Legacy – Dreaming of having kids? Childbirth? Parenthood? Do you fantasize nostalgically about your own childhood? Do you dream of establishing a foundation, benefiting the community? Do you dream of death, funerals, will-making? You are considering the legacy you will leave behind – a way to live on forever when you’re no longer here.
You Are the Future – Contributing to forming and shaping young lives is a key way we “replicate”. Hearing your own ideas advanced and improved upon is a unique thrill. Generativity is the necessary completion of the formation of Self. Erik Erickson posits “Generativity versus Stagnation” as the stark choice facing us as we grow older.
Challenge – We’re usually full of criticisms of our own upbringing – behaviors we do NOT want to replicate. What would you change? What difference do you want to leave in the world? Time to think about your own legacy. In our capitalist world we always think “money” but money is a thorny gift. Think how easily it is lost, misused, wasted. A better legacy is wisdom: a codebook, “cheat sheet”, a treasure map, the ability to recognize and ENJOY treasure once it is located.
Danger – We know about the monomaniacs who want to rebuild the universe in their image. Their view of possibility is restricted to what THEY want, what THEY can do. Open your Dream Journal to consider whether our Legacy hope is just an ego trip. Did we consult anybody else? Will this contribute to a universe others want, need and can enjoy?
Opportunity – Once again we are offered a magical chance to increase our range, magnify our grasp and celebrate and share our unique joys and gifts. Leaving Granny’s plates or a recipe book to a relative in a will is so unrewarding compared to giving a party. Is there any way we can turn the struggles of ordinary existence into a joy for anyone else? Find out what others need. Think about your own luck and good fortune. Usually we can see a way the path can be smoothed for others. Then we can spend our golden years getting feedback (and usually thanks!) and fine-tuning. What a pleasure!
Models & Mentors – “Every child is born a genius” – Buckminster Fuller
“History will judge us by the difference we make in the everyday lives of children” – Nelson Mandela
“Children make your life important” – Erma Bombeck
“All kids need is a little help, a little hope and someone who believes in them” – Magic Johnson
Meditation –
Mantra –“ I multiply”
#Haiku: Legacy
Your essence is what’s Left behind Gift of Presence; Magic: Codified
Inspiration – Intuition – Do you wake up from dreams filled with exciting ideas you long to writedown? Do you feel a sense of philosophical, profound revelations in dream which you cannot recapture in your waking state?
Your Subconscious is calling out to You – You are experiencing a split between your Rational self andyour Prophetic Self which is dangerous and completely unnecessary. Probably your education has demeaned this interactive channel to the Collective Unconscious, the Past and the Future and warned you to ignore it. Education is a good thing, so long as it teaches you to recognize, master and increase resources but it is certainly a bad thing if it countermands, neglects or destroys the yearning inside of you for connection to all of humanity.
Challenge–We can re-open this channel, but we will have to think about its resource in a more positiveway. The great physicist said that all profound truths contain their opposite (i.e. are not dichotomous) and so require a new style of thinking about the Real and the Unreal. These ideas are not mutuallyexclusive. We must learn to flow with them, rather than resist their uncomfortable bubbling.
Danger–“Either/Or” thinking is destructive because it requires we abandon vast fields andmethodologies of knowledge. “Reductionism” reduces the world to “things” on the presumption thatpeople are transient and “things” re more permanent. But if the magic of the universe encodes inrelationships rather than objects this reductionism kills thought.
Opportunity – Open your Dream Journal and explore your inspirations. Accept them, and learn toseparate them from fears and wishes. Cultivate your intuition, that precious gut instinct that warns uswho and what to trust and who – and what – to back away from. Accept that – like all good things, thisis a process – thus endless (to be enjoyed for eternity.) Accept that it is a skill to be honed – thereby enjoyed For All Eternity.
Models & Mentors – “Intuition is the whisper of the soul” – Krishnamurti
“A good artist lets intuition lead him wherever it wants”– Lao Tzu
“Follow your instincts – it’s where true wisdom manifests itself” – Oprah Winfrey
“Intuition and observation are the sources for our knowledge” – Rudolf Steiner
DR HYSLOP Here you go, Virginia. This will make you more comfortable.
