Alysse Aallyn

Category: Memoir

  • Inspired Pleasure

    The Diary of a Dancer

        1 July 77
    Today I should start my new novel – always the worst

    part. Lauren called to APOLOGIZE for our dinner. I said nothing
    to apologize for I had a wonderful time. She said she had an
    “off” night and they are upping my print run from 100,000 to
    110,000.. So I guess I’m “on” again in case I write another Eng
    gothic historical paperback they like (don’t hold your breath).
    Threw aside Berckman’s Crown Estate suddenly can’t stand
    other people’s writing.


    Very disllusioning dinner with Chuck Kornowitz. My
    piece de resistance crab manicotti in Newburg sauce turned out
    exquisitely but he only cared about the booze. When I mentioned
    The Great American novel he said it’s been written and offered to
    send it to me. He edited it! He only laughed at one thing I said –
    he called Athenaeum a “very, very small publishing house” and I
    said, “More of a hut, really”. He obviously thought I was going to
    have sex with him so that he would read my book. I turned him
    down but offered to make up a bed for him on sofa (he really seemed
    incapacitated by drink but he blamed it on jetlag.) He insisted on
    leaving, looking very cranky. Did wonder aloud who the hell I think
    I am? What’s a little sex between “friends” (or supplicants & donors?)


    Letter from Devon (I needed it) cheered me up extraordinarily.
    Just in the nick of time. I’m a loner, he’s a loner too – do two loners
    make a party? Having a hard time feeling beautiful when I am not
    dancing and 50 situps a day and one filthy bike ride are no substitute.
    But this seminarian writes a mean letter. Loved my novel. Looks
    forward to servicing – er surveying Boston in my company. Four
    hours on novel produces 8 bad pages. It’s a start. Ms. MacManus
    foisting her probate lawyer nephew Henry on me. He came over
    to invite me to the beach (and help me walk the dogs.) He’s a pale,
    pale Ryder (he’d have to be Peter Frampton to arouse me at
    this stage) and I feared he’d get sunstroke but I said yes. Saw
    Jabberwocky – very Monty Python.


    Wrote a long wailing, complaining letter to Avril. Try to
    read Women & Madness but it’s too poorly written and repels
    every attempt. Norah Lofts White Hell of Pity – very depressing.
    You’re pretty much asking for it if you pick up a book with that title.


    11:00 AM Sun 3 July 77
    Had to walk Genevieve’s dogs all the way to Columbus
    & Ninth to find NY Times. Henry cancelled – I didn’t know why till
    Ms MacManus told me he found out I wasn’t Jewish! Now she tells
    me! (She’s not Jewish either.) Reading First Person Singular –
    actually some helpful dating advice. Is it too crass to count on
    having sex with Devon July 20? (That’s as long a wait as I think
    I can stand.)

        12:45 PM Mon 4 July 77
    Almost strangled the dogs today. Sam rolled in horseshit

    in the park. Had to wash them both. Then they bothered me so much
    during my exercises I had to lock them up. They howled. Penance
    all around. Ms. McManus invited me to see New York, New York
    . We enjoyed Unsung Cole last night – and she is going to Martha’s
    Vineyard so won’t be around to make me her new chew toy.


    11:25 PM Wish I could read the future. New York,
    New York none too reassuring about male/female relationships.
    Reading Leonard Woolf’s depressing Downhill All the Way.
    His mind so different from Virginia’s you could call it “antithetical”.
    Tomorrow’s excitement – double feature of Shame and The
    Passion of Anna.

        12:25 AM 9 July 77 
    Ryder’s divorce final. His relationship with me?  Still in

    “separation” phase. Trying to hate him but it’s not working. Pity
    the petty man who revels in bondage. Feeling sorry for all his
    future lovers is the best I can do. He would respect me more if I
    was less sexually excitable, and that’s the ugly truth. Totally
    resigned that Harcourt will reject Secaire. Went to Patti Smith
    concert with Brett’s brother. Kind of fun the way she barks out
    her poetry; a little too butch for me. He is an incipient pedophile
    remarking on every thirteen-year old he saw (or possibly he was
    just trying to annoy me.)

        11:45 PM Sun 10 July 77
    Loved Rhoda Lerman’s The Girl That He Marries

    – never were reviews so misleading!

        July 14, 1977
    Power out in the whole city! Living by candles. No

    elevator doesn’t affect us readers. Doorman up and down the
    stairs with flashlights looking for old people. Dogs poop on
    balcony. I seize any excuse not to write.

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

    Pevensey Old Farms
    New deal: all I have to do for luxe pad is write an
    article for Mrs. McManus’ real estate mag. I think rich people
    are masters of bait and switch but of course I say yes.
    Contemplate novel about homicidal house-sitter called Other
    People’s Houses     but I see from Books In Print it’s been taken.


    Lying here making new breakthroughs in the art of
    writing sideways; disinfecting my ear from swimming. Wanted
    to write about Monica Dickens’ Man Overboard or N Ephron’s
    Crazy Salad or at the very least make a New Plan for My Novel
    but find I can’t. Was very “good” today – swam, bicycled, some
    writing. Allowed to eat anything here luckily her food is not too
    outrageous – hamburger and zucchini salad.  Marinated artichoke
    hearts. 


    Refuse to shred my nerves further by hating myself. 
    My body’s not perfect but I do feel on the home stretch to self-control. 
    Give me six weeks and I’ll be flying. Emotionally, I’m a mess. 
    Devon brought up marriage and I am smotheringly certain that I
    can’t live up to either of our expectations or be parson’s wife.
    Be fun to try – but that’s not the point. I fear the idiot side of me
    that just keeps coming out. Can’t seem self-assured, playfully
    grave instead sexually voracious and maniacally ridiculous.
    Anyway Intuition told me he would call tonight between
    8-10 as soon as he could be reasonably sure the Oldsters are out
    of the way (he is visiting his parents who have “lights out” – i.e.
    are blitzed – by nine pm). However Experience says if I expect the
    call, he won’t call. (Learned this from Ryder).


    He called at 8:30. I cracked too many jokes – conversation
    painfully bizarre.  He seemed calm and unfreaked. He got a new
    job that gives him more “room” (he’s a waiter- he’s sick of teaching
    people) asked when he could “show up” and suggested tomorrow.
    Moving a lot faster than I expected from my memories of
    Shy Boy. Do I want to have my fantasies played fast and loose with
    in this way? (Am I over Ryder?) Do I want to get over him?  Or
    are mismatches of Time & Desire my Fate?


    I am certainly NOT turning down D’s offer to see what
    there can be for us. Companion? Lover? Second self? Brother?
    Alas he is too blindingly handsome for me to be rational.
    If he comes tomorrow there won’t be time for more than
    necking (has to get to new job by 4.)


    Forget “July 20”, entered on my calendar as S Day.
    I WILL NOT MAKE LOVE TO A SCHEDULE. We have to have
    a night alone to make things happen.  I can be patient – can he?
    Well, I can be honest. Best anyone can do.


    10:45 PM Back from a walk, reliving my years as teenage
    prowler. And peeper. These walks are very informational as I spy
    couples hanging plants & merrimekkos, having fights and pouring wine.
    Macramé is de rigueur. Try to imagine Devon & me in similar situations.
    Maybe he won’t be a parson forever.


    Celebrate my freedom from R. Nice to know I can go to parties
    without fearing R’s paranoia & restrictions mixed with his exhibitionism
    & flamboyance. Freeing me maybe to be those things. Fantasize
    pleasurably about long drives with D – my hand on his thigh – separate
    but equal thoughts unfolding with the journey.  My emotions a difficult
    horse to ride.


