THE WITNESS
You say you love me for myself but
I killed that bitch out of jealousy
Now as sole survivor
I’m the only clue.
She was the confidential client
I left to clean up after.
In the furnace of morning I lie
Between darkness and wolfcall
Charges taunting me like
unborn children:
Ask him to marry you, mommy!
Ask him! Ask him!
This messenger ticks –
Impatient watch –
Anxious to be set going.
Some new clean thing lurks
Along the border of
Imagining.
My
Severing fire of
Intent cuts your leash.
Be off! Don’t
Rely on me; we’ll select
What we want from
Who we are. You hunt
And I’ll imagine.
Only.
Such loyalty outlasts
The stinking viscera
Of self.
Without Angels
The sky would be
Impenetrable
No mimicry to mirror
Us
Celestially
Backless vertebrates
Aswim
Amongst the clouds
Must be invented.
Even lava
Formed faces at first
(We know this)
Pushed out puckers
That spat like mouths.
Birds fly like angels but
It’s difficult
Their eyes separate to
Points of seeing
We cannot drench with self.
And the reptiles!
Such slow uncles
Shave-brush fins and boxer stance
Their beats too slow to follow.
We midwife angels
As in the fairy tale
That children so admire
The coins appear as quickly
As we wish to spend
Rushing us through spheres
Of carousels of
Space
To meet ourselves our
Unspent ghosts
Coming
Back.
God said, “Bring for the creeping things”
It is you who are a creeping thing thinks Lord Julian
Of his pasty priest, with the
Underdone face.
Were he a fish I’d throw him back.
Good thing his knees are flexible as his
Scripture. The priest speaks
Of dominion, something
His lordship understands. It means
Possession without surrendering the
Self. Power begs abuse.
He’s the master, he alone
Understands that here. Necessity’s
The chain that stops the dumb animal
Straying. Lifting eyes to the
Steepled trees he feels the boredom of fall
Fade into the dullness of winter.
The animals would be fat
Were any left – ripe for scissoring but
He ripped too many out.
Life’s start and stop – a blood bath brings
Renewal. These men could stand a wallowing.
They await his pleasure with
Lowered eyes.
His pleasure is not them. He needs
Men glamorous as girls, hopes
As high as fever but none
Are to be found.
Like the animals, they are gone.
Julian’s scarred hands twitch the reins –
Each scar is named, he counts them proudly:
Attempted usurpation
The burning brand, the bear that fought
The dog that turned on him
The boar defending young.
Past pain surmounted
Makes him long for wounds –
A cut so deep he looks into
The creature’s eyes for
Some sweet glimpse of freedom.
Lord Julian, the scorpion-hearted
Scents a smell the dogs can’t follow –
The jingling behind him should be men
The silky shadow should be deer.
His horse afraid – the creature moves
Too smooth – when he dismounts
Avenger plummets off – now
He’s alone in moss and slime.
This thing is stalking him!
He sees it through the trees
Smells hot stink – a tiger!
What ghost is this?
The prickled hairs stood high – he threw
His knife – a sailor’s trick but
Useless. He saw boars
Twelve deep, spirals snorting
Through their tusks. The trees
Morphed into deer and every beast
He’d ever killed surrounded him.
Face forward in the muck
At least the mud was real.
Fox feet pattered, the tiger whisked him
With its ruff – he dreamed a lifetime
Lying there – every friend a slight
And every promise broken.
This dark that stops his ears is surely death.
But when he stands it’s not hell he sees but
Dripping swamp. The mare he kicked and drove
Now leads him home. His blood is dried
But he must cleanse the blood of others.
To be struck he understands, now he must
Know what spared him.
Washerwomen lift their heads
At his approach – they don’t recognize this man.
Hiding faces not from fear but
Some new glory.
Scene 4
(PERSEY turns out the light and the women exit. Firelight spreads across the room, lighting glittering eyes of the portrait – the eyes move, watching the women leave. DIGGER’s Dance with the WOLVES: Sniffs wolves suspiciously; they are wild and strange, he is home-raised and scared but envious of their freedom and “cool.” Threat & counter threat; posture & preening. Gradually DIGGER becomes wolf-like and runs with the pack. The moon appears and the WOLVES salute it. It lights PERSEY getting ready for bed. Above her BRUCE appears clinging to the skylight, peering down. WOLVES & DIGGER threaten and howl him away.)
Act 2 Scene 5
(The deepest forest. PERSEY, DIGGER and a police officer NED wandering listlessly around in the unscary, perfectly ordinary daylight. Scratchy background noises from NED’s radio)
PERSEY
There’s a skeleton
Around here somewhere, officer.
NED
(Skeptically)
That you saw late Midsummer Eve.
PERSEY
Are you even a detective?
I was promised “Cold Case” professionals!
NED
“Open Unsolved”.
I’m all that there is.
PERSEY
You sound defeated.
On the verge of retirement?
NED
Hell no, lady. Never.
Too many cold cases.
I’ll die in this job.
PERSEY
Sounds like a death wish.
NED
It’s a life wish.
I love my work.
PERSEY
Searching for … skeletons?
NED
Solving puzzles.
Perfecting antennae.
Following undercurrents
Right to their source.
(He kicks the leaves)
Where’d you unearth
This cadaver exactly?
PERSEY
It’s around here someplace.
It was Digger who found it.
(Kneels to talk to DIGGER)
Remember those bones, boy?
Go get ‘em, Digger!
(DIGGER scratches himself stupidly)
NED
Speaks English, that dog?
PERSEY
I know he speaks wolf.
NED
Wolf?
PERSEY
Wolves howl at him and
He howls right back.
NED
No wolves around here.
PERSEY
Coyotes, then.
Coywolves.
Something’s howling.
I’ve seen ‘em.
NED
Feral dogs more likely.
Tame goes wild more often
Than the other way round.
PERSEY
You’re argumentative.
NED
I respect facts
When assembling theory.
Dogs taste the outdoors
And they never go back.
PERSEY
Just like some people.
Go, Digger, go! Shoo!
(She pushes him. DIGGER ambles off)
You’re a puzzle fan?
NED
Yup. I’m addicted.
(Takes a Chinese link puzzle out of his pocket and plays with it)
I’m never without one.
Solve ‘em in my sleep.
PERSEY
So, what special skills
Do puzzle mavens require?
NED
Pattern recognition.
Patterns are everything;
The basis of speech
Building blocks of thought.
(As they look out over the audience, the TREES rearrange themselves and spit up a pink stiletto platform shoe, which DIGGER retrieves.)
NED
What you got there, boy?
(DIGGER dumps the shoe at his feet. NED holds it up for PERSEY’s inspection)
NED
This what you saw?
PERSEY
Definitely not.
Bones! Digger!
Skeleton!
Go get ’em boy!
(She mimes walking like a zombie while DIGGER watches her, bright-eyed.)
NED
You play charades with this dog?
PERSEY
He watches a lot of movies.
(DIGGER leaves them alone, ambling off to search. NED & PERSEY kick the leaves in awkward “first date” embarrassment. They are attracted to each other.)
NED
(Might be bragging – just a bit)
Wouldn’t be the first corpse
Located hereabouts.
PERSEY
No! How many were there?
NED
(With relish)
Multiple body dumps.
Arms, legs,
Torsos.
So many go missing.
PERSEY
Jarod was right!
NED
You don’t mean Jarod Gunver?
PERSEY
You know him?
NED
(Evasive: suddenly circumspect)
Well…he’s a cop.
So, I’ve seen him around.
PERSEY
Yeah, yeah, I get it.
Thin blue line.
NED
Very thin.
PERSEY
Power shields power.
I know all about it.
He’s my husband’s best friend.
Claims to be “expert” but
Usually wrong. He’s
Wrong about everything.
I’m surprised he spoke truth about
Forests of corpses.
NED
You don’t like him.
PERSEY
I don’t. Bad influence – rough crowd.
NED
He talks police business?
PERSEY
If he thinks he’s impressing!
That he’s smarter than anyone!
He collects slaves —
“Whoever Dies With the Most Souls Wins”
That’s his motto.
He’s got lots of followers –
Information’s his currency –
Bragging and scaring –
Trying to frighten –
“Don’t walk in the woods!”
He LOVES scaring women.
NED
(Being The Cop)
What did he tell you?
PERSEY
“Boy girls come to bad ends”.
He really hates anyone
Who isn’t his slave.
Roy envies his power –
I ignored him.
Till I found that skeleton.
NED
He’s out of line.
Information comes in
Not supposed to go out.
PERSEY
(Pointedly)
I suppose YOU’ve got no friends?
