Tues. 11 Sept 79 – Every day catalogue. Jan & Mary Ellen to dinner – she has black eye but otherwise seems no different. Does not disparage new house where they still plan to live.
Mom sends separate letters to me & T. I feel she is on “his side” not mine. She thinks “living together” is at the heart of all our problems (secretly, she probably thinks it’s my “exhibitionism”. Me, the shy introvert!)
Reading Self-Starvation about how children make enemies of their own bodies in reaction to growing up. Tremble with recognition. Mom said things in her letter she could only know from what I wrote to my older sister Genevieve. That outlet stopped. Feeling a rush of mature personal power – I’m moving beyond them.
New novel Speechless is a bloody struggle. Writing about things too close to me. Wrote my first seriously bad scene – the adults all together.
3:50 PM – too upset after letter from Genevieve to write. She has been robbed of her honest feelings – she is just pumping up and down on the merry go round. They obviously think T will get sick of me soon but can’t decide if that is good or bad. My insistence on having a “real relationship” means I’ll never have one! Silly me. Need to do housework – or something – till I feel better. Shouldn’t try to write when feeling so despondent.
Midnight – Bath & Facial. Toss beautifully aroused – we made love TWICE. He says I am only girl he ever wanted to marry. Feel even our most terrible problems are being slowly overcome. Routine & diet coming under control. Dream of the Rood unsuccessful book.
12 Sept 79 – Magnificent day only half over. Charting novel – seems “completeable.” Starting research for short story Demon. No bad mail – no guilt about housecleaning – send off Walt Whitman entry. Sylvia Plath provides poetic incentive – I can’t put her down.
14 Sept 79 – Woke 4 am to tremendous whoosh – hackberry tree coming in window spreading shimmering shivering glass across floor. Went downstairs – more broken windows – tree leaning against house. Seemed to come out of nowhere. Put on coffee and called Toss at the newspaper where he works part-time.
He came home looking so handsome in wheat jeans & fishermen’s sweater bringing a photographer from the newspaper to take pics. Started calling people at 8 am. Insurance doesn’t want to pay so he called his insurance law professor.
Trying to read Robt Penn Warren – finished me for novels. The whole thing, after many premature burials, killed stone dead p. 300. Even there it didn’t stop. Can’t blame him for publishing it. It’s the publishers fault. If this was a woman’s novel they would flatten it. Never see the light of day. Retreat to Woolf’s diary where I plan to be for rest of week. Reading my diaries emotionally draining but inspiring. I’m up to 3 pages on The Repudiated Journals of Yuna Roe-Smith which is a lot of fun. The whole Ryder saga, though, is beyond depressing.
I had forgotten Mom wanted me to marry Armon and cried over his mother’s mean phone calls! Horrible Armon! What ashram would I be suffering in now? O, for a trustworthy literary executor instead of more family myth victims.
T. and I discuss travel – Portugal, Ireland and the literary tour of Eng. He prepares frightening presentation for Justice Goldberg. We will celebrate with Graves couple to dinner – turkey? My piece de resistance of hot, garlicky potato salad.
Sat 15 Sept 79 – Insurance will pay. Celebrate one of our many anniversaries with muffins for breakfast. Nice cool fall day – I can wear a sweater! T says after Goldberg he will set up his new study and his old study becomes our dressing room. Good, I need closet space. Type 10 p without a break – T at library – do my exercises – hand laundry. Novel going uncommonly well except for constant awareness of what I cannot do. Tonight spaghetti & green salad. Didn’t realize I was clenching my jaw as I wrote. Sore.
Sun 16 Sept 79 – T hands me his mother’s legal file – tells me I can read it! Found exactly what I need to portray Alva. She told her kids she was allergic to their father’s sperm!! Ask if I can incorporate T’s letter to his father about StormFall into Speechless.
Can’t read African diaries. Forgot I threatened to kill myself. Needed child psychologist in a major way. Parents were always staggering around blindfolded. No map ever suits the new terrain.
17 Sept 79 Finished Part I, on to Part II. Looked everywhere for Generation of Millionaires – can’t find it. Rats. I was sure I could use almost all of it.
Letter from oldest sister Merrill tells me I have to separate from M & D for my own emotional mental health. Can I do it AFTER wedding? Reading Women in Love. Think its wasted on me.
18 Sept 79 Up to p 145 but feel I am just beginning. I need to write another gothic – it would be easier. Dumped D.H. Lawrence’s Women In Love in favor of Hahn’s Lorenzo which I can actually enjoy. Useless trying to clean our room – T has nowhere to hang his clothes! We must construct a closet out of pass-through bedroom. This is a crazy place – longing for my own house. Yesterday such a magnificent dinner – chicken stew, wine, liqueur, pears, nuts & brie – we decided to skip dinner tonight. I love him so much but still feel like a wayfarer unrevealed. Sometime I wonder if 29 is too old to fall in love. M & D called – good conversation. To bed with History of Modern Poetry.
Queens Chapel Rd, Washington D. C. 3:30 Thurs 30 Aug 79
Belongings packed. 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?
My sense of helplessness is NOT a good sign for T’s and my relationship. He can’t “make” me independent! I have to do it myself. 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 to cope with. He’s driving it out here so I can sleep as late as I like which I really need. Reading Robert Ludlum’s perfectly ludicrous Matarese Circle. In 100 yrs people will wonder how we stomached this stuff. Avril and I going to Olney theatre to see The Bat tonight.
Newport Kentucky – Tues 4 Sept. 79 Reading old high school loveletters for something I can use in Blood Memory now renamed Speechless.
T. ebbs in and out of stranger-hood. He told his friends I used to be an exotic dancer – because he says he can’t “lie” but I think it was a bad idea. One obscene phone call so far. Don’t like the way they stare at me.
Last night we made love twice. I especially like to watch him sleeping – the perfection of his profile is heart-rending. But his angers are so weirdly arbitrary. Not against me so far. I am divided on what to do – if I ignore it will it be somehow programmed that I’ll stay reasonable while he’s outrageous? But if I don’t “let it slide” it’s non-stop arguments. Went to a famous restaurant to drink mint juleps last night and ended up in a silly argument about whether he has any misogynistic ideas or not. I proved he did (he thinks women “act stupid”) but that didn’t make him happy!