    11:50 PM
    Interrupted by phone call from R. (got this # from my
    parents.) Offered to send me money. What is wrong with him?
    He said, “You were right the way you always are.  When are you
    coming back to me?” Loves me, misses me, wants me back. He’s
    been sick – Emmys a complete bust – his TV show cancelled – 2
    directors actually fired (25 people in total.) Today’s the first day he’s
    been back to work, amazed not to get a pink slip. He’s taking a two
    week unpaid leave to go to the Finger Lakes and find his soul. If
    they fire him so what. He refuses to take out of town job.
    He really worked me over – gave me a bird’s eye
    view of what life with him would be like. For example, said, “his
    place is my place.” If he means “move in” he knows I’ll say no
    because his skyscraper doesn’t take dogs. He asked, “When
    do you come down to get your furniture?” I don’t like him having
    all this information. Thank God for D. Six weeks to decide
    whether I even want to return to Washington. I write a poem for Devon.

    Angel Clothes

    You are like a ripe peach
    Swollen in the summer of your life
    And as the peach surrounds its stone
    Your skeleton enwombs your soul
    But thinly.
    I often see it shining
    Through the hollows in your cheeks.
    I need your body
    Need to know its shadows
    Sound its pleasures
    But as the stone
    Though small at first
    Must grow; feed off the dying peach
    So your spirit must transhume your flesh
    Disgorge it in
    A thousand peaches a thousand summers a
    Thousand eternities more beautiful than
    You or i

    7PM – Sat 23 July 77
        D and I went for a long walk today, had a great

    talk. He told me all about his passionate relationship with English
    girl – asking “Do you really want to know?” I did – I managed to
    be very hands off.  Said he’d written her “lyrical love-letters” and
    she is saving money to come to US at Christmas.
    Bit of a downer to find other people have split
    minds like me. I told him a little about R and more about my
    husband. I had to hope he wouldn’t see it “retaliation” for what he’d
    told me.  (R would have.) Fantasies can be ugly if they prevent you
    from experiencing reality.


    We hugged – he left – I know he thinks I’m too
    “intense”. I was stupid enough to read him my peach poem.  On
    the other hand, if a guy can’t handle my poetry where am I? R only
    likes poems he knows are about him.
    Wrote a whiny letter to Avril (who usually can handle
    whiny letters).  Good today – bike, swimming, walk with D. Long letter
    to Mom and Dad.


    Reading Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm –
    can’t stay grumpy – laughing too hard. Settling into my spaceship –
    my own body – first day of the rest of my life. Listening to wonderfully
    crazy modern opera on the radio.


    Sun 24 July 77
    Reading E. Ogilvie’s Theme for Reason.  How can
    people still write novels interspersed with long nature descriptions – the pert chickadees and the blue moiré sea. I think it’s immoral for a writer of
    any talent to inflict this stuff on an overstuffed world. Shape now the
    key (used to be all about time-wasting.) I pledge to concentrate on
    making each day a triumph.
    The First Word
    The First Page.
    The First Day.


    4PM
    Wrote 4 pages of A Demon Roused. Horribly
    dissatisfied. Patricia Highsmith on the suspense novel no damn
    help at all. Everything I’ve ever written pure dunder written by a
    dunderhead. Restrained myself from calling R.
    Face facts.  Left DC June 4. This coming
    month has to be gotten through. Feel I suffered my “breakdown”
    last spring was a crisis of identity.  Attacked by the writing thing
    (no money, no approval, no relationships) attacked by the relationship
    thing (R too critical, wanting to “change” me.) Starving myself. Long
    mad midnight walks rampaging thru Chevy Chase with dogs. The
    ENDLESS Devon situation only explicable when seen in this light.
    (He’s TOO good looking – it’s like a fantasy.)


    Now about my book. New beginning ALL wrong and
    I couldn’t figure out why. The characters seem alive.
    1) First Person Difficult. My husband always said
    2) omniscient narrator no longer possible, making
    3) me want to do it. However, I have to admit you
    4) need to be somebody – an extra character and that’s a
    5) bigger pain in the neck.
    2)    Scene Problematic. I’ve GOT to get out of England.
    It’s artificial. How about if I don’t say where it is? Will the specificity
    cops come after me?
    3)    Format (Suspense novel) rough because I have to be
    the one who knows what’s going on and I want to write my first draft in a
    narcoleptic state. Means I have to be happy making a huge ness with a million
    false starts and then write the thing ALL OVER when I know what’s going on.
    But I feel time running out on me. Goddam it.
    I should be happy to explore. Why all this pressure?  Two novels
    unaccepted, why write a fourth? Am I deliberately trying to drive myself to the
    brink of insanity? Also I HATE Sunday because the pool is packed, no stores
    are open, and there’s no mail.
    Devon and his roommates Blair & Brian drop by and I
    struggle to appear sane. Hard for me.


    6PM
    Called R.  to yell at him. He wasn’t there – thank GOD.
    Maybe I just want to punish him.  He certainly deserves it. 

             1:30 PM Mon 25 July 77
        Dark night of the soul finally over. Very athletic today –

    feel deliciously tired. Decide I should go back to Washington no
    matter what. My choices are my choices. My happiness can’t be
    dependent on how people treat me. I plan to use my time to become
    powerful – to be the person I’m supposed to be.  In the drugstore line
    I was reading up on the showbiz personalities – nobody interesting
    before 30 and I have a few years yet.


    Forget about weight – just follow & learn to love
    “virtuous routine”. (I’m a size seven – that’s pretty good.) Today it
    POURED rain – night baseball Devon wanted to attend out of the
    question.  He suggested we switch to a movie when he called this am.


    Still feel stilted with him unfortunately.
    Theme for Reason’s sole interest is that it was
    written by a lesbian. Still, she isn’t very forthcoming. “Marriage of
    convenience?” Really?


    Assault on library. Planning to ransack the place.
    Leafed through Helen Hayes (poor woman); enjoying Thurber’s
    My World and Welcome To It .

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary a Dancer

        11:00 AM – Tues 24 Aug 76
    Lying in the same bed where R and I made love five

    hours ago – just finished Tyler’s Clockwinder. Puzzled by the
    lack of passion in her strange, sad, minor novels.  Tonight R is
    picking me up and taking me “someplace” – I have my eye on
    a little restaurant – where we can talk it out. I hope he’s paying
    because I have exactly $177 to live on till Sept 7 and $125 of
    that is rent. I’m trying to look at the future calmly – I love him,
    he loves me – who knows what may happen?
    2:40 PM Was feeling so much better I was going
    to work on sending out poems until I looked around at this place.
    A and I desperately need Maeve to live here to help out with
    expenses and she is not the tidiest person.  A says she never
    cleaned her other place after the party and it smells like a
    dead body. I cleaned and now I feel better but not in the mood
    for literature – more in the mood to take my dishpan hands to
    the mall. However I won’t because it would just result in
    expenditures.
    3:40 PM Obviously R doesn’t really respect me.
    Otherwise he wouldn’t manipulate me like this. I don’t think
    he cares about me being a writer at all. He would actually
    like it better if he could introduce me to people as “my girlfriend
    the insurance agent.” That makes sense in his little world. I
    could break up with him but I’d have to find another place to
    work anyway – he’s ruined Shalimar for me. One can understand
    and deplore and get mad, but the alternative is loneliness. All I want
    is to go out and have fun, have someone to play and smooch with.
    Finding and then cultivating such a person is incredibly exhausting –
    and aren’t 99% of them only going to have the same (or worse)
    reactions he’s having anyway?

