. What do I care?  He produced dope but no one got high. 

    Rod told me I should allow Z to satisfy me – use upstairs bedroom.

    (Probably wired for sound.) I was not happy with that – made him follow me home instead. 

    Good sex, but he hung around till 1. It’s true he made me breakfast – a delicious omelet. But it’s always a mistake to bring them home. When Rod called, Z was still here. That was uncomfortable for me – Rod said relax about it. Stock at 16 so really can’t sell. Told Marc to watch it for a week but I will be needing the money. Must unplug phone and work.

                                Quarter to 7 – Worked on childhood stuff till tension got too much. Plugged phone back in, dinner, read NY Review of Books. Exercised dogs. Went to library – got bio Hart Crane – a nice big one – bought huge desk calendar for planning.

        Plush Palace 27 Sept Wed 78

                                Sitting in dressing room all suited up, breasts taped up into vertical position – might as well scribble.  Good diet – yogurt, plums, apples, eggs, tuna. Wrote. Scared I’ll arrive at p. 100 and be “finished” – pushed thought away.  Avril called upset – el Diablo died and she missed an exam. I went to pick her up.

    She has date tonight with Mystery Man. I am reading about Hart Crane’s relationship with his parents. Too familiar for comfort.

        11:45 PM

                              Interesting night. My lighter schedule helps me have more fun with the other dancers – I don’t feel so invaded by them. Avril phoned about date. Fifty-fifty, she rated it. That’s not very good.

                              Letter from Devon inviting me up for Oct. I was amazed – made reservations for Concord Inn. Went to see Claudia Weill’s Girlfriends with A. We liked it – seemed extra poignant since Opal had to “drop” us rapacious females on her remarriage.

                              Then to Warehouse to hear Z sing. Surprise – he was 

    tense to see me!   His throat closed up.  Finally sheer professionalism carried him through – everyone seemed impressed. He never looked straight at me but I could tell he was watching me out of the corner of his eye – he flinched at my slightest movement. Flattering? Or scary? I don’t know. I’m trying to feel flattered – why assume negative responsibility for everything?  Shoulders and Peter P showed up with girlfriends – hello –  big surprise –  all exchange new phone numbers. Everyone friendly.  Avril charmed by Shoulders all over again – said she didn’t think that girlfriend looked like a serious contender. 

                              Z descended from stage – I could tell he was having a 

    battle – should he be “aloof” like a “real performer” or effusive with me?  

    My unwillingness to seem needy saved us both – I was cool. Asked privately if “he could stop by” I said yes. Could have kicked myself later.  

    Shadonna the new scheduler called – asked me to do a double. I forced myself to say no.

                 Fri Oct 6 – 1:35 PM

                                        Who should come into the club but Rick Marl – Ryder’s spy – he said he had just seen Ryder and Ryder told him things between us were “still the same”!!!  I haven’t spoken to R in weeks!  Told Rick that. Rickthen showed a desire to “move in” on me –   I didn’t squash it. Told him “call me.”  Starting to think the time for “instant honesty” in relationships is passed. It’s way too dangerous.  Make them earn the right for a tour of my insides.           Avril and I saw Steve Martin last night at College Park. 

    He skewers the Ryders of this world pretty brilliantly I thought.  Specially loved the skit where he feels “responsible” for his girlfriend’s death. 

      He shot her when she became annoying.  

                                        Fight with Zachary over sex – he thinks – I “take too long to satisfy.”  I was so annoyed I left at 3 in the morning to go to A’s place. When I came back he was gone – left a note – “in your absence your odds improve” in his odd little precise architect’s handwriting. Bastard. 

    He obviously doesn’t mean my odds of being satisfied. He thinks he’s such hot stuff.  He’s performing at The Mistral this weekend.

                 10:35 PM Tues night 10 Oct 78

                                        Stock sold. There’s six months rent. Or I could go to England (I don’t give up easily.)  Instead I do a little fun winterizing – new electric blanket and bathroom rug.  I’m enmeshed in an ego problem withZachary – this is the “hedonism” Dad is always worried about. I only want to see him once a week for sex but my ego demands he fall in love with me. 

    Z has invited me Home to Meet the Parents so perhaps I’ve succeeded. 

    Very handsome unkempt hunk at the club invited me to see him race his motorcycle in Fredericksburg. This is a tempting piece of Americana I don’t think I can refuse. He’s just a gorgeous mud puppy. 

                                        Spent $17 at the post office sending copies of To Drown In Air around. Seemed like a lot to me.  It’s not just men I’m jumping between. 

    Reading both Russell Kirk’s unctuous book on Eliot and Ross MacDonald. 

    Much prefer the latter: I’ll return to him now.

        Sat 4 PM 14 Oct 78

                              How did I get myself into a situation with men calling all the time?  It is supposed to be a girl’s fondest dream – in fact it is hell. 

    I am unplugging the phone for long stretches and not telling them either or they might be tempted to come over. As Zachary did yesterday – we ended up on sofa – I admit it was his best sex yet.