He’s given me the entire third floor of his house with glorious views over the city – I spend most of my time up here. Total furniture so far: a desk and a lounge chair. It somewhat makes up for the fact that he presented me with a new vacuum cleaner – obviously thinking I’m going to clean for him. Uh oh! Misogynistic idea #763. Mostly I am incredibly happy. At about 8 I’ll start the casserole & set the table.
Newport, KY: 10:15 AM Wed 5 Sept 79 The electricians have been here for 2 hrs driving me insane. T ordered impossibly ugly furniture from Horchow catalog – luckily agreed to send it back. Enjoying A Certain Slant of Light. Point of view not a problem for this writer. Next Drabble’s The Ice Age. Project: The Contemporary Novel. 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.) At least there’s a fenced yard for the dogs. 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.
6 Sept 79 – 2 PM Impossibly intense happiness. Peace & joy. Feel we have been standing in a dinghy trying to balance. Equilibrium is everything.
Toss suffering recurring nightmares that I leave him to go back to DC Can’t reassure him while I’m struggling to balance. Moves upset me to a terrifying degree. Let’s hope the next is last till kids are born. I recall when I got to Maine took me a full month to get my neuroses under control. 4 good pages on my latest novel. Molly Lefebrve’s book on Coleridge fascinating. T & I up at 8 AM to go shopping. Laid in a glorious supply food & drink – I gave him check for my ½. He is slightly alarmed I won’t open checking acct here. But he did say he can no longer afford the allowance he promised me and I’m too proud to complain. Must make money writing. Should take a walk right now – wake myself up. But light a little scorching – longing for fall.
12:50 PM Fri Sept 8 – 79 Long letter from Devon full of love and caring – his girlfriend sounds so wrong for him – she’s a prudish fundamentalist: what was he thinking? Must we marry our nightmares?
Perilously close to a bad argument last night – somehow Toss & I got over it. Trying to treat his ideas with respect. Our family has a ban on displays of anger – his doesn’t! In Sheffield World the angriest person wins because they “care” the most. Or are just willing to behave worse, I suggest. I get angry when he postpones our wedding AGAIN. He thinks we can’t “raise the money”. I say just make it a family party on the lawn. He says “a piece of paper doesn’t marry us”. BUT IT DOES. Why does “piece of paper” make him a lawyer, I ask? “That’s different.”
“Maybe next summer” does not sound good. Thanksgiving would be the easy thing – he says no – so I suggest spring vacation – he says Sept a year from now! Wants to have graduated into a law job. I think it is better to get wedding stuff out of the way. Now he’s trying to talk me into living near his mother in the city but I hate cities. Impasse. Seems I don’t need to cut very deeply to see pus. Can’t speed up the intimacy process much as I want to. Trying to detangle Mom & Dad’s puritanical creepers out of my own mind gives me a headache. At least T is making dinner tonight. If it weren’t for alcohol I don’t know if we’d pull through. Loving Christina Stead’s Miss Herbert.
6:40 PM Long letters to Devon and Merrill, then when T came home I wept for an hour. Apologized. This is heavy work. T shocked me by suggesting we “spend the summer here”. My traumatized response showed how much I think I am “camping out.”
Mon. 10 Sept 79 – Finished mad disturbing Miss Herbert then walk in dark with dogs. People’s complex rationalizations for the arcs, crests & troughs of their lives bear no actual relationship to what’s really going on says Stead, and I think I agree. Order & purpose come in a dream – then flash away again. I think I like Herbert even better than Dark Places of the Heart. Weird publishers’ blurb says they themselves don’t understand this novel! Poor Stead!
War with my current novel struggles a snails’ pace 3 pages. Keep longing to write here like I’m on the verge of some great discovery. Want to read my old diaries – make notes – but that would be a massive undertaking. With NO effect on novel.
In the meantime poor T and I continue our struggling course. On Friday his friend poor Mary Ellen was raped in her new house! I told T this was a bad neighborhood! I think I’d be scared if I didn’t have dogs. Jan and Mary Ellen left for their vacation early. Told T they should come here when they get back – she should not have to live in that house again. Great thing about this house is 3 floors and 4 bedrooms (2 bathrooms.)
Last night we lay naked face to face kissing and talking about the amazingness of our love. It is astounding. We’re riding a tiger and trying to tame it.
Saw Marquise of O – came home to delicious steak dinner – went a tour of restored houses after. Poor T trying to “sell” me on the area. I pine for our new Pennsylvania house just for us alone. So what is the answer? How does one give true weight to ideas & things?
To conservatory to see plants – home for fabulous lovemaking. Good weekend.
Frustrated & mixed up. “Only a clear pool gives beautiful reflections”. (Says the Artist from The Cat That Went to Heaven. Fave book from childhood.) Shall I blame my period? I can’t imagine ever enrolling in any other school, EVER or jumping through hoops like these again.
Going to Tartuffe with Frank Edmunds; strictly as friends. (I paid for my own chicken. His French is very weak; I had to tell him “hors de combat” does NOT refer to prostitutes.) Rehearsing every spare moment for The American Dream – I’m Granny. Doing a “voice” – channeling my own Granny. But it’s not fun being someone else so I guess that proves I’m never an actress. Worry even in my sleep. Master Gwill gave me an A for To Bed In the Afternoon and said he will submit it to ProSem. I told him not to bother and sure enough, Toss Sheffield turned it down like a bedspread. Toss over to my table (with apologetic ice cream) to explain why. He wants “vignettes”. (Quelle “Belle Epoque!) He says the audience shouldn’t know how they’re supposed to feel. Much more artistic if they didn’t feel anything.)
He told me to start my own magazine! But he seems to be considering adopting me. That could lead to something. He’s got the most gorgeous long straight blond hair that makes me shiver. Good body, perfect nose. He has a brain. And he is a hermit. (Fingers crossed.) He says that he loves me and he hates me but refuses to elucidate. He came to sit at my table tonight and brought me ice cream.
Need to go to bed so I can worry. “Darkness, darkness, be my pillow…”
Wed 8 May 68 Starting to feel more happy & confident. It’s a shame I’m so dependent on men but don’t know if it’s fixable. Maybe it’s like a vitamin – got to have it or you get scurvy.