      10:40 AM Thurs 26 Aug –76 – Club Shalimar
    Yesterday morning Maeve and I lingering over coffee
    and chat – no one wanting to return to their life – and the phone
    rang. It was editor Ruby Jenkins at Pyramid wanting to make an
    offer on my book. She says it has a lot of wit and depth and is
    really extraordinary and if they don’t take it someone else will. 
    Two editors on my side. Asked all about me – so I told what I was
    doing, schools, what I’d had published – that Harcourt just turned
    down Find Courtney.  She’d called Maine because she couldn’t
    get in touch with my agent but left a message. I just put the
    phone down and screamed for 20 solid minutes. Then went to
    Shalimar and quit – gave them a week’s notice.
    Didn’t tell them about book – Carmen guessed about
    Ryder – narrowed her eyes into slits and tried to tell me a
    lot of terrible stuff about him, about how he always pursued
    dancers – although she admits, after me, not any more. She
    said if I ever need the job again, they’d give it to me.  That
    was nice. Randy the bouncer had tears in his eyes because
    he says I’m so amusing and no one else can make him laugh.
    R’s “celebration” was to take me to Garfinckel’s at
    the Montgomery Mall to buy me underwear. He takes it
    strangely personally that I don’t wear a bra or underpants
    half the time. This could have been a fun, even erotic experience
    but he was so weird I almost had a nervous breakdown – so
    bizarrely controlling like he doesn’t know what presents are. 
    The missionary purchasing fig leaves for the natives!  Felt
    offensively “managed”.
      If he had bought me lingerie and given it to me
    that would have been one thing.  I could take them back if I
    didn’t like them. This was if he were my parent or something –
    I really can’t explain why it was so insulting. I let him buy me
    a pink silk robe, which I refused to try on – of course it will fit.
    Duh.
    We should have been celebrating. Not only can I
    quit dancing but they’ve put him on the eleven pm news and
    now we could have mornings together. But at the Japanese
    steakhouse he really acted wooden headed. I think it’s some
    sort of a gender problem – men understand that their self-respect
    is tied up with autonomy but they seem to think the opposite
    must be true about women. I’m trying too hard not to despise
    him. Anything I could say sounds hurtful.
    At the very same time he’s trying to “tether” me he’s
    trying to free himself. He said, what if I want to take another girl
    out? And I said, well you can but you have to tell me about it
    before hand. He said, I know how I’d feel if you said that to me.
    I told him he probably doesn’t have to worry – I can’t imagine
    wanting another man. Now he’s “scared” I’m going to become
    a famous writer!   So we went back to my place and made love
    for three hours and it was very satisfying. He was all over me
    and it felt like the last time in some critical way. 
    To me he seems less like a man getting out of a
    marriage than some kind of shipwreck victim who has never
    seen or imagined our society and is becoming increasingly
    excited about the sexually liberated possibilities.   How can
    we avoid breaking up over this?  Can’t I just get a  fat check
    from  my book and be a young writer about town? I sincerely
    hope that’s the way it will go. Reading Rose, my years in
    Service     about Lady Astor’s maid.

        Sat 28 Aug 76 Shalimar

    Ryder tried to pressure me not to go to work by

    saying “we shouldn’t be seeing each other”. I remind him
    we have a dinner party coming up and a vacation in Maine!
    Why the hysteria? Reading Henri Peyre’s The Failures of
    Criticism    . Last set.

        3PM Mon 30 Aug 76

    Wakened by air-conditioner going on – Ryder

    climbing in bed with me fully clothed so there would be “no sex”
    – of course that didn’t work. He is very upset about my sense
    of physical freedom – said wouldn’t “let” me be painted in the
    nude by Andrew Wyeth! I pointed out that his wife was his
    ideal woman – totally restrained and untrained and ignorant
    and unavailable in every way he wanted – and he hated it.
    Can’t understand why he has to be such a jackass when all
    his dreams are coming true.

        3 Sept 76

    Just back from the worst vacation of my life. Both

    Avril and I took completely unacceptable men to our parents’ island –
    alas, my man was the most unacceptable – doing nothing but
    fighting and sulking. He finally said such unforgiveable things I had
    to drive him to the ferry and push him off into space. His last
    words were “I love you.”  Day late and a dollar short. The worst
    things he said were that I dress like a slut, anyone looking at
    me would instantly assume I was a prostitute. This was said to me
    while I was wearing my gorgeous emerald scarf tied around my
    breasts and my long denim skirt and Nefertiti necklace and looking
    like a goddess for parents’ dinner party.
    He said if I don’t start wearing a bra my breasts will
    be “ruined” and he doesn’t want to wake up age 35 married to
    only a “mind”. (The mind is in fact quite unimportant in his world.)
    His wife, he assured me, always dressed most tastefully –
    nobody desiring her ever. Didn’t cross his mind that the fact
    that she was dead-on-arrival in the sack and her inability to
    enjoy and celebrate her own body could be in any way connected.
    He told me my poems are awful and self-indulgent and I
    live entirely in my own head.  I was finally forced to tell him
    that what with his long hair, leisure suits, stacked heels and
    man-purse most people just assume he’s gay.
    But who cares what “most people” think – and
    would we even know? He really got on my bad side seemingly
    justifying rape – women “ask for it” with their clothing, male
    self control not an issue. I said if a crazy girl escaped from an
    institution and ran down the street naked would men be “ justified”
    raping her? He said yes so obviously it was over between
    us from that moment. The truth, of course, is that he was
    overwhelmingly jealous from the moment he arrived on the island
    – possibly earlier – by the fact that I am a separate human being,
    who has ever existed out of his sight.

        17 Sept 76

    It really is over with R.  My fault for going so fast.

    R leaving messages on my answering machine every day,
    trying to make me jealous with “don’t call back tonight I won’t
    be in”. Finally decided I owe it to him to tell him where I’m
    working – I know he thinks I returned to dancing – the
    scum. Sent him a card saying we should meet for dinner
    in a couple of months. Appt. with Georgetown Employment
    Agency 10;30 AM tomorrow.
    12;25 PM
    Ryder came by to pick up his jackets. He said,
    “You’re the most valuable person in the world to me.” Trying not
    to goad him into pyrotechnics, so, showed nothing. He was calm,
    played with the dog, kissed me on the cheek and said “I love you”
    and left. He is worthy of a hefty Freudian tome all to himself. I want
    to send him a copy of The Intimate Enemy but he wouldn’t
    (couldn’t) read it. He’s totally about not wanting what he has,
    having what he doesn’t want, wanting something else and
    hating himself into the bargain. I pity anyone involved with him –
    mainly I pity me – still fixated on his worthlessness apparently.
    Washing the dishes in floods of tears. I bragged to him that I didn’t
    want to change him – that isn’t true. I don’t feel I have the right
    to change people while he wants to specify every detail about me.
    The worst is I know how he would exult in his power over me.
    Still wearing his black coral diver’s cross as a charm. When R
    says dismissively “Be free” he means “Be alone”.

        Sun. 12 Sept 76 – 12:05 PM 

    Yesterday turned down job at art gallery that would

    have been wonderful but paid dirt. They say I “might” get
    commissions on sales. Have a feeling Mom and Dad would
    push for it – it was very upscale – just didn’t feel right to me.
    FINALLY letter from agent; Pyramid offering $2500
    advance, 6% to 150,000 copies, 8% thereafter, a few minor revisions.
    Always less than you think but not as bad as the gallery – I say
    hells yes. Still have to find job; something that lets me write.
    I called Ryder with info, left message. Have to go
    to NY to sign contract so job hunt suspended for now.