NED
Shoptalk is different.
PERSEY
Men always say that.
NED
Yeah. We are boring.
PERSEY
But investigation’s exciting!
NED
You find my work exciting?
PERSEY
I don’t know about puzzles
But I favor the truth
There’s the real power –
Knowing what happened.
NED
Just the facts, eh?
PERSEY
Who’s alive and who’s dead
Who’s a demon pretending –
Who’s a monster despoiling; only
Mimicking life.
NED
(He gets right to the point)
You think Jarod’s a demon?
PERSEY
I’m not willing to hang around him
Long enough to find out.
NED
Here’s what I know –
We’re all demonic
In our own special way.
PERSEY
Speak for yourself.
NED
If these woods shelter corpses
How come you’re still here?
PERSEY
‘Cause my demon’s inquisitive.
Trees can’t hurt you.
These woods are a temple –
A Most Sacred Place.
Stupid people think they’re nowhere
It’s the ultimate Somewhere.
(The TREES swell pridefully. DIGGER runs up with a silk pair of zebra-striped harem pants – rather the worse for wear – dangling from his jaws.)
PERSEY
Oh Digger!
You frustrating dog!
NED
(Snatches at the silk)
Could be evidence of … something.
PERSEY
Even trees have their secrets.
(Mockingly)
Maybe Jarod’s wife, Stormee
Dropped her pants in the woods.
Not the first time, I’m sure.
NED
(Places his find in an evidence bag)
Meow!
Jarod’s finished with Misty?
PERSEY
Over Misty.
Under Stormee.
NED
What’s the number of wives
Jarod is up to?
Never mustered more
Than two wives, myself.
I’m a single guy, now.
(But PERSEY has picked up a stick and DIGGER is falling all over himself hoping she’s going to throw it. She conceals it behind her back and points him into the woods – he races towards nothing – then stops in confusion.)
PERSEY
You know what I want!
Human! Person!
(She knocks against her head)
Skull. Go get it!
(DIGGER slinks away. PERSEY drops the stick and brushes the dirt off her hands)
PERSEY
Jarod sheds wives seasonally
Like the snake that he is.
NED
So what are you doing when
You’re not nature-ing?
PERSEY
Reading and thinking.
I sit on my deck and
Gaze into the trees.
NED
Sounds relaxing.
She’s a tree-worshiper, this one!
(The TREES nod, bow, sigh.)
PERSEY
Do your missing have names?
NED
Eh?
PERSEY
You said there’s so many.
Don’t these missing
Have names?
NED
Everyone has names.
Monikers, nicknames
Aliases
Given names, borrowed names
Street names –
Disguises; red herrings;
Wish fulfillment – everyone.
PERSEY
So many lost women!
NED
Didn’t say they were women.
Bi-curious, tri-curious
Foraging wanderers
Hitchhikers and travelers
Tourists and runaways
Just passing through.
PERSEY
Passing through HERE?
NED
Or somebody brought them.
Along for the ride.
PERSEY
Why does nobody know?
NED
“High risk victims”. It’s a way
Of saying nobody cares.
(PERSEY is stunned. A TREE opens up and shakes out a full skeleton. DIGGER staggers back – TREE hands DIGGER the skull.)
NED
Success at last!
(DIGGER leaves the skull at PERSEY’s feet and wags his tail. She drops instantly to hug and kiss him while he basks in her attentions)
PERSEY
(Lavishing DIGGER with love while NED looks bemused, even jealous)
I knew you could do it!
Smart dog! Who’s a puppy
As clever as beautiful?
Digger is! I’ll say!
NED
Wish I got that much attention
For finding a bone.
(Picking up the skull with the stick and turning it over reverently)
You should take that dog on the road.
PERSEY
Probably should.
He drives my mother-in-law crazy.
NED
Oh, a guard dog, too, is he?
(Rubs DIGGER’s belly. DIGGER wallows shamelessly.)
Now we need forensics, a search team of
Real sniffer dogs.
PERSEY
(Standing up and brushing dirt off her thighs)
REAL sniffer dogs?
That’s all the thanks that poor Digger gets?
NED
(Puts the skull down carefully, pats DIGGER’s head)
Good dog.
(DIGGER snaps at the skull up again – NED blocks him – PERSEY grabs the dog’s collar)
PERSEY
Come on, Digger!
(She leashes him.)
Let’s go home. Our work here is done.
NED
Sorry, no.
There’s papers to sign.
PERSEY
Paperwork, ugh!
Nothing doing.
My husband never likes me
Getting involved.
NED
But you are involved, now.
Aren’t you?
PERSEY
Can’t I be secret? A secret informant?
After all, who needs to know?
Maybe Jarod’s the killer!
I’ll tell all about Jarod.
Just keep ME a secret.
NED
Even informants have paperwork.
You think your husband’s best friend’s a killer?
There’s a dangerous liaison.
PERSEY
Do we have a deal?
NED
OK, I’ll bite.
I’ll tell them I found it.
PERSEY
Sure, you take the credit.
Digger prefers backrubs.
NED
What makes Jarod a killer?
PERSEY
He brags about killing.
About his “justified kills”
He’s cold and he’s fake
Looks for every advantage.
He likes people’s suffering.
He says he kills people
As part of his job.
NED
I heartily doubt it.
Undercover’s a whole different ethos
But word gets around.
PERSEY
The man lies like he breathes.
NED
Those guys specialize in
Put-ons and disguises.
PERSEY
How about you?
NED
I’m one lone wolf.
PERSEY
Drinkers and braggers
Find it hard to keep secrets.
(NED offers his hand – They shake – he likes touching her)
NED
I’m interested in all you can tell me.
We’ll have to work closely.
PERSEY
Solving puzzles –
Making theories! Sounds
Deliciously different. Now
I’d better skedaddle. I’m running late.
(DIGGER’s straining at the leash to be gone)
NED
I’ll keep in touch.
PERSEY
See you later.
(She waves. Leaves with DIGGER. The DEADGIRLS and BOYGIRLS morph from the trees, reaching out their leafy arms longingly. NED stares after her thoughtfully.)
Scene 3 – Persey’s big house
(BABE, (Persey’s mother-in-law) a commanding, magnificent, scary older woman strides into the yard, holding a blanket and calling,)
BABE
Persey! Persey, where are you?
(PERSEY & DIGGER emerge from the forest, both looking dirty, scratched and sheepish)
Oh, my goodness, poor PERSEY! What happened to you!
PERSEY
Er – Hello – Mother.
(Allowing herself to be enclosed in a blanket, she says with bitter irony)
You weren’t expected.
BABE
Please call me Babe –
Everyone does!
Aren’t we family?
Aren’t I spontaneous?
Spontaneity’s a right
Claimed by mothers-in-law.
(Guiltingly)
I can’t be alone today-
It’s BRUCE’s DEATH anniversary!
(Throaty gasps)
PERSEY
I thought that was last month.
BABE
(On the edge of hysteria)
No! No! It’s tonight!
Roy’s too sweet twin brother!
I still see him hanging
Neck so distorted
A hideous specter to torment a mother!
(A scary, elongated shadow projects against the wall.)
PERSEY
I’m so sorry. I guess we forgot.
Today’s Jarod’s birthday.
BABE
Dear Jarod! How is he?
PERSEY
(Pulling thistles out of protesting DIGGER’s fur)
Having the time of his life,
Thanks to you.
BABE
(Majestic and cold)
Jarod deserves our support.
I called with good wishes
Roy said you were on your way home.
That was hours ago!
And your cellphone is HERE!
Where’s the Mercedes, Persey?
Did you wreck the Mercedes?
(Threateningly)
You KNOW you can tell me.
PERSEY
The Mercedes is fine, Babe.
But it’s Midsummer night –
Digger needed a walk,
So, I thought –
BABE
(Full of disgust)
Oh, Persey
You’re the limit!
Don’t TELL me that ill-favored mutt
Dragged you to the woods!
Surely Jarod warned you?
There’s killers abroad!
Your husband forbade you –
The forest is VERMINOUS
And my future grandchildren
Deserve better than THAT!
Have that fleabag put down,
Get a highly-trained guard dog
From an ACCREDITED school!
An attack dog, not some troublemaker
Who waltzes with thorn bushes!
(DIGGER and BABE bare their teeth at each other. She moves to strike, he cowers but lifts his leg when she turns away. PERSEY shields DIGGER)
BABE
We all worry about you
You promised Roy!
Do your promises mean NOTHING?
PERSEY, my girl?
PERSEY
Roy knew I walked home.
We can handle the woods.