My father suggests I skip graduation and go to a Yugoslavian work camp! Five hundred dollars difference he says. Miss Senior Parties? So I only get the bad part of this place? I say No and No.
10:40 PM – Just learned the most horrible thing! Toss telling everyone I “tried to seduce him!!!” Writing an angry KOB right now. I invited him sailing and that is NOT tantamount to seduction in my universe!!! Telling him sailing invite is REVOKED!!
Casey asks what I’m writing and I say, “The truth.” She has forbidden me to discuss her with you ANY MORE.
“I’m going to write my own diary,” she grumbles. So I tell her to get on with it and stop her bellyaching! If people COULD, they WOULD. NoDoz to keep from sleeping when I ought to be studying.
Toss has gorgeous male body, which he sheathes in corduroy & sharp-starched French-cuff shirts. Wears an Eng tweed vest on ALL occasions. He knows the sight of him makes me throb. This is why I must be extra cruel.
Fri 31 May 68 Attempting to muffle my triumph while sitting in Fr after giving Front of Class rept on Duttilleul. Free at last, thank God I’m free at last!
Sheffield puzzles me to put it mildly. Invited him to work with me in the ice cream store but he sent Gary Long who is sweet & dumb & no threat to anyone. Then he shows up at the end to help me close. Tells me all about his father whom he deeply admires.
Isn’t father worship a good sign in a boy? Or not? He brought Casper the Grasper’s note about my “professional level” Granny. Best performance he’s seen at the school. Wonder if C realizes this is the same girl he stabbed almost to death with a rose pin years ago? Probably not – he’s totally gaga and at least 100. Sheffield says he talks to all the boys about masturbation.
Sun 2 June 68 “I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now…”
Toss’ eighteenth birthday. I was his gift – he ate my throat and whispered through my hair and studied with the Engineering Marvel that is a push-up bra (he mispronounces as “brazier.”) Started off in the AM at the lakehouse. White clothed tables, Japanese lanterns, très chichi. T took me into the center of the lake on a canoe ride while I ate my breakfast. When it started to rain he took off his pink shirt. Oh my. Oh to scale the white cliffs of Sheffield…
Played tennis, sat together at lunch, collapsed side by side in a barley field. Then climbed to the treehouse in Boy Wood where he told me how beautiful my hands are and complimented my “lioness” hair. We undressed each other. Aaahhh… Roses for some very cold November. He shuddered over my breasts. His sweat is delicious. We licked each other clean of every childhood scrape & pain. I felt like crying from sheer happiness. This was the moment I’ve been looking for. I would have made love with him there & then but the Doberman did not drop the sirloin. Preston a terribly inferior lover compared to T…
He knelt at my feet to put on my shoes.
Only minutes left to dress for banquet – wore my short short SHORT hot Wore my Indian bells sundress with matching bikini. T. wore 3-piece suit and looked like turn of the century banking scion. Terrible speeches, badly planned. All on the subject of individual vs. society!!! Hard thing to toast.
The dance was VERY good. (Band tremendous.) Did a lot of sherbet eating and cookie consuming. (Shawn asked to dance once – very sporting I thought.)
Casey & Robt both sick in infirmary!
Sun 9 June 68 T really saved my senior year! I owe him so much! Casey & I rushed through our room like whirlwinds, packing! I dragged Avril in for “moral support”. Pool party at the Cocks’. “I thought you didn’t like parties,” I said to T. He said, “I want to be where you are.”
Changed into a dancing dress with huge flowing sleeves. 2 kinds of salad, French bread, fried chicken, chocolate cake saying CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 68. Security guard insisted T wear a tie – he put his belt around his neck. We lay in the same lounge chair. Paradise. This life is enough for me! Immortality would KILL me all over again! We danced & danced. I have enough. I am enough.
Clove Hill Conference Center Tues 11 June 68 Sprawled out in the Meditation section of the “Senescence Manor” Library; an obligatory “way station” on the way to Europe. They are training us how NOT to be Ugly Americans. I’m supposed to be “meditating” so here goes. Last night was so perfect. One of the happiest nights of my life.
After dinner Francie Parks, Matt R., Toss & I drive in Someone’s Father’s Car to coat & tie affair at the Bellamy’s. Everyone but Toss & me seek a quiet corner to smoke dope. Why waste this glorious evening? Plumly Survivors, Unite. Is this a boat in which we haphazardly drift together or a trap we fell short-sightedly into?
The latter, I guess because T & I flee as soon as possible to explore the grounds while a very good cover band plays “Shotgun” & “Hitchhike”.
I wore my blue gauze skirt and Very Tight Satin Vest that Doesn’t Need a Shirt (but Miss Womrath would say IT DID.) T. skirting control SEVERAL TIMES sobbing with apology & passion while the male bullfrogs shrieked, groaned & screamed. Toss liberated a whole quart of vanilla ice cream from the Bellamy freezer, which we polished off between us; then Eggs Benedict & sticky buns were served! We danced it off.
T’s parents arrived – I said goodbye to Casey who seemed happy enough with John M. Duke Droyer agreed to ride with us to the Sheffield party. T’s parents seem very young – Mrs Sheffield showing off her lime green shoes. Crowded into the back Toss strokes my stomach tenderly, whispers, “I love Alysse Aallyn” into my ear.
Toss’ house is a railroad magnate’s nooky little Bavarian castle set into the Pennsylvania countryside. Paintings everywhere by Toss’ father – who’s an undercover artist posing as an investment advisor. Fauve paintings – some very good. Mrs. Sheffield showed me to my puffily pink-quilted room – sharing with the absent Francie – but I wasn’t ready to sleep, especially since they had a pool. Swim!
Holding each other under water so exciting. We dried each other off and he gave me the tour, including the basements (which go on and on) where he has his darkroom and ending up at the Recently Acquired Matisse. That was where we took off our bathing suits and collapsed in a pile of cushions, wet hair and hot towels…just as Matt R and Francie P came in! Both acted like this is an everyday occurrence – we are graduates after all! What can they do to us now? Finally staggered off to bed.
Toss woke me at ten for breakfast (said he couldn’t wait any more) and I met his brother David (13). Toss’ mother seemed annoyed about something like she had forgotten we were there. T & I walked Duke to the leafy little train station. I kissed him goodbye – (who knows when I’ll see him again?) and Toss mentioned that – by the way the senior boys had unanimously voted me Girl Most Likely to Get Married First.