        Mon 13 Sept 76

    Avril and Mike met me and Ryder at The Royal

    Warrant for drinks to celebrate my book. I wore long sexy
    purple lace-up dress – nothing he’d object to however.
    (Royal Warrant because their drinks are huge.) Wore
    sandals with kitten heels and I was still taller than him.
    I wonder if that’s what this is about. I invited him home after
    and he accepted. He concentrated on making me come. Said
    he can’t consider dating a girl who doesn’t wear a bra. I said I
    might wear one in my first pregnancy. Gave him my copy of
    Intimate Enemy when he left. Reading Brownmiller’s excellent
    Against our Will.

      11:45 AM 14 Sept 76 – Tues. Boiling hot.
    I need a full-time psychiatric nurse, vicious guard dog
    and a secretary. Phone ringing off the hook. Agent called
    reversing charges. Ryder wants to celebrate his salary bump.
    How can two people who despise each other as much as we do
    want to have sex all the time? Beats me. Ryder’s latest charge is
    that I wrote a novel for money. Get it? I’m a prostitute! Then he
    marches off to his yessir, nosir job whistling. You can’t win with him.
    Cheered myself up reading old diaries about my marriage. At least
    it’s not as bad as that. I used to lock myself in the bathroom to howl.
    Reading Simenon’s Venice Train. He is too mannered.
    Ryder forced me to look at his island pictures – I am the
    ugliest beautiful woman in the world. He tries to use this against me
    but of course we were fighting the whole time. No one can be lovely
    under such conditions. Does “love” entail not just “sacrifice” but
    loss of identity? Went out and bought a pair of six inch heels. When
    I am with Ryder, I love him but when I’m away, the cloud lifts.
    Attempting to seduce Devon by sending him a copy of the poem Cedarwood
    Chest.

    Cedarwood Chest

    Grandpa died young that’s why
    Grandma never opened
    The Cedarwood chest
    Till my twelve years unlocked
    The scent of dreams preserved
    Like mullet in red wine.

    Never used the wilting nightgowns
    Featherstitched sheets
    Between whose coffee-colored creases
    Bay leaves crumbled
    (Like my reserve when you laid hands
    Upon it) how it
    Comes back that mossy sad
    Perfume! I want to lay
    You away in darkness and tissue but
    I can’t
    I must use you and risk
    Your wearing out

        God knows what he’ll think but I know he’ll give a better

    reaction than R. Lunch in NY 12:30 Tues – have to take the 7 AM


    train to make it work!

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

    20 Aug 76 – 11 AM –
    Inside I start my psycho-thrillerThe Mass at St Secaire for the thousandth


    time with one good idea: Manage transitions by IGNORING them.


    Just start abruptly somewhere else and worry about it later! Outside


    R sits in a lawn chair playing the guitar. When he falls silent he’s writing


    down notes. He says I have a good effect on him, getting him writing again.


    In the meantime, I made a list of literary essays I want to


    write and to my surprise there were more than 20. When I get back I


    will make a folder for each one and start collecting notes and ideas,


    beginning when I feel I have enough. How to finish a book of poems,


    finish and send out a novel, write 20 literary essays while working a


    45 hr week? My heart quavers. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get a job


    that isn’t straight typing – then I have to type when I come home.


    Balzac could have done it. Trollope could have done it – I don’t


    think I can do it. But I certainly don’t want to lose R – he is a rare


    being. I need a deus ex machina of some kind. Maybe my gothic


    will sell.


    So glad this is our last day. Couldn’t say that to R –


    he would think I hadn’t enjoyed myself. Last night he stretched


    me out naked on his lap and played me like a guitar – most


    delicious thing. Waves of ecstasy bulging, rolling and crashing


    inside me. He says I’m so fun to please. Talks about how he


    would like to adopt deaf children. This means I would have to


    learn sign. Sounds good but I feel lazy and stubborn. Feel like


    a fledgling – flight pattern undetermined.


    R. wrote a song called Blue Lake Blues.  Bad. I wrote a


    poem called Diaries. Don’t know what I think of it.

    Diaries

    I don’t remember anything –
    I’m an amnesiac so
    I write everything down
    Stuffed in my closet
    Beneath discarded ball gowns
    utterly useless but
    too beautiful to throw away.
    Recollect & treasure
    Acts of writing
    An up and over downtime scrawl;
    Recall a surgeon
    Cutting flesh
    Tugging, swearing, splitting ,sweating
    peeling waste & want.
    Fierce liftoff –
    Airborne I’m granted
    Hawk’s-eye vision
    Backwards , forwards
    Past & future.
    Too much dig is spoilage-
    Freedom mined
    Invaluable.

      Club Shalimar, Mon 23 Aug 76


    Should be glad to be back but I’m so depressed.


    Everything so mixed up. Promised R I’d get another job so


    now I have to look for one, which won’t be pleasant. God


    knows what I’ll have to say I was doing.  Once when I was


    married I tried to get a loan and of course they wouldn’t give me


    one without “collateral” – something of which I’d never heard.


    Dad told me to tell them I had a basement filled with gold bullion.


    I guess I could just tell employers the bullion ran out.


    Then I walk up to the club and whose car should be


    there – but R’s. He had told me he wouldn’t come in as long as


    I was working there. He said he just needed to talk to Rick because


    Rick is helping him feel better.


    I think what will happen is that I won’t work there any


    more but R will drop in when he feels like it. I want to “ban” him


    but I even more don’t want to be having these conversations.


    He says I just do it for the money and because it’s easy and of


    course that’s perfectly true. If I got $500 a week from writing I


    probably wouldn’t dance. 


    The fact that something feels natural and pleasurable


    and doesn’t leave you feeling depleted at the end of each day


    isn’t a point against it to my way of thinking.  He’s just an old


    fashioned sexist pig. On the other hand he is a special person


    and I definitely don’t want to dance forever.


    Sometimes I think the whole problem is that he’s


    getting a divorce and he’s so unready for a relationship he’s


    giving me hoops to jump through.  But even if we got married


    I’d have to be at financially independent – he’s just too different


    from me for me to trust that he will agree with me about what’s


    right for me. My theory is it doesn’t hurt to look for a job. Maybe


    I’ll find something special or interesting.


    11:20 PM – A called – R staggered in dead drunk,


    said “Call Alysse and tell her I’m here  and set the alarm for 5:30”


    and then passed out on the sofa.  I told them to hide his car keys


    in case he wakes up and tries to go someplace. I’m glad he’s safe,


    on the other hand I’m annoyed that he’s been touring the bars.


    He plainly didn’t go to his apartment, drink and  then go to my


    house. My guess is total strangers up and down Wisconsin


    Avenue have been hearing his heartrending saga of the misery of


    dating an exotic dancer.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

        Fri 23 July 76 - Tyler St, Chevy Chase, Maryland 
    R and I have seen each other every day since Fri –

    I think he’s in love. I could fall if I let myself but something holds me back.
    I like our relationship now – he drops by the house after work
    and we’re both in jeans. I think tonight’s the night for sex –
    first time – I’m nervous but since I love his body I expect
    to be all right.
    Adore these slow working mornings. I get up
    with A (depending on when her first run is – she’s now
    working courier) to have time to set my hair before leaving
    at 10. Beautiful walks up Tyler St. Early AM at the Shalimar
    such a pleasure – sitting at the bar with my diary balanced
    on my hipbones, watching the barmaids get ready, feeling
    like a character out of Toulouse Lautrec.
    Yesterday we met our across the street neighbors –
    one of them is a gorgeous guy named Larry getting a degree
    in Hospital Administration. Among ourselves we call him
    “Shoulders” because he has such a gorgeous pair. To see
    them dimpled with sweat on his way back from a run is to be
    in heaven. Invited Larry and roommates Garrett and Opal to
    dinner tomorrow night – if they can come.