Digger protects me
I’d NEVER get rid of my beautiful Digger!
Digger’s my baby!
BABE
(Much distaste)
Roy deserves a REAL baby, Persey,
Time’s growing short.
(She attempts to be confiding)
What is the latest from BabyMakers Inc.?
(She taps a foot – can’t disguise her impatience)
PERSEY
(Steps past BABE evasively)
These things take forever.
They’re testing and testing –
You know how it goes.
Roy hates to be tested.
It’s a free world, I say.
All the best things happen
In their own little time.
BABE
I bought you this house
This magnificent house
On the clear understanding –
That soon we’d be FOUR.
Where’s my grandchild?
Oh Persey –I’ve had so many losses.
(PERSEY steps into the house – BABE attempts to shoo DIGGER away)
PERSEY
Oh, let him come in, Babe.
He thinks it’s his home and
It’s so cold outside.
(DIGGER shivers exaggeratedly.)
BABE
But he’s so dirty!
PERSEY
I’ll give him a bath.
(Lighted hot tub bubbles up at her feet. PERSEY touches BABE’s arm)
Please be patient. I’m certain
Happy times are ahead.
(Hastily disrobing PERSEY steps into smoking hot tub with a sigh of relief. DIGGER jumps in with an ecstatic splash and paddles rapturously around)
BABE
(Averting her eyes & gagging, shaking off droplets)
You’ll NEVER get clean with
That thing in there!
PERSEY
(Calmly)
Why not mix up some drinks?
(She soaps DIGGER’s head. He splashes her playfully)
BABE
(BABE is conflicted. Feels ordered around in PERSEY’s house but she loves booze, so unwillingly turns her back to accommodate)
If only I’d known you were indulging some mutt
I don’t know that I’d have purchased this house.
PERSEY
Roy loves this house, Babe.
We’re both very grateful.
BABE
(Bringing drinks for the pair of them, she settles down in a chair beside the tub)
Roy’s a good boy…eventually.
But you have to keep after him
Monitoring, reminding.
PERSEY
We’ve been so happy here.
Cheers!
BABE
Chin-chin.
(They drink. Potent stuff and PERSEY reacts.)
PERSEY
Wow, BABE, you concoct
A powerful drink.
BABE
(Mollified – drinks with pinky extended)
Strong medicine’s required
For life’s brutal reverses.
(She drains her glass. PERSEY surreptitiously adds water to hers. DIGGER jumps out of the tub and shakes all over BABE who springs to her feet)
BABE
Oh, that dog!
Just look what he’s done!
PERSEY
So sorry, BABE.
Will you hand me those towels?
BABE
(Very grumpy)
If you need this much help, Persey,
You require a maid.
PERSEY
Roy prefers privacy
We’re not fond of strangers.
(BABE hands over towels. PERSEY steps out of the tub and into a towel but not fast enough)
BABE
Persey, you’re so thin.
One must feed babies SOMETHING!
PERSEY
Babe, you worry too much!
Stress is so bad for everyone.
Aren’t we just enjoying
A quiet evening at home?
BABE
I can’t help my conviction
We’ve run out of time.
I keep warning and warning and
Nobody listens.
(WOLVES howl)
Nobody cares about
Poor Abused Me
Giver of Life and Signer of Deeds;
Creator of Wealth and
Addresser of Needs
Nobody cares about Me!
PERSEY
We’re so grateful
For all that you’ve done.
What’s the rush?
We’ve got nothing BUT time.
Let’s go sit by the fire.
(She presses a button and fire springs to life. There’s a dog bed in front of it where DIGGER settles in – after stretching, pacing, rolling)
BABE
Such a wonderful house!
All the amenities!
(addresses audience)
My gifts are so wonderful
My taste so exquisite –
Lucky I’m rich and know
Just what to serve!
Too bad I’m never
Loved or deserved!
My love is perfect
My example superb.
But I won’t live forever, Persey.
PERSEY
Your gifts are appreciated.
Thank you, Babe.
(BABE gives her a robe and a cellphone)
BABE
Three calls missed from Roy.
PERSEY
He’s checking on me.
BABE
Because he loves you
Just as I do.
(PERSEY dons the robe. BABE has a pile of towels for herself with which she makes a show of covering her chair, blotting her dress, feet, shaking her head, etc.)
PERSEY
(On phone)
Sure hon; got back safe.
(Holds phone away from protesting, squawking, threatening noises)
I can hardly hear you.
That’s quite a party you’re having.
(Loud music & squawking)
Babe’s here, with
Our own celebration.
BABE
(Shouts at phone)
Remembrance! For Bruce!
Poor, dead Bruce!
PERSEY
Of course we won’t wait up
You should really stay over –
(BABE snatches for the phone, PERSEY evades)
BABE
Let me talk to him.
PERSEY
(Waving her away – admonitory finger- bravely lying)
It was just a short walk,
Under a glorious moon.
(DIGGER covers his ears and trembles in memory. Rolling her eyes at ROY’s protests; holds the phone away from her giving BABE chance to snatch phone)
BABE
Sweetheart, we must go
To the cemetery and visit dear Bruce.
(Horrible noises from phone)
Renew all the vows
Made to dear, dear, lost Bruce.
(Significantly – threatening)
Don’t you remember?
(Raving noises from phone; then silence. BABE tosses it to PERSEY)
BABE
He hung up on me!
Can you believe it?
That man needs a leash!
Or obedience school.
PERSEY
It’s a PARTY, Babe.
They’re all off the leash.
BABE
If you’d given me that phone
When I asked for it Persey –
PERSEY
He can’t feel about Bruce
As you do, Babe, because
Bruce made him suffer.
You must understand.
BABE
(Getting more and more upset – she launches to her feet and paces)
Roy deserved it!
Sweet Bruce was my honey-child,
So biddable, good!
PERSEY
That’s not the story I hear.
BABE
(As if she’d not spoken)
He’d do anything for his mother –
(Starts to sob)
PERSEY
Bruce tortured Roy, Babe.
I’ve seen the scars.
With my own eyes.
BABE
Roy teased him!
You’re insulting the dead, Persey!
Now I need a drink!
(BABE staggers toward bar, WOLVES gather around house, DIGGER alerts)
PERSEY
I think we need music!
(Persey switches on radio)
RADIO
(Impossibly proper BBC voice)
Four missing girls …(squawk)
Body Dump Case (squawk squawk)
While in other Serial Killer News-
A Beautiful Blonde –
(PERSEY cuts radio off as BABE extends a drink – even darker than the last. BABE’s drinks would make a mule cross-eyed. PERSEY dumps half out but BABE is too worked up about her own problems to notice.)
BABE
Roy doesn’t care!
PERSEY
Boys will be boys.
BABE
Tonight of all nights!
PERSEY
It’s the living who count.
BABE
I hope I’m not grudging
But Life’s so unfair!
PERSEY
Babe, the past is the past!
BABE
(Determined to quarrel)
Are you saying Roy didn’t love
His only blood brother?
PERSEY
Bruce was a bully!
Since he lived with his father
I never met him but
Roy tells me –
BABE
Bruce killed himself, Persey!
I found the body!
Do bullies self-sacrifice?
Such deaths DESTROY mothers!
PERSEY
Suicide’s impulsive–
BABE
You know nothing about it!
PERSEY
I’m sorry.
BABE
A mother has feelings –
PERSEY
I know just what I’m told.
BABE
Roy owes me allegiance!
I gave him everything!
PERSEY
It was so long ago!
(WOLVES howl)
BABE
It’s neglect I can’t handle!
PERSEY
Roy’s home tomorrow –then we can –
BABE
Disrespect!
PERSEY
(Desperately)
We love and admire you, Babe.
BABE
Should a mother have to visit
Her child’s grave
ALL ALONE?
(WOLVES howl frenziedly. DIGGER scratches to go out.)
BABE
Don’t let that dog out!
He’ll get dirty again!
PERSEY
(Lets DIGGER out to dance with the wolves)
We’ll visit the grave with you!
I promise we will.
BABE
We all make mistakes.
I deserve second chances.
PERSEY
(Can’t quite follow this)
Meaning…?
BABE
I demand forgiveness!
PERSEY
I don’t understand.
BABE
I didn’t kill Bruce!
PERSEY
No one killed Bruce, Babe.
According to you.
BABE
But Roy MIGHT have done it.
That night they were fighting –
At each other’s throats!
PERSEY
(Looks at her empty glass like – there’s not enough alcohol in the world for this. Wearing the hopeless expression of someone arguing with a crazy person)
I’m sure Roy didn’t hang Bruce.
BABE
You weren’t there!