Compliment? I think it is if you realize it REALLY means “Girl Most Likely to be Proposed To.” T. didn’t know it but this poured balm on my still bubbling wounds inflicted by the Rumor Mill.
Thurs. 13 June 68 – JFK International Airport Plane late, but meal vouchers also delayed, so forced to buy myself cheeseburger & Danish with my coffee. Now that vouchers have arrived I’m not hungry so might as well waste it on bourbon & ginger ale! In spite of the glares of the white suited headwaiter. I have an excellent view of the takeoff fields.
So where had I got to? Steak with T & parents on their lawn? They look to me for clues to the Toss they’ve never met. But the more T’s dad likes me & tries to please the more onerous the Mom finds my presence! An exactly matched pair of counterweights! Will I look across a lawn someday at the girl who steals my son’s love from me?
I am very much aware that I was only given food & a place to sleep because I’m Current Choice of the Eldest Son.
Strange how people’s lives intertwine and they upset each other’s timetables. Alysse wants to go to Europe. Toss wants to go to Oregon.
Cruel twist of fate – everyone gets the thing they don’t want any more. We are governed by the shadows of our former selves.
Hungry after all – I eat Vichyssoise & cherrystone clams. (Excellent clams.) T. took me back to Pewter Hill by train because he doesn’t have his license. We went out for Chinese food with Genevieve and her husband (it was his 21st birthday) and G’s Plumly roommate Clarice. I would prefer to be alone with Toss – when we are around other people I always start to fear I’m making the whole thing up.
Toss missed his train (thank God) and spent the night. Played “sardines” – PH a very good house for that. I am the all time winner. Dad woke me & I woke Toss & ironed his shirt (pretty inefficiently I’m afraid.) Chinese eggs, (Dad calls it “slumgullion”) orange juice & coffee.
Toss rode on the train as far as he could go before he had to take a different connection. We kissed goodbye with people staring – I was suddenly shy.
These Clove Hill work campers are all cigarette smoking college types. I stood out like a sore thumb with my matching red luggage. The doctors refused to give my smallpox shot because of “oozing lesions” (poison ivy) wrote all over my passport instead.
We have to attend lectures, & choose a job. I chose “Gardening” my mother would be so proud – worked in the leek garden until my knees were black. Washed dishes after lunch, then washed my hair.
After the last conference of the evening, Toss called. It was a living pain to hear his voice. I said, “The hell with this – when’s the next train out of here?” He said, “I’m coming.”
We ran through backyards and over fences to his parents’ house. I said I’d like to quit the American Virginity Rat race. Went to the cabana (he says his mother is sick) and played John Wesley Hardin. Met his 15 yr old brother – taller but not as handsome.
Toss admitted he’s a virgin too, but “we’re not protected.” Is mutual masturbation making love? I don’t know how to make it satisfying – I am not there yet. He admitted I was there to his father who drove me back.
Awoke early to pack, grabbed a sandwich for breakfast. Our Icelandic flight cancelled (bomb threat) so we are flying Iberian.
Used graduation money to call Toss at 3:30. He is such a darling. Truly and magnificently humble (unjustly scorned word.) Owe him a 10-page letter. But –
Instead I wrote a poem:
LEAVING THE COVEN
A craven of cronies stood Between us & God – God hated short skirts, God Demanded clones.
A damnation of judges Stood between us & Knowledge; claimed truth exists in Servicing others.
A clowder of cretins Stood between us & Art: “Don’t be disturbing” “Never trust instincts.”
You escaped from The oubliette; rescuing me – So I could grow up And write you this poem.
(SCENE 7: Lights out on them and up on BO who has made it to the stage where he finds the rope tied to a rock.)
BO Vayre? Vayre? Oh, my God, Wendy where are you?
(He falls backwards. She appears around the rock adjusting her pants.)
VAYRE No need to shriek like a little girl.
BO You almost gave me a heart attack! I thought I was alone down here! What’s with this?
(Shakes the rope)
This wasn’t part of our deal!
VAYRE Keep your shirt on! I had to take a pee!
BO You can pee with a rope tied to your waist!
VAYRE Who elected you the God of pee?
BO And I was risking my life FOR YOU among the bat carcasses!
VAYRE I warned you never to say that word!
(BO produces the program and hands it to her.)
BO (Starts untying the rope from the rock) I fulfilled MY part of our bargain. Now you put this right back on!
VAYRE What for? We’re standing six inches apart!
BO So we NEVER get separated again! Don’t you see, it’s a miracle you found your way back! Down here that’s no joke! We’re DEAD if we don’t get out together.
VAYRE I was right over there! I wasn’t getting lost. No one sets out to get lost. Hmmm. Let me guess: you’re the child of divorce.
BO Who isn’t? I thought all marriages immediately expired after fifteen years.
VAYRE Seven years in MY parents’ case. But mine isn’t going to.
BO But how can you stop it? Seems everyone just goes crazy after a set period of time. We have different set points is all.
VAYRE But can’t a couple like, evolve together?
BO (Finding this sexy) Into what…a new species?
VAYRE (Ditching the program)
This isn’t it! You’ve lost my map! Now we have to operate on theory alone.
BO Sounds dangerous. Which theory are you using?
VAYRE
Unified field? If we’re acting like waves and they’re acting like particles then –
BO
I operate on Meeny-Miny-Mo theory. YOU lost it. So it’s your turn to go search.
(Begins tying the rope to her waist)
If I tug three times…
VAYRE (Gulping) You know I can’t do that! What about the bat carcasses?
BO Then we’ll go together. We’ll trust our instincts. We’ll…evolve.
(He passes a loop of rope around her drawing her closer to him.)
VAYRE You now, it’s funny. I’m not scared when you’re here.
BO (Looking down realizes they are securely bound together)
Then I suggest we make camp.
VAYRE Make camp! With a half bottle of Gatorade and a power bar?
BO Sure! Wait for THEM to find US.
(She throws a loop of rope around him)
VAYRE Help, help.
(Not like she means it.)
How long do we wait?
BO As long as it takes, Wendy Vayre.
(They are securely bound hip to hip. Tentative kisses.)