    Thurs 22 July 76 – 9:25 PM
    God I’m in love. I love his fragile, tense blond body –
    love holding it. Love looking at his Lorenzo diMedici face. 
    Those blond Italians! He wouldn’t like to hear me say it –
    he has a black belt in karate and thinks he’s so tough – but
    he probably only outweighs me by 20 lbs. Made love all afternoon –
    he is very skilful – obsessed with my pleasure. Says he doesn’t
    care if he ever comes – wants to see what gives a woman  pleasure. 
    We fit together exactly – interlocking puzzle pieces even
    upside down. I can feel his feet with my feet – his knees
    with my knees – it’s like having a mirror body – only with a
    hard chest and penis. After the first time the relief of the orgasm
    was so great I wept.  I fell asleep with him inside me.  Wrote
    a poem about him but don’t know if I want to show him. If I
    learned anything from Bruce it’s that people misrepresent.
    He could be shockable and its early days yet. Today I want
    to buy a bookcase.
    Love equals, unfortunately, anxiety attacks – could
    he possibly love me as much as I love him?  Yesterday walking
    in the park I expressed fear about him going straight from one
    serious relationship right into another – but he says he refuses to
    limit the experience. Which of course was exactly the right answer.
    The worst part is his trouble with my job.
    He says he knows he can’t ask me to quit because
    he can’t support me – I pointed out he wants me to go on the Divers
    World expedition, and then to Cozumel, and I want to take him to Maine,
    all of which would be impossible if I had a regular job. He says he
    can deal with it only by avoiding the Shalimar – OK by me as long as
    I see him outside. He came in today – I got rid of him after a half hour,
    before my set.

    11:05 AM – Shalimar Tues 27 July 76
    Feel like throwing out all my diaries. Driveling gush broken
    up by gushing drivel. But I go right ahead and produce some more.
    Randy throwing ice and cases of beer, Bobbi cleaning trays,  Carmen
    checking paper towels and me writing. Perfect.
    We were lying in bed – me and Ryder – I have to lie on his
    right side because he only has one good ear – and he told me a long
    purposeless allegory about bullfighting. Can’t tell which of us is the
    supposed to be the matador. I’m the only one with a poetic license
    in this relationship.) He said I should just write, and he’s going
    to see to it. I said fine by me. I love this job but not as much
    as writing, love and freedom. Then he said, I love you.

    9:45 AM Wed July 28 76
        Anniversary of Toss Sheffield relieving me of

    my impacted virginity (as I relieved him of his.) R came yesterday at 2 –
    left at 3 – came back at 5. Another watershed in our relationship – Fears.
    He’s afraid to lose the hearing in his good ear. He speaks sign
    language but doesn’t want to live in a world without sound. I made
    him promise to go the doctor. He agreed to make an appointment no
    later than Weds.
    Reading Christina Stead’s wonderful Dark Places of
    the Heart. Considered inviting Ryder to live with us – rejected
    the idea. I need too much alone time. So important to establish
    amour proper. I am so impoverished from setting up the house
    (though I’ve made enough in tips to pay my taxi ride home tonight)
    I am barely going to make the rent. Need a windfall.
    Sweaty and smelly. I think I’ve boogie –oogie-oogied
    till I just can’t boogie no more.


    Club Shalimar– 30 July 76
    Cookout at Ryder’s parents – I met his folks – two
    roly-poly people who are nothing like him – one sister who is
    a lot younger.
    We had glorious talks on our way there and back –
    about having our own space – (we agreed he needs to live alone);
    our hopes and dreams (he used to write music, wants to do that
    again someday – I told him I have an agent shopping a novel around)
    first impressions (I discovered he was in the bar when I auditioned!
    Horrors!) He said what intrigues him most about me is that he
    can’t figure me out – still can’t – everything about me is a surprise.
    I guess I could say the same about him. 
    Wonderful abandoned sex – just crazy stuff – I came and
    came.  He told me he spent last night at his old house – he and
    his wife had to have a “meeting”. I was jealous until he told me
    that his wife is sexually dead – and always has been. He didn’t
    understand it when they married, assuming it was something you
    get over. I suggested she was probably molested as a child –
    he didn’t want to believe it. He thinks some people are sexually
    just asexual. I thought – but didn’t say – there’s a self-protective
    concept. He doesn’t want to think she is turned off of him but in
    my experience – such as it is – chemistry is a completely
    mysterious yet crucial factor women have a tendency to discount
    it when choosing a life partner. So they end up married to the
    “perfect” person, except they’re not sexually stirred.
    2:00 AM. He tucked me in – kissed me – left – then
    I was wakened with his hands all over me. When he got to his
    car he realized our clock had stopped and he didn’t have time
    to go home before work. So he snuck back in the sliding door.
    We had sex again, and the whole night became a snake
    eating its own tail. This morning got a wonderful poem:
    Love, the Magician.

    The Magician is a Capricorn
    Bleeding cock’s milk from nipples
    Pale like mine but
    Maler.
    Illusion, he says is memory
    Of things that should have been.
    Doves and rabbits he entices
    From sacred groves between my legs
    Placed by ruse, and freed by art.
    When he dies, passion turns his eyes
    To quarters.
    He hears the world but faintly
    Through his one good ear.
    The other turns to me,
    Safecracker’s daughter.
    Trust the magician, voices tell me
    He knows when to drop the dice.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

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

    but they don’t seem to care if you don’t so I spend all my
    time talking to Ryder. He says he’s just separating from
    his wife and it’s extremely traumatic. They have been
    together since high school. He’s a tad hyper – always on
    the go, but very entertaining He usually brings me gifts –
    flowers, magazines, stuffed toys and cards. Also he’s a
    diver and underwater photog. Today he brought pink roses.
    Avril warns me not to fall in love. Just date.
    Easy to say! I want security, privacy, ecstasy, exclusivity…
    and love. It’s a problem!
    The oilman came to the house today says he’s
    shocked we have no credit references and will have to pay
    COD! Fortunately I had just got off work and I had the cash
    on me but I don’t like it at all. Guess we won’t need
    much oil till winter. Let’s hope.
    Ryder gave me a long spiel about how he
    gave another dancer a ride home (Darlene) and she
    expected him to go to bed with her and he said, I don’t do
    that. I could tell he was sounding me out! I said,
    I don’t either! No sex, ever! Sex, bad. He laughed till
    it hurt and he begged for mercy. Poor Avril had a long hard
    day – 7:30 AM to 6:30! I promised to take her out to eat at
    Steak & Egg if she picks me up. She said make it Bob’s
    and it’s a deal.

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

    bedroom surrounded by a jumble of stuff. So exciting
    starting a New Life. This time I am waiting for the gasman
    – if he doesn’t come by 1 pm I have to leave.
    9:25 PM – sitting in the Shalimar dressing room
    eating a plum. Last night A and I saw Antonioni’s The
    Passenger. Goes down with La Prisonniere, Persona,
    Pierrot Le Fou and Weekend as one of my favorite all-time
    films. So perfectly constructed it was like a series of Canalettos.
    Ryder just asked me if I wanted to go to dinner some-
    time. I said sure. He asked me about a lot of Italian food I
    didn’t recognize – I said I like everything. Covered with sweat
    from dancing to ”No one knows what its like to be the bad man…”
    have to take it really slow, freezing in a series of poses. Then
    suddenly I meet someone’s eyes and he drops his drink.