PERSEY
Bruce was the strong one.
As you’re always saying.
BABE
(Exalted)
Bruce was born first.
He pushed Roy aside!
He pushed ME aside!
He strong-armed the doctor!
(Sighing with pleasure)
Roy was the weak one,
Roy was the gentle one.
Tender and thoughtful.
Mama’s last angel.
Bruce made such fun of him.
Wicked, vicious fun.
(She sounds gleeful about it. PERSEY fills BABE’s glass – might as well make a night of it)
I can’t be alone on this terrible night.
Here’s to crime. Bottoms up.
(Sits up abruptly)
Why, I brought you a present!
PERSEY
(Trepidation)
You did?
BABE
Sharing’s my motto.
I can’t look at it any longer. So
I thought Roy might – treasure it.
(She touches a light switch and the portrait above the fireplace is illuminated. It depicts in overwrought oils a glamorous woman with a blond boy hanging off each arm. PERSEY almost jumps out of her skin)
PERSEY
Oh, my God!
(She covers her face as if to hide from the portrait)
Babe – I’m afraid – I don’t think –
BABE
It’s a great work of art.
At least admit that.
PERSEY
Babe, don’t you remember
The Chinese vase you once gave us?
BABE
Roy had an accident, Persey.
And it was only a copy!
I don’t understand your compulsion
To make Roy the bad guy.
After all,
He’s indulged you like a princess.
PERSEY
(Trying to be gentle)
He might not like the portrait, Babe.
I’m only saying.
BABE
But it’s my only picture of Bruce!
(Starting to cry)
It’s all I have left!
He couldn’t be cruel to the one who gave everything!
(Poor PERSEY rolls her eyes. The WOLVES and DIGGER howl at each other)
BABE
Oh, my God, what is that!
PERSEY
Coyotes are unsettling.
BABE
Those are WOLVES, Persey.
Not some harmless creatures!
People say the spirits of the murdered
Howl at night in the woods,
Thirsting for justice.
PERSEY
Justice?
BABE
Or maybe revenge.
There’s no justice in this world or
My boy would have lived!
(DIGGER & The WOLVES square off suspiciously)
PERSEY
(Nervously)
That’s superstition!
BABE
You’re too isolated here.
This is all a mistake.
Why do my gifts go so bad?
PERSEY
We need country, Babe.
Roy loves to hunt.
(Stands up to listen; mustering up her courage)
It’s music really.
Those noises don’t scare me.
Coyotes protect us.
Cleaning the forest
Eating vermin and carrion.
(Puts her hand to the light switch)
Ready for bed?
BABE
(Collapsing sadly. The party’s over and she never has as much fun as she wanted)
I suppose so. Now I know I’ll have nightmares.
Diary of a Dancer – Last Post
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 night
I 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 lose 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 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 – 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 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 “thriller”.
At dinner he announced I’m the only woman he’s ever
wanted to marry. Tom’s dad said he thought he’d 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 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. 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.
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 can be sordid and
brutalizing – I like this club because it ISN’T and I’ve tried others. We
discussed HIS job which also has its sordid and corrupting aspects.
Duh. His last girlfriend gave him shit about it (and refused to read the paper!)
so it’s a sore point. He should get it. 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 dead.
Castle – 2 Aug 79 – Wed
Seems hopeless to TRY writing in this book – things
happen so fast – a month is an eternity. Last night celebrated our 11th
“divinity loss” anniversary – and a difficult anniv. It was. T came to see
me dance for the first time – with Avril so it wouldn’t be so bad but had
to leave he was so upset. He didn’t like me smiling! Like I’m ENJOYING
myself! The PLACE didn’t bother him (“reverent & reserved” were his
words) just my pleasure in movement beauty & freedom! Uh oh! He goes
back to my parents’ argument: IT’S TURNING MEN ON. So what? I get
impatient with that – that way lurks the “hajib”.
We have to educate each other. At the end the
atmosphere seemed cleared and we both cried with relief. Even though I
know my love is in the larval stage, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love
him. We had our last dinner at 641 E street – steak and wine, fruit, cream,
brandy. He asked me if there were any boyfriends’ the report of whose marriage “depressed” me (he was referring to my marriage) and I had to say no.
He opened a letter from Mindy, ex-girlfriend he was
thinking of re-starting a relationship with except she went to Nepal. A letter
I would have thought perfectly reasonable two months ago now strikes me as
ridiculous – an ounce of love is worth more than all these pages of barter.
I got a wonderful letter from Devon – he’s found
“another girl” (with three more in reserve I’m betting) and wishes me the best.
But T was upset because he closed with “I love you” a word NOT thrown
around in his world! (Mindy and Cindy don’t say it!) He says it’s the only
part of the letter he believes – “the guy is a total phony.” I said his only victim
is himself. We then made love on the floor on top of all our exes’ letters.
Gloriously. Got a poem out of it.
The Bridesmaid
Yes, I know everything
You’re my poor
Relation.
I know of your daddy’s desk where you
Fucked with formaldehyde fingers
I know of your lonely
Rosary of abortions
I repeat, I know everything.
We made love on your letters undisturbed
As two icons.
She’s imperfect
He told me.
Unseated by mortality
We must take our place
With the king’s crazy mistresses;
Brewing menstrual blood coffee
And mandrake root tea.
Swim away, little bridesmaid,
You’re too young
I’m in love
We’ve got
Too much in common ever to meet.
Need to see dentist & gyno, overhaul bike,
pay bills. T. meets Ralph Nader at 6. Lucky me snagging someone so
ambitious and competent.
Castle Mon 6 Aug 79
God I need Maine. I love T but I need to get away
from him. I am used to being alone 4-5 hours a day. Starving for that.
Wonder how many otherwise perfect relationships break up for this reason!
T. is a little TOO driven. A little TOO single-minded. Makes me argue with him
– I can’t help it. For example: he talked about the “ugliness of the desert
landscape.” It’s not my “thing” either – because I grew up somewhere else
– but O’Keeffe taught me to see the beauty of it. What he REALLY meant was
“I don’t like it” but he raises it to a religious principle “New England is better.” That’s embarrassing.
I constantly feel he’s trying to “re-educate” me
– for example he didn’t like my turquoise silk pants because he “doesn’t like colors
that don’t appear in nature.” When shown an aquarium of tropical fish he doesn’t “count” them, their colors are “cultivated” and somehow “wrong.” The truth is bright colors make him nervous. So say THAT.
Sat night we went to an office party of his people (to
which I wore the aforementioned pants) and praised the house over-
extravagantly. (He does NOT like my yellow velvet furniture. I’m giving it
to Maureen.) “One good picture” per wall, beige Danish oldern furniture –
unbelievably boring and sterile. A chipped china frog would have done
the place a world of good. Could warn of decorating problems ahead.
His younger brother Dominic in town – when I
complimented his Mazda sports car and said I’d love to have one someday
Toss said “we’ll see” as if I could never buy one for myself! These
flare-ups are important signs. Must work on my self-value.
8 Aug 79
Packing for Maine came across D’s letters. Not a
“good” one among them. “Phoniness” is NOT his problem – that’s not
the right word – he’s not even “tone deaf” which was Bruce’s disorder.
I think it’s a “temperature” thing – he WANTS all passion sexualized
(not that he would ever admit it) and doesn’t trust intimacy, closeness –
as if he doesn’t believe – doesn’t want to believe it exists. He fears never
freeing himself from the physical so he cultivates a lonely “spirituality” but
he’s mired HIMSELF in it. So that’s pathetic. I take responsibility – he
probably felt hounded by my love. Thank God I escaped is all I can say. I’m
betting he was geared up to torture me for a lifetime.
I let T read my short story about his mother. That was
probably a mistake. (In it he’s planning her death!) He made some idiotic
writing class comments – I said it wasn’t THAT far along – but there’s
something appealingly mythic about this undigested mass. Worry about
it in ten years!
Shadowe Island ME – Mon 7:30 AM 12 Aug 79
Toss just left on the ferry so I can relax. Wish this
diary ended here – I need a New Life. But Not Yet. Rainy with a gray sea. Dogs stretched out snoring on the Greek carpet.
This visit has been everything I wanted, but the first
night was classic in its ghastliness. Guests showed up at cocktails and stayed
through dinner – unexpectedly – this mob scene making our announcement
a bit tougher.
Toss whispered, “Want to go through with it?”
I said, “Sure.”