VIRGINIA I don’t want a hypo! Your drugs are making me ill. Help! Help! Get away from me! Life has destroyed me, I am silenced. I have no stings left.
DR HYSLOP Virginia, you must rest. You’ve had a tiring journey but everything’s fine now. After a good sleep and a fine dinner, you’ll be right as rain.
VIRGINIA When I close my eyes I’m attacked and assaulted!
(She tries to thrash but he injects her. He pulls up a chair as she begins to subside. LEONARD sits uneasily)
DR HYSLOP Your wife’s constitution’s very strong. It’s all that exercise, I’m afraid. Young women of the present day indulge in gymnastic exercises that sadly retard their mammary development. It only makes it worse for her. Now what’s the cause of this current fuss? I could hear her screaming all the way upstairs. The staff was alarmed, I assure you. It’s very bad for them. Loosening the bonds of self-control always results in sexual license among the lower orders.
LEONARD Hostile fantasies about Sir George.
DR HYSLOP Don’t encourage her by listening. You can never argue a madman out of his madness, and you will succumb to madness if you try. This degradation is so common among artists, I assure you, especially the moderns. “Imagist” authors use disjointed gibberish the way madmen rave and think themselves quite clever.
LEONARD Virginia’s mind is free and remarkably fearless. I treasure that. She thinks the chloral is causing her hallucinations.
DR HYSLOP Sadly, it’s the lack of good blood, I fear, responsible for these behaviors.
LEONARD Sir, do you refer to my Jewish ancestry?
DR HYSLOP Not at all, though I think you will admit mixed marriages constitute a special danger. It is the sad mental history of the Stephens family to which I refer – uncle and sister institutionalized with cerebral exaltation and morbid excitement, agnosticism, heresy and even self-murder. Now you find yourself married to a young girl who is comfortable speaking obscenities! It’s all dung and semen among the avant garde. Britain has become a dumping ground of late for the terminally unfit. You were wise to come to me. Did you visit Colby Court as I suggested?
LEONARD It’s … awful. I can’t imagine Virginia there.
DR HYSLOP Do you know, once they have settled down they are happy in their own way. Virginia is testing you. I assure you Colby Court is the finest of its kind. It can be uncomfortable to view our loved ones in extremis, and once mental disease takes hold many family members cease to pay calls. It is better thus. I understand Virginia’s sister, for example, is never visited by any family member.
LEONARD What a tragedy! I couldn’t bear it. You should have seen the beautiful Miss Stephen who agreed to marry me, scintillating with charm and wit.
DR HYSLOP (comforting him)
Fruit of the poisonous tree.
LEONARD But isn’t Sir George, her brother, then also poisoned fruit?
DR HYSLOP Half-brother, my good sir. Not at all. The Duckworths are quite a different line. Obviously, no effort was made to acquaint you with the family lineage before your marriage. It is my belief that the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act and the failure to reform the marriage laws has caused much needless harm. I’m relieved you came to me for advice about propagation. In my view it would be most unwise.
LEONARD Dr. Savage says childbirth would be the best thing for her.
DR HYSLOP He was her attending physician and look at the state she’s in. Dr. Savage’s methods are sadly outdated, I regret to say.
LEONARD I don’t want children but Virginia think she does.
DR HYSLOP She’ll get over it. The question really is whether she should be certified. You do realize that your wife’s attempt at suicide mandates her certification for the protection of landlords, staff – anyone she encounters is at peril.
LEONARD We can’t do that. Once she is certified divorce is impossible. Roger Fry is chained to his mad wife forever.
DR HYSLOP You needn’t divorce, you have grounds for a nullity. Do you contemplate divorce?
LEONARD Not yet at any rate. But the honeymoon – it was ghastly.
DR HYSLOP Coitus was completed, I assume? Or not?
LEONARD Hard to say. On our wedding night Virginia became so excited, dashing about the room I admit I became quite angry shouting at her to lie down. I’m afraid she wet the bed. We’ve tried a few times since but under the circumstances my manhood is severely impaired.