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

    here so I was already exhausted. I hate packing. Getting to
    be a bit of a trial having Ryder in the bar all the time. His
    expressions embarrass me to dance around him. I said I
    thought this place was full of stories. He said, don’t stay
    here just to pick up stories. He said he would “subsidize”
    me to keep me from “doing this.” Hmmmm. Right after
    talking about how little money he’ll have when he splits
    with his wife!
    He’s been offered a job in Detroit for a lot more
    money – that’s how they get ahead in his business –
    jump from station to station. I told him he should take it –
    turned out that was the “wrong thing” because he hoped
    I’d want him here. But I told him, I’m a citizen of the world.
    I can go anywhere. Fear only empty experiences. So he says,
    why are you doing this? I said, to meet you.
    Otherwise he is perfect. So charming, smart and
    funny, with so much ambition, spirituality and humility.
    4 sets left – then 2 days off. Just bought 3 costumes from
    Sunny for $30. Feeling personally confident in a way I
    haven’t for years. R invites me out to dinner next week.
    Have to buy special shoes so I won’t be too tall. Today
    marks year and a half since my separation from Bruce.

        Fri 16 July 76 – Club Shalimar
    A & I hung living room paintings today, and last piece

    was moved in. Half an hour till my date with Ryder. Will his
    name mean anything to me in twenty years?  Brought blow dryer,
    change of clothes and unguents sufficient to slap me back
    into shape after 7 hrs dancing. Idly listening to gossip of Randy
    (bouncer), Jinx (dancer) and Bobbi (bartender).
    A and I had pleasant evening last night – wild storm
    and the power failed. So we went out walking afterwards with
    dogs & flashlights. Fun looking into people’s houses, seeing
    them move about with candles. What does the future hold?
    I worry both that Ryder will be there and that he won’t be there.
    Margery Sharp’s The Faithful Servants has a lot of charm.

        17 July 76
    Interesting date. I want to write about it but first I have

    to say today has been a TERRIBLE day – I had to follow ex-stripper
    named Edie who wore a black lace corset and gloves and carried
    a whip onstage – everything but a donkey, as one of the other
    dancers remarked. Then I had to listen to loud speculation on
    how I got the bruise on my ass when it was my turn.
    But Ryder Arlen. We had a wonderful dinner. He
    ordered in Italian.  The weirdest thing about him is that he
    doesn’t like mushrooms. Long dinner, then over to the Gangplank
    for Irish coffee. He insisted upon carrying me across two puddles –
    he’s not very big and I was sure he’d get a hernia – but he made it.
    We got back to Chevy Chase the house looked wonderful –
    A had obviously slaved for hours. We had her down for a glass of
    wine, then she went back upstairs. We ended up reading my poetry
    I didn’t show him the erotic stuff because I didn’t feel the time was right.
    He liked valentine the best – 


    Valentine
    I sent myself in a letter
    Heart-creased
    Like a glove
    Too much folded
    An anecdote
    Too much told
    Dear stranger don’t
    Lose me
    I forgot the rule
    (Hold back a copy)
     
    Then we made out for hours. He was deliciously
    passionate. I said, “You don’t want to end up in bed on the
    first date, do you?” He said, “You pick the time and the place
    but I hope it’s inevitable.”
    I said it was certainly feeling that way but I’d have
    to get to know him better. I wouldn’t let him take down the
    top of my dress either.  He left at 2:45 AM. He seems to
    really care for me – so my worry that I’m just a first experiment
    after leaving wife seems baseless. He invited me to go crabbing
    tomorrow, then on a four day cruise sometime in August.

  • Correction!

    Diary of a Dancer

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

    our way thru Mom & Dad’s supplies. The grapenuts went first
    then the soup. Now we are on sauerkraut and spinach.
    Playing Fleetwood Mac & Jimmy Spheeris while sitting on
    the balcony looking over Rock Creek Park. You don’t see one
    building; Washington DC masquerades as a virgin world. I
    need a job by next Mon. Something tells me I can’t finish my
    novel and sell it in time. I refuse to be a cubicle drudge again
    so what is there? Nude modeling sounds dangerous. Topless
    dancing? Avril admits she sits on a park bench instead of going
    to class as she told Mom! Uh oh. She says she just can’t “make
    herself” do things. What a relief to have someone worse off
    than me. Went to see All the Presidents Men with A. How I
    wish I could fall in love with Marc Kramer. He’s longing to buy
    jewelry for someone! I could sell it rather than the contents of
    this old folks’ apartment. But he’s too sane if anything and
    wears funny old man lace-up shoes. Plus he’s covered in a
    thick mat of dark fur. And there’s his endless talk about shorts,
    hedges, futures. SO PARALYZINGLY DULL. Raining outside.
    Isn’t life rotten?

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

    bikinis and go-go boots and dance for the troops! No
    more than 2 gigs a day (you have to drive there) and
    each one only lasts an hour so $60 seems very generous.
    She asked for my “experience” – I said I used to be a Maxim’s
    dancer! (I didn’t say it was for the nuns’ THEATRE
    SCHOOL in Minnesota!)
    DeeDee is giving me my schedule tomorrow.
    Tips are welcome because I don’t get paid till the 15th. Have
    to clean this apt and I don’t want to at all. Dad says apt
    lease up in two months so I’ll have to find somewhere else
    to live (Mom refuses to live here because n16th floor.) Dad
    says men are put off by us because Avril and I are too
    “masculine” by which he means determined, decisive and
    pleasure seeking. (A. very disappointed because she’s had
    two dates with Paul and they haven’t had sex yet.) Reading
    Spink’s Hans Christian Andersen and his World – what
    a painful ugly duckling story!

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

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

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

    Devon about whether he will ever visit, but speaking of
    attractive young men I had a “conversion experience” at
    the Ft. Myers’ officers club yesterday. I was registering
    at the young desk when this young man with dark curly
    hair and the face of an angel asked me who I was and
    what I was up to. I was wearing my go-go outfit plus
    military-style jacket so I did stand out. He wore a sweatband
    around his head and was all set for running but his plans
    changed in a flash. He would rather watch me dance instead.
    His name is Frank and something Italian. Took me down to
    the dark Hideaway Club and watched me the whole time –
    playing and replaying the Pointer Sisters’ Chick on the Side.
    I gave him my number and he gave me a $20 tip. Does he
    represent a break from lonely masturbation? At this stage
    of my relationship with Devon I can hardly be unfaithful.
    We shall see.
    Marc Kramer called offering to fly me to the island
    and back for Memorial Day weekend. I have $266 in the bank.
    Should I take him up on it? Just doesn’t feel right.
    Wouldn’t be able to get rid of him when I wanted to.
    I hate feeling “beholden.” Reading Norah Lofts’ Hauntings
    to help me with my ghost stories.

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

    to get tix for me and Avril to Royal Danish Ballet’s Triumph of Death,
    Royal Ballet’s Romeo and Juliet and All’s Well That Ends Well
    at the Folger Shakespeare Library. So glorious having money.

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

    me his card and said I could make a whole lot more money
    dancing at his club. I have to admit this rushing around in a
    car is getting old – the Gremlin “el Diablo” is acting up. Think
    I will go to his club, talk to the other dancers and see what
    the scoop is. It is “topless”, but so what if you aren’t supposed
    to (or expected to) “fraternize’ with the audience. There is a stage.
    Went to look at a townhouse off Dupont Circle –
    2 bedroom, $435 a month but no place for dogs. Can’t live without
    my dogs forever. Jeannie and I perform at a private party in
    Annandale. I am nervous but she is completely cool and they
    are content to look. Avril has a new man – Jack.

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

    dance alone but thank God Darby finally showed up – fucked up,
    but she can dance. (Her boyfriend brought her.) Phoned Devon –
    boy that was stupid – to see if he wanted to go to the island for
    Mem Day Weekend. He is playing in a tournament and not
    “available”. Every time I reach out to him I feel like a sap.
    Never know whether his mysterious “tides” are “in” or “out”.
    He did his best to sound warm and affectionate but he is obviously
    very stressed – he was actually panting! Now he’ll have to meditate
    for a week. I have to let this man go. When I wail about him, Avril
    makes me laugh by saying, “He’s GAY! He just won’t admit it!”
    But I have to say he didn’t seem gay to me.
    Genevieve invites us to NYC for Mem Day weekend.
    She has filed for divorce and fallen in love with someone else.
    Ex Kent doesn’t know but she warns us he is calling everyone in
    the family begging us to intervene.