                              Mon 11 PM 16 Oct 78

                                Avril and I drove to Fredericksburg for the unkempt 

    hunk’s race – gorgeous weather – spectators everywhere –

    I had a hard time finding a place to park –  then a guy in a blue and yellow racing outfit and helmet appeared and banged on the hood of my car. I thought it was someone telling me I couldn’t park there but it was Buck and I hadn’t recognized him in his racing gear. So handsome! 

                                The race was just about to start – he had a party of five or six people to cheer him on. I didn’t quite get the names – we had to rush out onto the course. Buck got a good start but his bike went wrong twice – once he did a spectacular flip and it came down right on top of him. Brady, his friend, said, “that happens all the time.”  Buck was unhurt but had to leave the race. 

    He seemed relaxed about failure – opened a cooler – gave us all roast beef sandwiches he had made himself and beer. (I hate beer.) Avril was busily finding out that Brady’s “unattached”. He’s a big shy handsome lunk too. 

                               Buck put his arms around me and gave me a big hug – told me now I have to come watch a better race. Ah, the fantasy – the mystery of Buck – who is he and what is he – taking fire in me.  Big, strong, unthreatened, unthreatening male, bursting with muscles and apparently emotionally undamaged by life. Why not horses, farm, children with such a one as this? 

    Could I get so lucky?

                              I cooked dinner for Avril – liver, onions, mushrooms, rice. 

    Plenty of bourbon. Still need to go to bed early. Colored and conditioned my hair and wrote letters.

        Powder Mill Road Wed – 18 Oct 78

                              No poetry – Too much going on – I’m longing for my 

    hermit days. I think: I ought to be able to date.  I ought to be able to have a little sex, a little love, a little affection – but what a can of worms! 

      Instantly it spins out of control!  I thought Buck might show up at the club – and indeed he did – after obviously making a special effort with his appearance. Tight leather jacket, blond hair all puffed out, face glowing. It was just like a date – only with me dancing onstage. He stayed 2 and 1/2 hrs – I gave him my standard lecture about not 

    wasting his life hanging out there – come in say hi and leave. One 

    beer. Before I finished he said, What are you doing Fri night? I said, “going out with you.” When I got home Rick called – spying for Ryder I have no doubt.  But I had to tell him I am booked solid through the 30th.  Truth to God. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                                         Plush Palace, Sat 1 July, 9 PM

                                         Rod and I engage in a little smoochy-smoochy hand -holding following Christie play.  I make an effort not to get so drunk that I pull down his pants to view his namesake. Impatient to find out exactly where my next sexual meal is coming from. Tach it up buddy. 

                                         In Dancer News, GiGi says Charlie NEVER goes 

    down on her unless he’s absolutely plastered. I want to know, “And then what good is he?”  She has to admit “not much.”  Says he laps at her like she’s a melting ice cream cone. 

                                         Did like Pamela Hansford Johnson’s Helena trilogy. 

    (Impressions of childhood, though, painfully unreal.)  Now struggling with Grahame Greene’s It’s A Battlefield. Diseased whores abound; women bear their 12th child in crowded rooms (and because he’s a Catholic that’s presumably All Right By Him) and a gay time is had by none.

                                         Midnight Sun-Mon July 2-3 78

                                         Taking Avril to Cellar Door for her birthday before she flies to Michigan to see Merrill.  Gifts Dior dusting powder & wrap around dress.  

    Festive occasion demands dress-up. Avril & I saw Grease, Rod and I saw Heaven Can Wait.  Just sweet enough but it didn’t “move” Rod as much as I hoped. What if he’s one of the “pod people” with nothing inside?  Jury still out.

                                Thurs 4:15 – 6 July 78

                                         Missing Avril so much!  Boy, did I get dependent. 

     It’s just SO Fun to have someone to do things with who thinks ALMOST EXACTLY the same as you do but with interestingly nourishing differences.

     Rod is no substitute.  Still can’t figure him out.  His apartment is 

    completely stark.  Bare.  Not ONE THING on any of the walls. The

     closest I can get to understanding him is that there seems to be no feeling in his family.  They don’t talk at meals. Father’s dead, mother still sends him clothes he hates and he still wears them. (They are perfectly presentable. But what would he wear if she did not dress him?  We’ll never know. I’m not getting in the midst of that.) 

                                         He never  suggests things to do.  I suggest everything. 

     Charlie Byrd in Annapolis (just because I love Annapolis) was OK.  On the other hand, when we went to Le Bistro he ordered Piper Heidseck champagne out of the clear blue sky! Because he said now he’s “finally dating.” 

    So that took initative. Right?

                                         Nice letter from Devon who ‘feels veneration”  for my talent.  

    Sweet. Reading Green’s The von Richthofen Sisters. 

                                         8:30 PM Fri – 7 July 78

                                         Driving in to work in a haze of ecstasy after Perfect Day, heard an infuriating review of Heaven Can Wait  by Penelope Gilliatt.  Really the woman’s a moron. She says she would understand a movie about transmigration of souls in “wartime” but why now!  Who GIVES these people a podium? How did she get this job with so little artistic sense? Bullied her way to the top, most likely.

                                         Von Richthofen sisters turns out to be boring PhD thesis. 