VAYRE Let’s hope it takes forever, Darcy.
(More kisses)
I’m a little concerned about your friend.
BO MY friend? Not your friend?
VAYRE If Rev finds your friend she’s probably strangling him right now.
BO Why? Is she a mean girl?
VAYRE She’s mad at you guys over this whole caving thing. She doesn’t like that many people and she’d HATE you.
(Throws her arms around his neck.)
BO What’s so hate-worthy about me?
VAYRE That this bad, bad date was your idea.
BO I’m a bad date, am I?
(They start kissing passionately.)
VAYRE You have your good side. But seriously! This is the worst!
BO Worst place you’ve ever hooked up? Seriously?
VAYRE Who says we’re hooking up?
BO Right. No hookups. We’re…evolving. That’s how I interpret it.
VAYRE Interpretations aren’t reality. What if we never see each other again?
BO Fat chance of that when we’re entangled!
VAYRE Listen buddy, I can imagine the future.
BO Well, stop it. People get into a lot of trouble over that. You’re a prophet now?
VAYRE Yeah. And I’m usually right.
BO I’m ready to be surprised.
(Thinks)
Unless you decide you never want to see me again.
VAYRE That depends.
BO It DEPENDS? On what? On how we evolve?
VAYRE On how good you are at getting us out of here. I mean, are you just a handsome dolt, or what?
BO
(Very gratified) You think I’m handsome?
VAYRE
(Running her hands up and down his arms)
I think you’re very good looking.
BO
You should have seen me in high school! I had a serious case of pizza face.
VAYRE
Everyone’s hopeless in high school. I was flat as a board.
BO
You? Flat?
(He tests it out) VAYRE As a BOARD.
(More kissing)
I warn you, my standards are high. Don’t start anything you can’t finish.
BO
You can afford to have high standards. But you’re lucky with me. I’m a finisher.
VAYRE
You are?
BO
Big time. You know I‘m the first in my family to go to this college?
VAYRE
I’m impressed.
BO
That’s why I’m determined to be a doctor. Unless they kick me out first.
VAYRE
They wouldn’t do that.
BO
Grades, money. They’re always on my case.
VAYRE
Why’s that?
BO
I do finally get there but…I’m slow.
VAYRE
That’s not a bad thing. I like a guy who paces himself. You don’t know how to talk to them, probably. Bureaucratese is a who separate language.
BO
Ain’t that the truth! The dean keeps sending me these emails and –
VAYRE
You ignore them, am I right?
BO
I can never make up my mind what they want me to say.
VAYRE
I’ll tell you what to say. When they pull that on you, go plant yourself in his office, shake the emails at them and demand, “How is this happening?”
BO
I can’t see me doing that. I get tongue tied. I can see YOU doing it. I can see you winning at it, too!
VAYRE
You don’t win UNLESS you do it.
BO
Yeah, well I’m not a pretty girl. Pretty girls get whatever they want.
VAYRE
You think I’m pretty? My Mom says my nose is too big.
BO
She’s jealous. Tell her she can’t talk to you like that.
VAYRE
I can’t see ME telling her that, but I can see you doing it! And getting away with it!
BO
I’d tell her in a heartbeat.
VAYRE
Here’s an idea: you go with me to Thanksgiving and I’ll go with you to the dean’s office. Deal?
BO
Deal and done!
VAYRE
That’s if we ever get out of here.
BO
Oh, we’re getting out of here! We’ll get out here if I have to dig a path to the surface!
VAYRE
My lucky day when I found you!!
BO
(Unwrapping rope)
Let’s start now!
VAYRE
But what about our friends? We have to find them!
BO
Maybe they’re already out of here. Why should we rescue them if they wouldn’t rescue us!
VAYRE
We would have seen them!
BO
Maybe they don’t want to be interrupted.
VAYRE
Believe me, my friend wants to be “interrupted”.
BO
Is your friend a good wrestler?
VAYRE
What do you want to know THAT for?
BO
Because Hedj is not as strong as he looks. I can take him. His only advantage is surprise.
VAYRE
Rev is a champion kickboxer. She’s never surprised. She always expects THE WORST.
(She feels his muscles appreciatively)
BO
Then she’ll be fine. Seriously, it’s time to get out of here. It’s all you can eat taco night.
VAYRE
Crispy or soft?
BO
Crispy all the way. Those things are like giant Doritos.
VAYRE
Let’s agree to disagree. We’re finding our friends.
(They try to step apart but…)
VAYRE
Guess you’ll have to untie me.
BO
I might loosen your bonds a little.
VAYRE
Just a little.
(Another passionate makeout session)
BO
Now my brain’s in a tailspin.
VAYRE
What’s back that way?
BO
The world?
VAYRE
All you can eat tacos.
BO
Civilization! And back that way?
VAYRE
Cold, dark emptiness.
BO
We’ve been wrong before.
VAYRE
But if we can’t trust our instincts, what have we got?
BO
Cold dark you-know-what. Let’s go!
Corso invited me to soar, but he was only desirous of harnessing my dreams. Dr. Corso was the monster we would have to destroy.
I met him at my old high school’s college fair. I haunted those things like a revenant. I was a “bad example”, the ghost of Opportunity Passed. Out of school, I worked Fluffernutter’s at the mall. The glitter-covered notebooks and fleece purses of that accessories store had almost succeeded in torpedoing my passion for fashion along with my self-esteem.
Self-delusion to imagine I was made for better things? What I needed, above all, was to figure out some way to go to college, what I was doing was ickily sinking into learned helplessness with a double chaser of self-pity.
I was good at things once. I knew words, I knew history; I had a winning manner, a gift for mimicry and a eidetic memory. Feed me on algorithms, test me with paradigms! Not my fault I was kicked out of more than one high school for “seeing beyond”; for guessing at things I wasn’t supposed to know. “Second sight” is said to be a gift but if that was true, why couldn’t I tell my own fortune? I felt separated from achievement and privilege by a mysterious sheet of invisibility – a force field against which I uselessly pressed my snotty nose. My horoscope said that day of the college fair was a high point of vulnerability for Virgos like me. But I was so desperate I went anyway.