We opened the champagne. The guests loved it
– Mom & Dad really surprised. Dad started talking about his difficult
father-in-law and how things would be different but flat out calling me a
liar when I chimed in about how Wilbur returned his prison mail (he told
me this story HIMSELF last Christmas!) I kept my temper – oh I must have
got it wrong. (I didn’t. We’d discussed it later ad nauseam.) Avril attacked
me later for bringing it up and “embarrassing” Dad – but he’d been TALKING
ABOUT HIS DIFFICULT FATHER IN LAW. Toss was surprised at Avril’s hostility
– used to her as an ally. He said, “They obviously think you’re invulnerable.”
Probably. If so they’re all idiots! I thought A was upset
about her own out-of-his-depth boyfriend, Vigo.
Anyway T rescued the evening bringing tears to Mom’s
eyes by talking about how he’d always loved me. M & D apologized &
congratulated us.
Sunday the four of us toured the island – trying to
get along with Vigo. (A says he has just one testicle as if that’s all that’s
wrong with him.) At dinner watched slides of my growing up – T tremendously
moved – then lobster dinner.
Tues 13 Aug 79 – 5 PM
T called last night on his WATS line and we talked ½
an hour. Says he used to play an “airport game” of “Looking for his future
wife” but thought “I AM married!” Wow!
Sun. 19 Aug 79
T’s letter came! Glorious. I do not feel worthy.
Tension between A & V – he teases her too much – we all try to ignore it –
tough to figure out how to call him on it without opening up hostilities. Hope
she dumps him. T on phone!
Ex-island boyfriend visits. A says he acts like he wants to knock me to
the floor and French kiss me to death. Seems accurate. Glad T missed him.
Party Castle – 11 PM 22 Aug 79
Glad to go to Maine and thrilled to leave it. Mary &
Debby dancing. Today’s been eventful – T got my letters and was
enormously moved. He says the worst mistake he ever made was burning
my teenage letters. We should try to exist without this phoning but can’t
help ourselves. Diet going well: I feel good. Struggling with a pile of thank
you letters.
Castle – 7 PM Fri 25 Aug 79
T. and I separated 11 days already – feels like
eternity. Avril announces she wants her own apt so I should put house
on the market. Maybe its easier. Flooding small publishers with Blood
Memory – feel pessimistic however. 3 poems accepted – 2 by Colorado
Woman, 1 by Friends Journal. Doesn’t feel as good as I’d hoped.
Struggling with new novel where I try to tell the truth about Devon. But
why should anyone want THAT God knows. Moving costs $400. I still think
I should sell my Fiat. Rotten crowd. Bored and jerking like a marionette.
Dancing with crazy Robin and Anne who never stops talking. She says
June’s in the hospital in a full body cast – will never dance again. 2 more
sets – praise God.
Trying to read about Lewis Carroll. A says Zach
threatening to show up. Don’t show up, Zach. I have a headache.
2:30 AM Sun 27 Aug 79 –
There is a God. Zach didn’t show. Long phone call
w/T then walk dogs to think about it. He is such a powerful person
it’s a little disturbing. Said he read my poem (The Duel) to his most
erudite friend who was very impressed. We wound up in another
argument about my dancing. I can’t bear his slurs so I referred to his
past drug use – WE’VE BOTH EXPERIMENTED, ALL RIGHT? He
wants me to live without money then complains about selling stock. I told
him it’s a “schizophrenic bind.” Didn’t mention how I have to PRY my stock
(that’s in my name) out of Mom and Dad.
Reading an idiotic romance – its very idiocy is refreshing.
I see why people get addicted to these. Like looking at maps when you’re lost.
Ok they’re only two dimensional but its SOMETHING!
Party Castle Tues 28 Aug 79
Last night dancing. Celebrate with chocolates but I’m too
enervated to appreciate it. Finished I’m Radcliffe, Fly Me. Ultimately a failure.
Fails to explore the inherent corruption of institutional structures. Horrible
night. $5 in tips – they are sick of the sight of me and I refuse to buy new
costumes. I am scared to death of being dependent on T. I think he could
reassure me but doesn’t know how because if I really needed him would I
be so desirable? Is a puzzlement.
I feel like I’m unfastening my suckers from Avril and grabbing
onto T! Up here without a net! Then I get mad at myself for being so infantile.
Can I just write and feel powerful? We’ll see! Doubts creeping in! This time
next week I’ll be in Kentucky! Well, I’ve written some good poems lately.
Self-confidence atrocity attack. Feel & look rotten. Realizing
the extent to which I was fertile soil for my parents’ anxieties.
3:30 Thurs 30 Aug 79
Everything done, ready to leave. I’m in shock. Crawled
into the bath with a vodka tonic and now I’m feeling better. Trying to figure
out how to approach parents for money. Maybe they could give me my own
stock as engagement present? Feel I won’t be able to disguise my rage.
This “I’m All Right Jack” no matter WHAT – is mighty convenient for them.
I realize its any sense of helplessness that triggers all this
rage NOT a good sign for T’s and my relationship. He can’t “make” me
independent! I must not succumb, or Plath-ize. (She sacrificed herself
to the gods of rage.) I’m doing this guy no favors handing him a woman
on the edge of breakdown.
4:25PM – My darling just called! Relief! He borrowed a truck from
somebody so although we’ll have to drive separately we won’t have
movers or returns to cope with. He’s driving it out here so I can sleep as
late as I like which I really need. Impossibly intense happiness. Peace & joy. Feel we have been standing in a dinghy trying to balance. Equilibrium is everything. The irrevocableness of marriage. My children mutely regard my choice. The hopelessness of explaining myself to any of T’s friends. Rain. Any excuse not to take a walk (T lives in bad neighborhood.) Feel like a girl in a gothic novel except for the constant sex which makes it a different kind of novel. Break with the past.
Reading Robert Ludlum’s perfectly ludicrous Matarese Circle. In 100 yrs people will wonder how we stomached this stuff. A. and I going to Olney theatre to see The Bat tonight.
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Diary of a Dancer
Party Castle 8:20 PM Fri May 18 - 1979
Fasting all day so feel much better. Two more sets. I am
the only dancer willing to dance to Baker Street so they keep playing it for
me and it is a tiring song. However all that stretching is good for my muscles
probably. Reading A Time to Keep Silence. Secaire has got me on a
religious kick.
Genevieve’s Apt. off the Park – NYC – Sun 20 May 79
It’s me laughing and joking and eating a whole box of
Entemann’s cookies – and it’s not me. Family. The constant ache of having
so little of myself accepted. It’s like being with people like Usher, really – they
want such a little piece of you. The worst part is, you get so used to the pain
you can’t imagine life without it. Thank God I am usually content to be alone.
Went to the Whitney – gave me some ideas to recast
Memory – unfortunately not ones people will like. I want to make it even
more choppy and episodic– rather than “telling the story –“ which is what
everyone seems to want. But that’s the only way I can get excited about it
– I would like reading it to be like visiting an art gallery.
Queen’s Chapel Rd – Tues 22 May 79
That trip helped. I feel better, more focused. My
new agent submitted Memory to Putnam who loved it but said they had
just published a book with incest theme! Goddamn it all to hell. But their
reaction cheered me up – they didn’t say anything about choppy, episodic, incomprehensible motives, etc. So maybe I’m a real novelist and not just
a bad poet hungry for money. Making plans for The Lives of the Dancers
– a poem for each one. Fun. More fun than novelizing with such a hideous plot
– can’t seem to get my people out of the airport.
Write a haiku BECAUSE THEY’RE EASY. Relief.
Harness UP – ON WEARING A BRA
Two kinds of clothes –
Comfortable and un:
Two viewpoints:
Supportive and –
Fasting again today. So horribly fat right before my period
it would not surprise me to go into labor onstage. Apparently no one else has
noticed I have lost my waist. Have agreed to see Devon in Boston next month.
I am going off birth control so we will see what happens. I feel sure I can get
him into bed. But never telling him he is a father? Can I pull it off? I will try.
Getting past block in my novel by having different characters tell different
parts of the story.
I give up on Pamela Hansford Johnson. Holiday Friend
is The Perfectionists all over again– but not as good.
Party Castle 12:35 AM – Fri 25 May 79
Funny how it all comes together sometimes. Dancing
tonight has been ecstasy – is it the fasting? I am cutting my schedule at the
Plush Palace – the audience here is so much better. They are really quiet
and intense. Probably because it’s so close to the FBI. They get the same
relaxation from watching us that you get from a tank of tropical fish. Except
of course with a sexual frisson that reminds you you’re alive. Read Laura
Hobson’s The Tenth Month – pretty shocked by a doctor who would prescribe Nembutal to a pregnant woman. But that’s the way they were back in the
Dark Ages.