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

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


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

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

    other day – I only wanted a trim – he absolutely butchered me.
    It is barely shoulder length and it looks like a cow slept in it.
    I hate all hairdressers, gynecologists and dentists – you’re just
    completely helpless in their hands. Plus I got another piercing
    in each ear and the left one seems infected. Now my face looks
    crooked. Also having my period so I am swollen up like I’m
    pregnant. Avril has a college friend (male) coming for the
    weekend and she is beating herself up – “Why did I say yes?”
    She would call and cancel if he had a phone.
    On the plus side, tips at the Shalimar are really
    good and the dancing is as energetic as you feel like –
    which means standing there swaying is Just Fine. You
    can rock yourself to sleep if you want to. Of course my
    ego won’t allow too much relaxation.
    Piece of good news – agent loves my gothic novel!
    Reading The Royal Victorians. Gremlin seems stabilized
    so Avril applied for a job as a driver with a messenger service.

    Avril friend a complete bozo but

    places to be so we hardly see him. Huge sigh of relief and
    lesson learned. Let’s just hope he doesn’t steal the silver.
    DeeDee and I come to a Sad Parting of the Ways – her
    money too small, gas costs, etc.
    A and I got a wonderful 3 bedroom in Chevy Chase
    on a charming little side street but the landlord very snooty
    about only 2 tenants. We said OK, OK. Big yard. I can
    have my dogs! Moving in July 5. Struggling with Christina
    Stead’s Puzzleheaded Girl. She is overrated. Maybe I can’t
    read fiction any more.

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

    “Somebody’s got to eat them” while waiting to go on. A lot
    of interesting men come into this place. None perfect obviously
    – and unfortunately I need more than perfection. I need
    mysticism. The owner seems to be something of a gangster.
    I got 2 standing ovations today.
    The job is actually enjoyable. I am really getting
    into it – dancing for pleasure – for the connection with
    the audience. They stare spellbound like deer in the
    headlights. Feel like I’m living in a Simenon novel as
    I learn the ins and outs.
    Avril loves her new job – thank God – they
    want her to do dispatch (no wear and tear on fragile Gremlin)
    and the drivers are all foreigners who don’t know the city.
    She’s always yelling at them to “Look out the car window
    and tell me what you see.”
    Met the most charming little man – a TV director
    at a local station – speaks sign language, is a magician
    and a karate black belt, he’s just so full of joie de vivre.
    His name is Ryder and his excitement about me puts
    my non-relationship with Devon in a new light. Reading
    Meyer’s Ibsen.

  • Bravest Thing I Ever Did

    THE BRAVEST THING I EVER DID

    Right after we were married, my husband and his mother went into the business of renovating aging Philadelphia buildings into modern apartments. Toss sank all his money into this endeavor. As the partnership progressed, a lot of problems with my mother-in-law surfaced. She was personally combative and talked continually about her own unhappy marriage and angry divorce, as if they had just happened or were still happening. Her constant hostility destroyed any chance of a good personal relationship between us. She ignored the contract that she had signed with my husband, she used construction money to purchase a property for herself, and she stopped paying the lenders. I had been forced to sign onto every loan, so, when we were inevitably sued by the bank, I was also sent constant legal demands that I come in and give depositions. Toss and I sold our house to pay back the bank, but when we moved into one of the apartments, my mother-in-law sued us. I was studying psychology at the time and could see that she had deeper problems than just an abrasive business approach.

    Throughout this horrible state of affairs my husband kept hoping his mother would come to her senses. He was extremely upset by her behavior and even became suicidal at times. I had two small children and couldn’t figure out the best thing to do. I consulted a divorce attorney but realized that I didn’t want a different husband, I wanted a different life.

    At this time my own family sold our summer place in Maine and I gained a sudden influx of cash. I decided to use it to get my husband away from his mother and into a new life. There was certainly the possibility that he would feel obligated to choose her, or his “financial best interests” or just feel emotionally unable to leave his situation.

    Through the nine years of our marriage and the seven years of my husband’s partnership we had found joy and release visiting his family summer place, Ravine Falls Farm, in the Berkshires, and it seemed to make sense to choose somewhere near there. Hartford was the nearest big city and Connecticut appeared halcyon and clean; almost a paradise in comparison to Philadelphia. The children were six and two at the time; as soon as I received my psychology degree from All Saints the three of us took off to explore the Hartford suburbs. Manchester, “Silk City”; “The City Of Village Charm” seemed just perfect. I bought a cute little new townhouse and enrolled the kids in school. It took Toss only a few months to decide to join me. He hired a lawyer to extract him from his partnership and he found a wonderful job at the Connecticut Law Tribune which combined his writing skills and legal knowledge and stayed employed there twenty-three years! We were a happy family again. My bravery paid off.

  • On Reading the Alumni Directory

    ON READING THE ALUMNI DIRECTORY

    Surprised


    How few of us have made it.


    The years are quiet


    The years are far between.


    Through interstices fall


    Class clowns


    The sluts, the giant


    Nobodies


    The possessed; hunted


    Now as they were then;


    “address unknown”


    “Still lives with Mom”


    “Religious cult”


    “Deadbeat”


    “Moved…nowhere.”


    My bloodmate’s unmarried


    would we get still along?


    I translate terpsichore to English, so


    Journalism incompatible.


    He lives so far away;


    Law’s a bitch and


    They got my address wrong.

  • How I Became a Dancer

    HOW I BECAME A DANCER

    In the spring of 1975 I quit my job as an administrative assistant to a group of Baltimore architects and gave myself an extended vacation in Maine. I was divorced and very frustrated with the dating scene in Baltimore which seemed oriented around married older career men and young, hopeful, not very smart women. My best friend who had hired me for the position was having an extended relationship with our married boss, which I saw as revolting. She got very excited about the “black pearls” he gave her and the vacations they took where he could show off her gorgeous youthful body and his hideous elderly one at sun-drenched locations.

    I myself had an unhappy relationship with the unmarried art director (we actually lived together for awhile) which was obviously going nowhere and I was drinking too much. He got fired (not sure why) and his subsequent meltdown gave me a good excuse to get out of there.

    My parents had just bought a house on Round the Mountain Road, Vinalhaven Island, that they hoped would allow them to live on the island year-round, our property on the shore being more of a “camp”. This house had water access, a boathouse, and a fantastic greenhouse off the dining room filled with spectacular camellias. Just after my parents bought it my father was surprised to be offered a job by Pennsylvania’s governor Milton Shapp to manage the finances of his presidential campaign. My parents rushed down to Washington where the action was and rented an amazing two bedroom, two bathroom apartment on the sixteenth floor of Veazey Towers overlooking Rock Creek Park.

    Dad offered to pay me to winter in the Round the Mountain Road house and keep the camellias alive (which I successfully did, in spite of having no gardening aptitude whatsoever.) I set up my office in the greenhouse and wrote my first novel, Devlyn, surrounded by all the Victorian novels I had ever admired. I wanted to cash in on the trend and write a “gothic” novel, but the fun for me was, could I write a real Victorian novel? It was a treat to try. I had a great idea in the fact that one of my favorite authors Thomas Love Peacock, friend of Shelley and author of Nightmare Abbey, had actually adopted an impoverished village girl and treated her like a daughter. The question was, why? And what happened next?