Swamped in stigma, I wore black like a ninja. To impersonate or to disappear? I hadn’t decided. In honor of the existence of colleges I donned a silver thread vest ornamented with stars. Even so the other students – young, confident, accomplished – parted around me like sparkling water avoiding a big ugly rock. It was really no different from the time I was a student here and my nickname was “Thesaurus.” Couldn’t blame them. I felt like I’d been cut in half long ago and the other part of me had taken off – was missing — gone – wandering the world someplace on walkabout.
My miasma was a pheromone of warning: Stay away! Maybe I should just accept my fate: to work at Fluffernutter’s forever. Maybe if I tried real hard I could some day become a manager and scream at a succession of all-thumbs newbies for not understanding fluffing. Would I live with Mom for eternity and celebrate every Saturday night by staring at TV wrestling with my non-boyfriend Bex? Thoughts like this had the power to make me shudder visibly, disturbing the smooth self- congratulatory fervor of this effervescent get-together. It turned out Dr. Corso had well-developed radar for someone like me.
He was a handsome, handsome man; unafraid to stand alone in the middle of a crowd. Magnificently bald, a deep-chested man comfortably dressed in polo shirt and relaxed khakis in contrast to all the recruiters’ business suits. With my cultivated Saturday night expertise I thought he looked a bit like a retired wrestler, or some conqueror from another era. Hannibal or somebody. A man who bridged time itself to attend our modest festival.
He had no assistant, no graduate students to drive the little fish into his net; he stood apart, not sitting, not even holding papers, just surveying the crowd. Looking for someone like me. Too late! Eye contact! I had to go over. Struggling to smile.
“Hi,” he said, pupils dilating big enough to swallow me. “Has anybody ever told you you look like Bettie Page?”
Doesn’t the universe think in archetypes? I was thinking Hannibal and he was thinking – Yeah. I’ve heard that comparison a few times too often, actually, that’s why I cultivate the “Tron” asymmetrical bangs. But forget truth! This is a college fair. Take the foot out of my mouth and out it forward. I reminded myself of long dead instructions: college recruiters are like job interviewers. Start wherever they start and build .
“To work at the mall you have to be an archetype,” I smiled, taking his outstretched hand. An electric thrill ran through me at his power. I was so needy and he had so much to give. He folded my hand right into his other palm and reeled me in. I tried reading the name of his college on the banner behind him. Cadensis. Sounded vaguely familiar.
“I’m Dr. Corso,” he said, “lord of the psychology department. And you are—“
More awkwardness. Too bad about my name! Too bad about my mother’s failed romanticism! “Jasmyn Suzino. But everyone calls me Jazz. “ At college I planned to drop my silly legal moniker first chance I could.
“I like the name Jasmyn,” he said, still holding both my hands. “Quite exotic. You don’t run into many others, I assume?”
“No,” I said. “It’s rare all right.” You have to be a Disney fancier of a certain era. To escape his clinch I picked up a brochure. It depicted a happy couple – boy and girl – romping on the lawn of a fairy-tale castle.
“That’s one of our ivory towers,” he explained. “Wow,” I said. Stupidly. Jazz the poet! She has such a way with words!
“So, Jasmyn,” he pointed to a chair and sat down too, “What are your interests?” There were only two chairs. Now that we were seated in a private confab, milling sheep were even less likely to come over and draw off some of this unaccustomed heat. I was sweating. Curses.
“I’m interested in everything,” I said, which was not strictly true. “I work in fashion.” Can you call selling rhinestone tiaras to adoring Dads to gift their sparkly princesses “fashion”? No, you can’t. Fashion is like poetry; a difficult language well worth learning. Rhinestone equals “not trying” like “roses in June” equals Poem. I threw my one desperate accomplishment at his feet. “I won a national poetry prize in high school.”
I keep this secret unless I’m filling out a form, but it’s pretty much all I’ve got. From a lizard skin portfolio Dr. Corso extracted a single document, snapped it to a clipboard and started filling out a form for me! I don’t need to tell you that’s a first. College recruiters rise above. Usually. “A poetry prize!” He did a good job of acting impressed. “Do you declaim?” OMG, OMG!!! No one ever asks for that! I tried to think how to get out of it. “Oh, you know. Romantic love,” I murmured, agonized. “I’m embarrassed by it now.”
He kept on writing. “You’re a blusher, too, I see. We psychologists are intrigued by those who wear emotion in their blood vessels, so to speak. Don’t be embarrassed. You’ll find I am a big believer in romantic love. Here’s a secret; I started life as a Roman Catholic priest, and now I’m not.” He raised his amazing eyebrows amazingly. “All because of love.”
He wore a wedding ring, I noticed. Big gold-chased thing. I was glad to see it, considering the scary charisma pouring off him. I relaxed a little and he handed me a water bottle touting the school’s name. Springs of knowledge! I tore the top off like a desert crawler. “Interested in everything,” he quoted, writing. “At Cadensis I’m conducting a research experiment in out-of-body experiences and I need volunteers. Do your interests extend to other worlds? Sound like anything you’d be up for?”
Was this the foot-in-the-door you’re supposed to be alert for? There was no polite way to tell him I was totally, completely, not interested in psychology. I had been professionally “psychologized” from the age of three to fifteen, when I was finally old enough to Just Say No. All from an idea my mom got that I was molested at my daycare – there wasn’t any proof and she lost the court case – certainly I had no memory of it. Just because some other kids were or detectives got them to say they were. All that “therapy” made somebody feel better. Mom and the psychologist, I guess. ‘Cause it sure didn’t help me.
“What’s an out-of-body experience?” Playing for time.
“Dream walking,” he said. “Soul travel. In every culture there are people who consciously experience their spirits roving in dreams, in rituals, as a reaction to threat or through religious induction. Often they see things they couldn’t otherwise know from their physical perspective. Remote viewing is another name. I’m conducting a series of experiments to explore the possibility.” At nineteen years old I’m pretty much used to old men wanting to experiment on me. Every high school and middle school contains Casper-the-Graspers; even the Fluffernutter dads weep with disappointment when I won’t model our tutus or show them my tramp stamp.
“Sorry,” I said, almost relieved to be so arbitrarily excluded. This self-defeat explains the fix I’m in. “I don’t dream. I barely sleep.” Wakeful Jazz, up at three and wandering. That’ s me. His eyes bugged out at me again. Pale hazel eyes with tiger markings — we sell jewelry just like that. It’s pretty and ugly at the same time. But you can’t stop staring.