Now I’m on Highsmith’s Edith’s Diary – which is
fabulous – the review in New York Times was downright immoral. Books
should not be reviewed by the stylistically tone deaf. Reviewer should be
open to many styles – I don’t think that’s too much to ask. The idiot. Went
on stage glittering with body jewelry – big stones. Big tips.
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. Sun 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.
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. I can see how dancers
get into the booze not to mention the bute. I am 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, two bourbons, then 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 has to 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”, 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 D – at least
twice a day I decide not to go. If he knows me better than I think 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.
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 Three Mile Island in 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 he 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 said our parents were “hoping we’d get together” which is
major turnoff.
GiGi came in 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. And 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 and
slender – 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 he could make love to me that way 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 – and
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.
Diary of a Dancer
3:30 PM – Dumbarton Oaks – Sat 14 Apr 79
Enjoying a day of full sun. Beautiful carved stone bench
– azaleas in full bloom – peace. Woke up determined to finish taxes – offices
closed! When can people go if they work all week? Beats me. But it would take
more than a late filing to bother me – feel blissful. Approaching Plath from the question of her reputation. Determined to write and to learn to see movies alone.
Last night awful sets with Zach – I don’t like his new band.
He couldn’t seem to play guitar and sang off-key. Promises of a future have taken
his present away. My heart went out to him – ordered a bottle of champagne
to cheer him up. Late dinner – I ordered catfish in a spirit of adventure (not good) he ordered what he always has – chicken & fries. He told me about the times he’s
been mugged and his belief in magic – I didn’t believe any of it. He was
full of insecurities about Usher – I decided to act like we have a relationship
to make it easier to get rid of Z later on. He “retaliated” by describing his affair
with his friend’s 48 yr old divorced mother back on the coast. Sure, sure. Asked
to come home with me. I said no.
Plush Palace – Mon 23Apr 11PM
God Malcolm Muggeridge is unpleasant (Jesus
Rediscovered) and not even Christian. Makes Waugh look like the author
of Sermon on the Mount. Trying to figure out how I would address God:
what would I say?
Beautiful note from Devon saying, “I love you dearly”.
Sweet. The silenter I am the more he adores me. Sent a copy of my Plath
essay to Usher – we’ll see what he says. Agent passed along a very flattering
rejection on Memory – I am “too much” of a poet! Since I have just concluded
(with Usher’s help) that I am no poet at all this cheered me up enormously.
Airborne today – dancing really well. It’s the fasting. Feel a shimmering force field all around me.
Starlight – 12:45 AM – Thurs 25 Apr 79
Dragging myself around this AM – my own fault for indulging
in Irish coffee and caramel ice cream last night. 2nd anniversary party at the radio station and I thought, That might be fun! It was a disaster. I took Avril and we were immediately cornered by the club bore. (I had to give him a fake phone no just to get rid of him.) Plus they charged us for our drinks! Rod was there – tight and prim – fearful I would attack him about his nonexistent dance story – I put him at his ease.
Left after an hour and Avril and I “drowned our disappointment” in the usual way
(it felt good at the time.) Ross & Tom should be required reading for egomaniacs.
Plush Palace 9 PM Mon 30 Apr 79
Had my hair cut today and dyed platinum blonde – like the
color not the cut. I wanted it all off – she asked to “try something” and if I didn’t
like it she would “fix it for free”. Of course, I don’t like it but I didn’t have the time
to stay and have it re-done. I think it’s almost too much trouble to go back – get somebody else to fix it. Everyone likes color however; I needed a boost. But it’s
not what I pictured – looks like a medieval “bowl” cut to me. Fistfight! Guy dragged
out of the club in handcuffs. Joselle says too bad; he was such a good tipper.
Feel too old tonight – I obviously need a vacation but the only
one I can take is in my own mind. I love the house but it always needs something.
I was perched on the edge of celibacy but Jervaze showed up
last night. Fabulous sex! Turned out to be worth it! 2 Hrs (I counted!) Oh, bliss. Reading very bad romantic suspense – A Relative Stranger. It’s a serious
problem that I hate everything popular.
2:30 PM Wed May 2 79
Perfect day at home. Worked on poems listening to Mozart.
Got my “medieval bowl” changed to “little boy” haircut – it’s wonderful! Do nothing
to my hair anymore! Don’t have to wash it, brush it or even look at it! Of course, I have to deal with all the sobbing men at the clubs. Turns out long hair is a powerful masculine fetish. I consider pretending I’m a different person – but I have the same
old costumes. New stage name? Wonder if “Colette” is taken. Guess I didn’t plan
this very well.
Yesterday overeating so today it’s a fast – only coffee. Phone keeps ringing I refuse to answer. It’s probably Paz begging me to come in and sub
for some dancer who had an onstage breakdown. Reading Wagenknecht’s “psychograph” of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Interesting.
Sun 6 May 79 -1:50 PM
Avril and I drove to St Michaels yesterday – such a pleasure
– I remember sailing into that port. It’s so beautiful I fantasize about buying a
house and “retiring” there. I tell A, you get the country house, I’ll have the town
house we can go back and forth. She says she does not want to live with her
sister FOREVER! Why not when I’m so perfect?
Delicious lunch of soft-shelled crabs and homemade
coconut cream pie. Didn’t get to work till 6:40 and I was the only dancer till
9 PM! Apparently previous dancer unconscious in dressing room and
ambulance was called. Sorry I missed it. Eddy gave me extra $$ but told
me I can’t wear my black jade rosary on stage (too many complaints). Too
bad – it looks so good with white collar and cuffs. He says the place has
been sold again and we will be getting new management. Hope it’s not Tony.
Plush Palace – 10:10 PM – Mon May 7 – 79
Would like to break my 2 day fasting record but I got up
at 5:30 AM this morning and was just too hungry. Cucumber sandwiches
with lots of pepper on whole wheat bread…mmmmm. Here’s my latest plan
– rewrite Secaire and Blood Memory – get pregnant Sept 1 1980, have baby
May 81! Father as yet unknown. Crazy, huh? Reading The Restless
Journey of James Agee.
Tues 8 May 79 – 4:45 PM
Great day’s work on Secaire. Not “done” but better.
Completely new scene showing why Hank and Nilssa are attracted to each
other. 10 P!!! Celebrated by going out to buy new notebooks. Sniff the paper
hungrily. New lighting at the Palace very bad – guess who came in to audition? Brandy! I told manager she was lying about her age so he wouldn’t hire her.
Nobody wants to work with her. She’s a grenade with the pin removed.
Interesting book by Louis Cassells about the differences between religious
faiths. So far I like Unitarianism best but want to expose my kids to as many
different ones as possible and let them choose. Joselle keeps asking me if
she’s going to be in my book. (I’m afraid she thinks I cut my hair for her.) I start
instead a poem beginning “the chaste warrior sleeps only with his prey…” Bad! Sad.
3PM Thurs 10 May 79 – Plush Palace
New manager Jasper comes in. Seems nice. I curtsy
very low. Yesterday fasted till evening – wrote 7 pages – walked dogs then
Avril & I saw Truffaut’s Love on the Run and went out to dinner. White pizza
with plenty of garlic. Usher is reading at a NJ college – invites me to go with
him. Hmm. Needing a pair of hot pink pants to visit this college in.
9:30 PM Fri night 11 May 1979
No hot pink pants. Did find a nice pair of aqua polished
cotton jeans and matching high-heeled shoes. Usher phoned and we
commiserated about publishing. Avril and I went to see the movie, A Little
Romance. Very good. Long walk with dogs, further exploring our new
neighborhood. People keep their lawns very tidy around here. Since I refuse
to do ovens, windows or lawns, house-pride like this could present a problem.
Must hire out. I’m bored with my job, but it pays the bills so well I don’t think
I can make changes till July. But who knows what lies just over the horizon? Reinventing oneself could be the greatest pleasure there is.
Plush Palace – Sat night 12 May 1979
Another exhausting goodbye with Jervaze. I wore see-through
chiffon bell-bottoms and flowered Qiana shirt – gratified to see they had
their effect. He said he will always feel the same about me, always be jealous
of the person I marry. I must say I now wish he would just go away. Which he’s supposed to do – off to Alabama. Again. I am not, shall we say, invited to this on-again, off again wedding. Awww. Feeling emotionally drained – only 30 short
hours till I see Usher and I want to be witty and “on.” As opposed to slack-jawed
and twitching.