    I spent the winter writing it out and getting an agent. I had an abortive relationship with an unmarried local realtor who turned out to have extremely primitive relationship ideas (ugh) and I was offered a serious relationship by the handsomest man on the island, a real sweetie of a fisherman. But to stay, permanently on Vinalhaven Island! To be a fisherman’s wife! Couldn’t imagine it. Turned him down gracefully (we hadn’t even dated) and he went on to marry the prettiest and worst-behaved girl on the island who led him a nightmare dance of several years until their subsequent divorce and he’s now happily married to a career-woman divorcee (with children) who can’t believe her good fortune. This hothouse trap is what islands are like and I knew to stay away. One of my previous colleague architects (whom I really knew only in passing) drove all the way up from Baltimore and suffered an hour ferry ride to the island to visit me with romance on his mind. But he was married! So by spring I was more than ready to trade houses with Mom and Dad and move down to their apartment in Washington, D.C. and see if I could scare up an interesting job. (They had to leave when Milt Shapp’s finances went under investigation by the FBI.) My sister Avril left Wilmington College in Ohio for the summer and joined me.

    I certainly knew what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to be office handmaid to a group of professional men offering low salaries and zero vacation. I considered working for an environmental group, selling art on commission in a gallery, and I tried out an employment agency whose offered jobs were never what they said they were. When I found a classified ad
for go-go dancers I was intrigued. After all, I did have a background in dance, having studied at Martha Graham in NYC and the Philadelphia Academy of Dance and I loved dancing at clubs. Avril and I went to the agency to “audition” and met Deedee, its proprietor. The job was wearing bikinis and go-go boots and dancing for the troops at military installations around Washington. There were a lot of venues! Two “gigs” were possible a day – afternoon and evening – and they would be only an hour to two hours, shared with another dancer. Bet of all, you only worked when you wanted to! Avril couldn’t stomach the idea, (she took a job dispatching messengers) but I was willing to try it.

    It certainly was an interesting experience! I drove everywhere, to bases, Navy Yards, officers’ clubs, hospitals and air stations. The men were extremely polite and sometimes tipped. I learned to navigate the Washington DC area, and even briefly dated a naval lieutenant I met at an officer’s club in Virginia. My free-wheeling Quaker/artistic/peacenik background clashed horribly with his career plans, however.

    Most interesting were the other dancers. All of them were career dancers who combined occasional gigs for Deedee’s agency with dancing in local clubs. I soon discovered the clubs in Virginia were considered the best because the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms vigilantes enforced audience distance from the dancers, who stayed in the dressing room when not on stage. Stockings, pasties and g-string were the required outfit, and the money was better than anything Deedee could pay. Three dancers worked per hour, so a set was twenty minutes. Less driving, more money, and a physical workout. It sounded good to me! My sister and I rented a three bedroom house in Chevy Chase, I auditioned for the Ad Lib in Alexandria, Virginia and was hired by Gentleman Jim, the manager. That’s how I got started dancing.

  • How I Became a Dancer

    HOW I BECAME A DANCER

    In the spring of 1975 I quit my job as an administrative assistant to a group of Baltimore architects and gave myself an extended vacation in Maine. I was divorced and very frustrated with the dating scene in Baltimore which seemed oriented around married older career men and young, hopeful, not very smart women. My best friend who had hired me for the position was having an extended relationship with our married boss, which I saw as revolting. She got very excited about the “black pearls” he gave her and the vacations they took where he could show off her gorgeous youthful body and his hideous elderly one at sun-drenched locations.

    I myself had an unhappy relationship with the unmarried art director (we actually lived together for awhile) which was obviously going nowhere and I was drinking too much. He got fired (not sure why) and his subsequent meltdown gave me a good excuse to get out of there.

    My parents had just bought a house on Round the Mountain Road, Vinalhaven Island, that they hoped would allow them to live on the island year-round, our property on the shore being more of a “camp”. This house had water access, a boathouse, and a fantastic greenhouse off the dining room filled with spectacular camellias. Just after my parents bought it my father was surprised to be offered a job by Pennsylvania’s governor Milton Shapp to manage the finances of his presidential campaign. My parents rushed down to Washington where the action was and rented an amazing two bedroom, two bathroom apartment on the sixteenth floor of Veazey Towers overlooking Rock Creek Park.

    Dad offered to pay me to winter in the Round the Mountain Road house and keep the camellias alive (which I successfully did, in spite of having no gardening aptitude whatsoever.) I set up my office in the greenhouse and wrote my first novel, Devlyn, surrounded by all the Victorian novels I had ever admired. I wanted to cash in on the trend and write a “gothic” novel, but the fun for me was, could I write a real Victorian novel? It was a treat to try. I had a great idea in the fact that one of my favorite authors Thomas Love Peacock, friend of Shelley and author of Nightmare Abbey, had actually adopted an impoverished village girl and treated her like a daughter. The question was, why? And what happened next?

    I spent the winter writing it out and getting an agent. I had an abortive relationship with an unmarried local realtor who turned out to have extremely primitive relationship ideas (ugh) and I was offered a serious relationship by the handsomest man on the island, a real sweetie of a fisherman. But to stay, permanently on Vinalhaven Island! To be a fisherman’s wife! Couldn’t imagine it. Turned him down gracefully (we hadn’t even dated) and he went on to marry the prettiest and worst-behaved girl on the island who led him a nightmare dance of several years until their subsequent divorce and he’s now happily married to a career-woman divorcee (with children) who can’t believe her good fortune. This hothouse trap is what islands are like and I knew to stay away. One of my previous colleague architects (whom I really knew only in passing) drove all the way up from Baltimore and suffered an hour ferry ride to the island to visit me with romance on his mind. But he was married! So by spring I was more than ready to trade houses with Mom and Dad and move down to their apartment in Washington, D.C. and see if I could scare up an interesting job. (They had to leave when Milt Shapp’s finances went under investigation by the FBI.) My sister Avril left Wilmington College in Ohio for the summer and joined me.

    I certainly knew what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to be office handmaid to a group of professional men offering low salaries and zero vacation. I considered working for an environmental group, selling art on commission in a gallery, and I tried out an employment agency whose offered jobs were never what they said they were. When I found a classified ad
for go-go dancers I was intrigued. After all, I did have a background in dance, having studied at Martha Graham in NYC and the Philadelphia Academy of Dance and I loved dancing at clubs. Avril and I went to the agency to “audition” and met Deedee, its proprietor. The job was wearing bikinis and go-go boots and dancing for the troops at military installations around Washington. There were a lot of venues! Two “gigs” were possible a day – afternoon and evening – and they would be only an hour to two hours, shared with another dancer. Bet of all, you only worked when you wanted to! Avril couldn’t stomach the idea, (she took a job dispatching messengers) but I was willing to try it.

    It certainly was an interesting experience! I drove everywhere, to bases, Navy Yards, officers’ clubs, hospitals and air stations. The men were extremely polite and sometimes tipped. I learned to navigate the Washington DC area, and even briefly dated a naval lieutenant I met at an officer’s club in Virginia. My free-wheeling Quaker/artistic/peacenik background clashed horribly with his career plans, however.

    Most interesting were the other dancers. All of them were career dancers who combined occasional gigs for Deedee’s agency with dancing in local clubs. I soon discovered the clubs in Virginia were considered the best because the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms vigilantes enforced audience distance from the dancers, who stayed in the dressing room when not on stage. Stockings, pasties and g-string were the required outfit, and the money was better than anything Deedee could pay. Three dancers worked per hour, so a set was twenty minutes. Less driving, more money, and a physical workout. It sounded good to me! My sister and I rented a three bedroom house in Chevy Chase, I auditioned for the Ad Lib in Alexandria, Virginia and was hired by Gentleman Jim, the manager. That’s how I got started dancing.