    So hard to get it right.  Therefore switched to Murder of My Aunt.  Amusing.

     (Richard Hull).

                                         Big tipper in tonight.  $138 so far!  I feel like the pigeons in Avril’s class experiments. “Intermittent reinforcement!”  I have to pick up Genevieve and Brett up at the airport tomorrow for Women’s March (we all wear white.) 

     Bringing them back to my place to eat first – I made a gorgeous salmon mousse. Invited Rod just to see if he’s cool.

                                         Sun July 9 78 2 AM

                                         He’s cool.  Wore white, walked the whole march and 

    was so charming to Genevieve and Brett they were dazzled. I’m now feeling relief that I only have ten days till vacation – don’t think I can become “over involved” in that short period of time. 

                                         Adelphi Grist Mill Park – 11:15 AM Mon July 10 – 78

                                         Sunbathing on my favorite rock.  When I get hot

     I’ll splash around (like the dogs are already doing).  Hardly a dry spot left on this rock – but who cares – my diaries have seen worse.  A year ago, the Last Act of the Romantic Psychodrama just beginning.  Whew. 

     I think I came out of it all right.  I’m starting to see a possible Harold-Nicolson/Vita Sackville-West thing developing with Rod.  (He actually KNOWS WHO Harold Nicolson is!!!)  Last night I almost raped him in his theatre seat but I am determined to let him make the first move.  But I do need to know how long I’m going to have to wear Glamorous Lingerie every day (just in case).  I am starting to run out of glamorous lingerie.  But we are having a lovely time – he is witty, intelligent and aware.  I “confessed” all about Devon – my longest relationship – but because he’s a “newly consecrated minister” I can see Rod’s not too worried.  If he only knew! 

                                         A good development is I’m learning not to drink so much. If there isn’t sex right around the corner one must stay aware.  Coffee “without dessert” so to speak.  It’s good for me.  I told him the whole plot of Secaire – weak points become immediately obvious.  He tells me about his ex-wife.

                                         2 PM – Back at home to ringing phone – new 

    croquet ball on the pitch!  Marc Kramer coming into National – do I want

     to have dinner and discuss My Finances. Hmm. Maybe. He knows I’m too poor to invest in anything. But I say Yes.

                                         Fri. 8:05 Starlight Club Springfield, VA Fri 14 July 78

                                         I hate this club. It’s a bitch of a drive so I rarely come here but the tips are good.  Need the cash for vacation.  Unfortunately, I am working with Danielle – the Brazilian lesbian who threatened to kill me.  I’m hoping she won’t recall she threw boiling hot coffee at me.  (Her aim is bad.) 

    She’s usually pretty much out of it. Got $100 tip already from a guy who wonders why I don’t dance at The Gaslight downtown.  Because the dancers have to waitress  there!  Ugh! That place is legendary.  I tried to be polite but really.

                                         Anyway, Kramer was different from what I expected.  We ate prime rib at The King’s Contrivance – he seemed a lot older and a lot sadder. 

     He says whenever he hears 10 CC’s “I’m Not In Love” he thinks of me. 

                                         I asked him what about finances – he said I should invest in real estate.  Wants to “watch my stocks.”  I was embarrassed to tell him there isn’t anything to watch what with Dad keeping such a closed fist on the shares, and me having to sell everything I get. I start to suspect Dad is CONFIDING in him about his estate planning and PRETENDING “our” investments are actually OURS.

                                         This meant we didn’t have that much to talk about and the evening ended with a damp kiss when I turned down sex.  I say I’m In a Relationship.  He says he’s thinking of proposing to his red headed secretary –

    who reminds him of me.  I am kind of insulted but told him to Go For It. I guess 

    I had this built up in my mind – sort of like Chuck Kornowitz where you think it’s going to FINALLY be about SOMETHING ELSE.  How my Mom would jeer!  

    (Wore my 3-piece suit, anyway. With eyeshadow.)

                                         He says he has to come through on his way back

     from Oklahoma, thank God, I could say I’ll be in Maine.  Looks Like It’s Over.  

                                         2:15 AM Mon 17 July 78

                                         Another fiasco.  I should leave now while I’m behind. 

    This has certainly been Trial and Error Week. How did poor Rod – Desirable Husband Material become Inevitable Discard?  I’m sick to death of the Hand Kissings and the Knee Pinchings, Goddamit.  There is something seriously wrong with this man. We had dinner & drinks at the Peter Pan Inn, then drove up and down Price Distillery Rd until I assaulted him.  I admit it.  He is under 

    the impression that we “made love”.   Trust me, one time was plenty.   This is a man who does not “think” with his body.  He gives nothing back, an absorptive rather than reflective surface. 

                                      I worked hard not to let him know how just how incompetent he is, because really, there’s no hope.  

    Some sad girl somewhere who hates sex is going to find her “dream man”. 

     I shouldn’t have pushed it, although seriously I don’t think he will even question if it never happens again.

                                         Damn shame is all I can say.  A cruel waste, when he’s so charming in every other respect. Life is brutal. Sigh. Enjoyed Pretty Baby so much I saw it twice. (Can’t pay close enough attention while Rod is talking.)xxx