Queen’s Chapel – 4:30 PM Sun May 13 -79
Dragged Avril to Unitarian church. There was a woman
minister. I found the service satisfying enough and the church (River Road)
very beautiful. They seem to have a lot going on – discussion groups, plays,
theology class. I could be interested if I had the time. Unfortunately everyone
seems old. Could I overcome my misanthropy to go alone? Remains to be
seen. The church has a bookstore – I bought an interesting book
on female contemplatives. I’m contemplating a future as a single parent.
Feel a faint hormonal stirring. (Avril says it’s the house.) Who’s the lucky guy?
Jervaze would have been perfect if it wasn’t for that alcoholic gene.
And I don’t think I could hide a baby from Devon for the rest of his life. Usher
probably has some impressive genes along with the vast millions to which he
constantly alludes. On the other hand, the kid he does have sounds defective.
Need to get clear about his marital status.
Queen’s Chapel – 9:30 PM May 15 -79
Bad visit to NJ with Usher. Thank God it wasn’t an
overnight. First he showed up in a Mercedes he described as “the color of Lena
Horne’s skin”. UGH! Next – brace yourself – he wanted to hide me from his
audience!! Dumped me at an antique bookstore (that part wasn’t a total waste
– bought the diaries of Cynthia Asquith) then took me out to an apologetic dinner.
I was so annoyed I commanded everything to be set on fire – fondue, oysters,
and 2 desserts. (He chose a very good wine. It was the least he could do.)
He didn’t want to talk about his reading – said if I had attended there would
have been “too many questions”. And as artists, aren’t we SCARED TO
DEATH of questions? Aren’t we?
Castle – Wed 1:15 AM 16 May – 79
Unspeakably rotten dinner at the Cosmo Club with
Usher. Forget him and his majestic New England genes. He is simply
“collecting” me as his latest oddity. He has “so many” “warm, women artist”
friends but no dancer yet (he’s way overdosed on poets) and he drifts from
one “presence” to another, sucking wattage like some radioactive swamp
monster. He and his wife have an “understanding” which probably means she
has no idea where the hell he ever is and nobody’s had sex in eons. Can’t I
do better than this?
In spite of the fact that I’m a degraded person who doesn’t
know where her next sexual or emotional meal is coming from I think I must
insist on a note from wifey before taking this matter further. According to his
poetry he associates sexuality with evil – not that I’m physically attracted to him,
it’s just so piquant to be with a man who gets a fresh barber’s shave right before
seeing you. (It’s been awhile). I don’t think he listened to a thing I said, just
gazed at me rapturously. I tried getting him interested in helping me write a
screenplay for Faulkner’s Mosquitoes – to me a completely ignored,
obviously filmable work. He dismisses, “It’s been done.”
Well it may have been “treated” BY SOMEBODY but the
point is, it hasn’t been treated by us and it hasn’t been filmed and it would be WONDERFUL. Couldn’t ignite him. He really doesn’t want to talk about writing
with me – I guess he has other people for that. I was so happy when our “date”
ended I could have wept for joy. On the other hand I am sorry to see these
millions slip away. My children could have used them, not to mention all my
fantasies of early retirement busted. Looks like I have no one to depend on but myself. Enjoying Monica Dickens’ enchanting The Moon was Low. But had
to buy a Quaalude from Maureen to get to sleep.
Finished V. Sackville-West’s The Devil at Westease.
I can’t figure out why she wrote it. She speaks entirely in lost codes.
I really dragged myself in to work today. That’s how
you know you’re working too much. Letter from Devon – he’s off to California
to “find himself.” What he really wants is any way to figure out how to be a
minister in a state of sexual abandon and he instinctively knows if the answer
is anywhere, it is in California. On the other hand, will this really turn out to
be what he wants? Not if I know him. The only good news about him is that
his genes are impeccable. Plus, I’m very depressed about my writing.
Spreading myself too thin – thinking about one project
while working on another. My St Secaire book is starting to get ridiculous,
but I want to follow up this “satanic rites” thing to see where it goes. Why did
I come up with it? What does it mean? Who knows? Cheap and derivative
everyone would probably say at this point. Yet it holds some interest for me.
Love and sex as hostage-taking. The question is, who’s the hostage and
who’s the keeper?
Could it be hours of research, prose and bitching produce
only a single poem? Lucky if so.
The Chaste Warrior Sleeps Only With His Prey
My sutures hurt; I’m
Completely unavailable,
You laced my body like a jerkin
Unsheathing your ambition;
Cut my breakfast with a corkscrew
Your secret spine
Doubled up and put away.
I’m fasting now
Bracing for the worst
I can’t eat anything that doesn’t
Look right at me
And want to know the truth;
who’s for real? And
What’s the state of play?
I know it’s a mess.
Also miserable about money and my body. Buying the
house was a great idea – I love it – however, there are constant expenses
I can’t ignore that keep me chained to this goddam stage and dressing room.
My mortgage calls for my monthly payment to increase next year – I could
worry about that if I wanted to. And then I always respond to depression and
worry with a desire to eat which of course threatens my job. (Sigh.) Tips down
(maybe I should buy a wig.) And my face is all broken out so I have to use
heavy makeup – and my skin doesn’t like that.
Diary of a Dancer/Daughter/Poet
Thurs Aug 10 -78 – 5:30 PM
Feeling happy and serene – it’s been the loveliest visit.
Many bike rides and explorations. Lovely dinner last night at the cottage – Devon asking Dad a lot of questions – then we lay in each other’s arms at the Barnacle
and he said Time to Discuss Our Relationship. Said “some French girl” dumped
him because he’s so incompetent with condoms; he’s so relieved not to have
that with me. I said, “Maybe we should be exclusive.” He said, ‘Could you manage that? I said gratefully, ‘Certainly”, He said, “Thank you for being honest” stripped
off my clothes and made mad, passionate love to me – all orifices massaged,
nipples chewed, armpits sucked – the works. It was really something – probably the most passionate satisfying sex I’ve ever had. He told me our coming together in Plympton after I left my husband was The Most Significant Event in his LIFE.
But does he see me as a Minister’s Wife? No one can. Me included. The Problem of which we do not speak. Drive him to the ferry today,
after that a sail to Brimstone Island.
Shadowe Island - The Cottage – Sat 12 Aug 78
Mom giggling about how sweet and pure Devon is. She
is certain I’ve been dumped. If she only knew. If I in am suddenly in an Exclusive Relationship with this human will o’ the wisp wouldn’t it be the worst thing for
me? Am I like a Terrible Man who will now say anything to get sex?
Five good pages on novel. Working in omniscient third
person – a violently new departure. A few vague worried sensations that I am
“telling” too much about characters but the Victorians used to get away with
this on a regular basis. How I envy them. There I’ve said it, I envy Mrs. Henry
Wood.
One thing left out of Gardner’s On Moral Fiction is how
rarely we see the book the author wanted – instead we see the draft the
publisher agreed to buy & PROMOTE. Or am I cynical? On the whole I am appreciating Gardner’s ideas – but more than ready to get back to V Woolf’s
letters & diary. That is ecstasy – the “unstructured real.” Far prefer them to
her novels.
Nice long phone talk with Devon. Feeling freed since he
described to me his definition of a future wife; she is not me. In fact, she will
be a very unlucky girl who gets – by his deliberate plan – the least of him. It is comical that I, something of a contemporary expert on all things Victorian,
should even locate such a profoundly divided, deeply Victorian male; product
of such hideous religious and sexual mangling one would think barely possible
in this enlightened century. “Wife” seems to encompass for him some whole
new scary dimension that has nothing to do with sex. What mysteries people are! Bruce wanted a fount of approval and cash. Ryder wanted a mule. Jervaze
wanted a mommy who will bed him down with a bottle of Southern Comfort and
then drive him to the hospital. I can’t even figure out What Rod wants. But Devon seems to want someone whose holiness will “cancel out”
his “bad behavior”. All I know is I don’t want to be any of those people.
But what DO I want? I’m embarrassed to admit it out loud.
I want the spiritual and physical closeness – the “soulmate connection” – to
just keep on intensifying until we switch bodies (and I get to live two lives).
Castaneda says it can be done. (Good subject for novel.)
QUILTING
The scraps
The scraps
The bad acts
Bleed like madras
Over everything
Piecing penalties
Placating the portionless
Fabric cut to fit the frame or
The other way about?
This will all have to be redone
Till it makes some kind of sense.
Make the pieces smaller – ever
Smaller – in my
Empire of
Loneliness.