“Everyone dreams,” said Dr. Corso confidently. “I assure you that you do. The fact that you don’t remember your dreams is of utmost interest to me. “ He wrote furiously in bright green ink. “These are paid positions, by the way,” he added. “And I have within my supervision several scholarships. The Emily Fortunatus-Falcones Scholarship would be perfect for you. Cadensis is very well endowed. We only bother charging tuition to keep out the riff-raff. I assume you graduated from this place?” He looked around my old high school gym with considerable hauteur.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Last June.” And very embarrassing it was to admit having no college to go to, not even “junior.” Fluffernutter U! All I could find, and I was lucky to have it. “Would I be able to study…other things?” I inquired ungracefully.
“Of course.” He waved his hand; his pen might as well have been a wand. “That’s why the Fortunatus-Falcones scholarship is so perfect. It’s designed for those who are undeclared. You explore anything you want for two years before you decide on a major. You don’t even have to take psychology.” He leaned forward. “You do, however, have to participate in my study.”
Well there’s always something. Being taught to dream-walk didn’t sound so bad. I’ve got lots of places I’m planning to go, and if “soul travel” gets me there faster, it’s all right with me.
“Sure,” I agreed. “Sounds really interesting.” I scrabbled in my purse for my checkbook, desperately wondering what they charge for an application. Would my check bounce? Some of these places want two hundred bucks per application!
He stayed my hand with his big paw. “This scholarship covers everything,” he said. “There’s even a small stipend. If you’ll just fill out your address and sign here.”
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the ratty yet beloved Christmas scarf my sister Annika knitted me from mismatched yarn had fallen to the floor. I was becoming unwound. Just like that scarf.
Gallantly he picked it up. “I’ll keep this,” he said. “If you don’t mind.” Now my eyes bugged. “As a guarantee we’ll meet again,” he said suavely. Weird, don’t you agree? Still, I was pretty sure Annika would understand.
Anyway, it seemed the long desperate winter was over. Spring had sprung. I signed , and then I floated away from that booth in a state best described as shock. Didn’t apply to any other place. That scarf seemed like his guarantee that I’d get in.
Of course afterward I felt like an idiot who must have gotten everything wrong. Whenever you take things for granted, in my admittedly short experience, you’re headed for trouble.
But the letter arrived one week later. It was thin, so thin like a rejection. Condensed and abrupt like the word “no”. Doubtless my scarf would be arriving at long, long length by Toxic Freight. Probably he’d looked up all my records and found out about all the tests I mysteriously “aced”, all the psychologists I’d seen. Good things come at least in twos, a single anything is bad news. I made my mom open it.
“The first word is “congratulations,” “ she said. “Oh, my goodness, Jasmyn, you got in! It says you got a scholarship for two years – housing,
books, everything!” She stared at me, awestruck and dazzled as if I had suddenly become a more valuable human being. My little sister Annika, jet powered by Ritalin, jumped up and down on the sofa as if it was her personal trampoline.
I studied the sheet of thick ivory paper topped with a gold- embossed seal and bottomed by Dr. Corso’s signature. It said “packet”; it said, “September.” Dr. Corso had proved not just that there are dreams but that they come true! Corso’s green ink pen had been a wand.
I was speechless until I could utter a Wow. Wordless Jazz.“Where is it?’ asked my mom. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”I wasn’t going to let her criticize this gift horse’s dental job. “Northern New Jersey,” I said. “Far up.” Where nobody goes. “What is that by car?” Mom hopefully inquired. “One hour? Two?”
“At least three,” I said smugly. Answer to a prayer! I would not be a commuting student. My family would finally have to leave me alone so I could stop being Jasmyn and become Jazz. Become the me I had always been meant to be.
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.
TOMORROW STARTS WOMAN INTO WOLF Alysse Aallyn’s thriller about difficult marriages & split identities
…a thrill-ride, unique and highly recommended reading.” –Entrepreneur.com “deceit, rape, fertility, imprisonment and a mother’s grief…as each piece of the tightly coiled fiction was loosed I waited for the revelation to come…she couldn’t imagine the extent of the deception until it was spelled out. Neither could I.” –MyShelf.com “one of the most unusual mysteries I have ever read…I loved reading Woman Into Wolf … kept me on the edge of my seat right through the end…I highly recommend this novel to fans of crime mysteries that also enjoy some extra spice in their stories.” – Readerviews.com “a very fine psychological thriller… the characters in this book are as bright as crystal and as sharp as shattered glass. Aallyn not only can describe them to a neo-noun, she can make them speak true to those characters. Quite a talent…a novel every bit as worthy as her first.” ArmchairInterviews.com
10:00 PM – Party Castle – Wed 27 Jun 79
The inevitable panic reaction has set in – am I out of
my friggin MIND? But it’s my battle and I’m dealing with it. I hear myself saying WAY too much around him as if tempting him to find something to be disgusted by and to reject me – why can’t I just shut up and enjoy this?
Because I can’t believe he really loves the real me – we haven’t seen each other in 10 years. I plunge gratified into the dizzying sensory experiences – he is very sexual and willing to talk about it – everything he says turns me so ON. Heavenly night of ecstatic sex. Trying to go SLOW, not empty out my bag of tricks all at once. I resent my own anxieties and my fear of being vulnerable. Here at work I wrote a poem about our past – The Duel. Will I ever be able to show him?
I even like his snobbishness – he’s more elitist I guess you’d say. He assumes we’re “up there” – and it’s others job to qualify, to climb up to “our level”! That’s so refreshing after Usher Glayne’s weirdness! He just takes it for granted we’re in a class by ourselves; special people trying to do special things. And our tastes are so similar. He doesn’t plan to stay in Kentucky – wants to live in New England with its fall, its woodstoves and frozen lakes. I can barely comprehend such confidence much less contain it. Imagine being free forever from the fear that the party’s happening elsewhere. We ARE the party.
I said I felt safe with him – he said he wasn’t sure that was justified – looked at me like a beast longing to rend, but restraining itself. Wild frissons! He must be horrified by how fast things are going – I have never met a man who wouldn’t be. But he’s driving this train. Told me he’s been so celibate lately – very upfront discussing his discouraging relationship with a virginal anorexic perfectionist frightened by everything who compensates by torturing herself and all the people around her. In a flash I realized, that’s exactly what Devon is also.