Devon flat out admitted he is afraid of me –says I
have too much power over him. I was too aggressive with him this time
and I think my “free agency” is where the trouble lies. It “wakes him up”
too much to the existence of another person and reminds him this isn’t all
happening in his head! I am too impatient to wait for him to get ready to
have an actual relationship. In the past, the better he got to know all his
girlfriends – and the more certain he became of them, the less he
wanted them. We are dancing on a knife-edge with our pleasure now. Psychologically he rules out “sexual fire” in long-term relationships. Everyone
but me (and Dad) seems to think sexual fire must burn out.
I look forward to getting back – change in seasons, change
in clothes – working, writing, even running around town with Rod is starting to
look fun. Cold day – sun hidden by clouds.
Burnside Inn – 10PM Sunday 13 Aug 78
Told my dad I took the room here because my typewriter
needs electricity – really of course I wanted privacy with Devon and then we
ended up at the Barnacle! But a public inn (with a handy bar) requires a lot of discipline. More than I have. I am recovering from a scandalous night – too
tired to take a bath I fell asleep in my clothes after cocktails with Marc Kramer
who tried first wooing me with his completely unfettered, unapologetic interest in money by showing me his new house then just flat out tried to get me drunk.
(I did get drunk but not enough to make him seem desirable. He is very hairy.) However, “investment banker” would be a good job to give to my character
Cloud if he ever grows up. If I can ever get him out of prep school.
No more hanging around the bar for me – I plan sit here
in my room every afternoon writing between three and six. Seems to be
all my social schedule will allow. Feel myself getting fat and should cut back
on food – tall order. I just need to go home and DANCE.
Stupid diary! One love problem after another. Well I can
always go back to poor Woolf… her talk of mushrooms, chair covers, butterflies…
Mon 14 Aug 12 midnight -78
Very unsatisfied with everything I’ve ever written. The
difficulty is I need to bring all my writing up to my current level of philosophical
maturity (such as it is.) But it keeps increasing exponentially! Never be
embarrassed to start over.
Dinner scene in Paradise Road (newly retitled) feels
shaky. Too many characters for me to handle. Maybe wedding next?
Trying to invest my characters with what I’ve just learned from Devon. Would choosing “the right person” come first (my Mom’s theory) and then the love
follows afterward? More convenient for everyone, certainly.
Almost rolled a poor pimply little fisherman down at the
docks this afternoon because I am such a sucker for gorgeous naked (hairless) shoulders. And the friendly, friendly innkeeper – but don’t get me started, he
has a “wife” or “wife substitute”. Mom’s been very cruel to me lately. At dinner
last night I discovered she RODE THE FERRY with poor shell-shocked Devon (explains his “freeing’ phone call) whom she apparently grilled the whole ride.
She sniffed – “He’ll never marry you.”
Too proud to tell her I just reached that conclusion myself
and it doesn’t elevate him in my estimation (the way it obviously does in hers!)
I could say I actually know Devon better now than he knows himself (he talks
in his sleep), and I can positively state that his stated intentions never bear ANY relationship to his actions. And it’s not a good thing.
He also told he could never become a minister (because
his mother wanted it too badly!) and yet here we all are. He keeps making rules
and I keep watching him break them. Plus, I’ve been taking responsibility for
“making” him do things he doesn’t “want” to for years. It’s a spiritual game of
Chinese checkers he insists on “losing”. I guess it’s just a matter of time before he starts holding it against me.
SUICIDE STREET
This is the street of suicides.
I orchestrated masterpieces in that house
Third-from-left –
Getting my effects too cheaply I see now
Unmindful of material
That lay so close to hand
New tenants slick the lawn that moats that
Windowed grave. They repair
The chrysalis I shattered
Getting out.
10:20 AM Wed 16 Aug 78
I am so excited by the “newness” of my novel – starting to
feel confident; like I can make these people do anything. Can’t wait to go home
and spread all the versions out – play Max Perkins to my own Tom Wolfe. Might
be able to patch something together. Still my tone needs emergency assistance,
which dictates a massive overhaul. All this omniscience is just too painfully reminiscent of somebody like Balzac – “In the forbiddingly cold winter of 1863” or worse, Dragnet? Must read Speedboat to see how far one can go. Should I
throw everything out and start over again or leave it a 500 p hegira?
Rod sends me a letter every day. He is smart, witty and
culturally aware. His handwriting is perfect. Unfortunately, this does not feel
as good as it should. I have rejected him as a potential husband (or father)
because he is so totally lacking in Projection & Charisma. Unlike Devon I plan
to marry a person I can also have soul-shattering sex with. Even Rod’s myths
are sub-standard. He needs Tale of Genji and Kraft-Ebbing but all he has is
Beowulf. Still, this is not the kind of thing you can tell a person you don’t want
to get serious with.
According to him, Miss You by the Stones is “Our Song”.
My song is Urgent, by Foreigner, and time’s a-wastin’. I can struggle with this
goddam party scene or I can go out and buy toothpaste. Ferry coming in –
very foggy.
Came into Burnside Inn tonight and immediately lost a lens. Searched and searched. Would this be the bill that would break the poor fragile financial camel’s back? Then I found it – stuck to my hair. A miracle.
Mom took me on a walk after dinner – apologized in her
weird oblique way. For a woman who claims to have “given all for love” she
really is quite calculating and cynical about it. “Why buy the cow if the milk is
free?” sums up the whole of her philosophy. She wants me to marry Marc
Kramer and live in wretched discontent, the equivalent, as far as I can see,
to opening a dairy farm and sending out pricelists. Those are the options.
Has doing too much of the emotional scutwork fatally dimmed the stars in her
“love makes the world go round” eyes? “What if I’m not a market-based
economy?” I inquire. Another missed bonding opportunity.
Dad showed gorgeous slides of Fox Island. Every
frame a poem. Made me think I should read old diaries to see what I can get.
Not that Cloud would keep diaries – not reflective that way at all. But Suni
might keep them.
9:30 AM Fri 18 Aug 78
$100 honorarium from Coltsville Community College for
my presentation – I can eat for a month off of that! Dare I get my dancing
down to 3 nights a week? Would be heaven.
Discussion with sisters about Mom. Here’s their advice: “Remember she’s crazy,” “Remember she’s old,” “Don’t give her any information”
and “Lie.” There it is! If only she could hear them! And I’m the one with the
“Bad Kid” reputation! Over dinner she lectured us on how costumes for the
ballet exalt the human body. Nothing like my combination of pasties,
fishnets and glitter! Hard to listen to after the contempt she has expressed
for my job! Said nothing. What they really hate is that I am my own
choreographer.
I was too dispirited even to point out that back when
ballet was “invented”, back in the dear old Dead Degas Days, dancers were
VERY “declassee” with damn near NO control over their own bodies: how
to express themselves sexually much less how they were viewed.
Looking back over it, my most serious depressions were all caused by attempts to conform. I’m so OVER it. Am I afraid of loneliness?
No. Stigma? Childlessness? Sexlessness? No. I confront all these fears, one
by one. Hard however to keep my head high around Mom and Dad’s evident
conviction that no one can ever be found to love me. They insist on giving me
money because I’m so pathetic . OK, I’ll take it (I’ve taken tips from fans
harboring worse thoughts) but insisted on giving them a poem in return.
Read Dawn Walk out loud looking for praise –
Dawn Walk
Thunder crusts a gelid sky
Is it light or is it rain feathering
my nest with longing
Stippling soul with flushed
new growth; bursting out
the steepled trees.
This is my world and I release it
Released for flying
Stelliform
Tough as spidersilk
Unrecognizable
Even to me who birthed it
Who spent my life creating it.
Released and
Blown away.
They rolled their eyes.
I must be secretly determined to make them look bad! Need to get car in
line for the ferry tomorrow AM at nine. Good vacation this has been. Mostly.
Last letter from Rod mentions a big society wedding
we are invited to. He does get invited to the best parties.
1:45 AM
Horrible last dinner at the Mermaid Creek House.
Am I speaking a different language from everybody else? Uncle Clive
downgraded his current girlfriend right in front of her – “she’s got no skills –
she’s not too bright.” I agree – there must be something seriously wrong with
her to want to be around him. Genevieve wants to know how I can love men
who are “weak”. This would have more significance if her second marriage
wasn’t with a submissive. I defended that weak men are “doubters” and doubters
are interesting.
The opposite is arrogance and how attractive is that?
Marc K, for example, doubts nothing. He’s also not very interesting. It would be
easy to be swept along in his wake on autopilot. Maddens me to hear Mom and G discuss Avril’s “low self-esteem.” The nerve! I think they want to pretend that life “makes sense” and is not a dangerous lottery. According to them, A has too low
an opinion of herself and I have too high an opinion of myself. Hmmmm. What’s
wrong with this picture?
Alysse Aallyn 