Toss says he feels “stormed” by me –dizzied – by who and what I am, the summit of my “magnificence”. Wow! Such flattery very scary. How can he possibly mean it? Yet he seems so honest, so open. What will he do when he finds out I am human after all – a creature of mud and sludge like everyone else?
Reading Margaret Drabble’s The Needle’s Eye – not so good as The Waterfall – beginning to be turned off by her towers of verbiage. My own life is so much more interesting. Good phone con- versations with Toss – I am beginning to trust him. When I told him what I do for a living he was totally unfazed. “I knew you couldn’t get that body walking!” Tomorrow we explore Annapolis.
Party Castle 12:05 am 2 July 79 Wrote D an angry farewell poem.
“HOW DID YOU MEET?”
You saw me naked I saw you too close- up. You hovered, teaching Between the green glimpses. You drank vodka, I drank wormwood. You cut mountains down to size; I’d no idea that one could take such charge of space. Now I’m a toad-dweller, Nostrils pierced by thorns I Fall face-first into every hole; You were the king the ghost pines saluted. How you dove and danced! Speeding through your love-drunk universe, you Infected me with your own whiteness Dizziness, till all my blood drained out. You challenged God; I was the echo following after. Yet here I am after all this time And nothing promised remains of you.
Or, “Good luck with Sleeping Beauty’s castle!” That’s what he gets for messing with my heart. Can’t show anyone – most certainly not him – and it isn’t really finished – and I don’t think it ever will be. But thank God for diaries. Diaries can be told anything. Reading Secrets in the Family – it is so superb I am going to buy copies for all my sisters. Looking forward to discussing it with Toss. I’m beginning to miss him now – he’s so deep and interesting to be around – so alive on many more levels than anyone else – challenging all my levels. Falling in love – happy, crazy.
Thurs 11:05 – Plush Palace – 5 July 79
Back at The Plush – its catch as catch can in my
present situation. I am alienating managers left and right. But I am happy crazy and who cares?
Because on the third of July Toss asked me to
marry him and I said yes! Here’s how it happened. On Monday night we ate white clam linguini and crenshaw melon while listening to Keith Jarrett’s Koln Concert – then – came together in delicious, soul-freeing sex; two perfectly matched combatants recognizing each other not just from childhood and youth but school and dreams. He was eager to learn how I could best be pleased – so I surrendered to the inevitable. Fireworks!
He left me sleeping there in the AM – I heard thumping downstairs but I know he has roommates so didn’t think anything of it – when he came back for lunch he discovered the door broken in and my purse missing. Keys, wallet, everything. I had to call into work – had to call a locksmith to give me keys to my car.
Toss doesn’t know what else they stole because he doesn’t know what else is supposed to be in this house – called his roommates. They came, police came. So we spent a day of intense babbling and the worst kinds of petty annoyances – but none of it mattered because he was there. In fact, I welcomed it; it was an extra opportunity to be together.
At one point I said, you know, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. He said, if I believed that, I’d ask you to marry me. I said, if you did I’d say yes. So he said, “Do you want to get married?” I said, “I think so,” and there it was! He said I’m the only woman he has ever wanted to marry much less asked. We even chose the children’s names – there are going to be two of them – a boy and a girl of course; one named after Reed and one a combination of our addresses! Had to call Aunt Frederica to give her the good news because she’s the one who had to give the hospital permission to stitch me up ten years ago after our first unfortunate night together! (She was drunk of course.) Toss asked me to come back to Kentucky for his last year of law school. I “shouldn’t miss this part of his life.” Dogs too, natch – we are a package deal.
He has a house he’s rehabbing that has so many rooms it is known as the Hilton. When I said I would come that was more important to him than our engagement even. He says I can file f or divorce in Kentucky’s understanding Commonwealth. He ordered a case of Moet Chandon, saying now we have to drive up the coast and tell everybody. I am a little scared to tell my parents – this suddenness might only seem another strike against me. We told Avril and Maureen – they just stared – obviously thinking we both have lost our minds – it will take them awhile to believe in it. I told Avril about Kentucky – she says she can handle the house; she can always rent out my room to a college student if she feels pinched. I want to leave some money with her – at least $1000 – had the brilliant idea to sell my car. Wouldn’t want to be impoverished in Kentucky and I don’t want to be on “retainer” from T.
Last night I read Toss The Duel and his eyes filled with tears! He said the only flaw he sees in this arrangement is that one of us must surely predecease the other! Could it really happen? Could we grow old together? Could it be that I will never make love to another person? Wrote a short note to Bruce, telling him I will definitely be needing a divorce, sooner, rather than later. Now I am trying to write a short note to D; but honestly, what is there to say? Summing up our relationship seems only to dismiss it. He has already fallen far, far back into the past. Toss is my future.
The Duel
Europe without you Was a funeral feast. I recall the procession of your letters Far better than The stream of luckless suitors Trying to distract me. Virgins aren’t distractible. Your seductive missives stalked me. Your fatal ploy was that nude photo Adam lonely in his garden.
I came right home. I well recall the ceremonies Of that night! Your shyness My perfume Our ignorance Wild and hard A riderless horse. I did cry out as the candles burned. I swear there were some moments when We actually saw each other. But if this magic sword cuts both ways Why was I the only bleeder? They peeled me off And dropped me down a mile Of antiseptic hallway – A princess in a bucket. It could have ended there But at your school I haunted you A chilly-breasted demon. My daytime incarnation seemed mature: I fooled everyone; We chatted as you prepared the skin. I bit down hard and Tasted only Suture wire. You wrote and broke off Our association. Years groaned by Like convicts chained We served our terms with no time off For bad behavior. Lust had luster, Excrement was ecstasy.
The castaways the whirlwind Flung upon the sand Were calm, polite We knew our way around. But That look you gave me! Our unborn children shivered In their sausage skins Fully aware Their time had come. The tale was done The frog-mask Shivered off We saw: The you of you The me of me – Masks Unmirrored Scars Unscored Virgins not but Innocence Restored.
Alysse Aallyn 