DR HYSLOP I assume you had all the usual experiences of a man of the world?
LEONARD Oh, yes. In Ceylon it was all concubines and courtesans. I was very lucky not to contract the syph.
DR HYSLOP Yes, these hazards are much more common abroad. Your general health is quite good? Apart from the tremor, I mean.
LEONARD Jews are a hardy race. We can survive anything.
DR HYSLOP It might be that this young woman is simply too effete for coitus and must remain a natural spinster.
LEONARD I threw over my career for this marriage. It was a big step.
DR HYSLOP Civil service, I believe?
LEONARD I was administrator of Hambantota.
DR HYSLOP Bully for you! Britain’s colonizing, civilizing impulse is the glory of the world.
LEONARD Well, I found it a difficult, dangerous and dirty job.
DR HYSLOP So is caring for the terminally insane. My advice is that once Virginia is calmer you attempt to explain to her that if Dalingridge Hall were not open to her there is nowhere she can go without certification. Convince her that absolute fidelity to our dictates is her only hope of healing her poor brain. Keep your chin up, young fellow. Best not to think about yourself so much. Spend as much time as you can manage in the open air.
LEONARD I need a job. I must establish a writing career.
DR HYSLOP Return to the Civil Service, is my advice.
LEONARD The climate in Ceylon would kill Virginia.
DR HYSLOP You should discuss certification, annulment and divorce with a specialist solicitor. I can recommend a few names. All this brooding gets one into a funk, don’t you see? Cultivate a sense of proportion.
In the life of a warrior, Models and Mentors are key. Whose coping mechanisms and vision of reality do you use to sustain you through tough times. When I was young, TV viewing was an event – not an influence. Reading was the most powerful influence, ever since I tackled My Father’s Dragon with its beautiful Henri Rousseau-like illustrations. What could they mean? I was determined to learn to read.
I entered books through illustrations, which I puzzled over long and hard. Egyptian tomb paintings. Imaginative depictions of the city of Troy. Nineteenth century pirates battled with Narnians for control of my dreams. I worked my way through world fairy tales and a bowdlerized Thousand and One Nights.
On summer vacation we read a book aloud; the Travels of Jamie McPheeters is the one I specially remember – I was horrified by its depiction of Indians eating puppies.
Summers we were allowed to buy books to take with us on the boat, and we read each other’s books. That’s how I discovered my sister’s favorite, Nancy Drew, and I was immediately galvanized. Here was literature as aspiration – more intimate than a hero’s tale or an imaginary quest; specifically designed to appeal to the yearnings of an artistically underserved group, it depicted and ennobled a female snoop and an empowered teenager – someone you identify with and actually imagine becoming. Nancy Drew was certainly someone I very much wanted to emulate and in my own small way, I believe I have.
I once shocked at group of literati debating what protagonist of literature one would choose to be by saying in was Nancy Drew, hands down. No contest. She’s constantly solving puzzles, having adventures and joyriding with her friends. Although she’s been physically threatened, her bodily autonomy and integrity is never in doubt. Over the years, I haven’t managed as much joyriding as I’d like but I’ve solved a LOT of puzzles, adventured much, and been very lucky.
Boss Detective
Nobody listens To the teenage girl Or notices her either Pawing through receipts Inspecting medicine cabinets Snooping in the garage – Is that weedkiller Paint thinner or Vanishing cream – Keys to the attic, cellar or Deepest basement of The self?
At last she was standing in Iridium. This was the house where the difficult – probably impossible — Beatrix Rainbeaux had been born, lived out her days and died, that self-same house whose family myth she spent her existence tending, the house where Jacquetta would have lunched, discussing Evil Part Two: had a murderer not intervened.
Jacquetta was grateful for the crowd. And there was a crowd; looky-lous mostly; Avalon had hired a security guard to stand in each room as a threatening presence. She acknowledged Jacquetta’s presence but there was no possibility for conversation, Jacquetta was grateful to see, given the crush. She could snoop to her heart’s content.
The rooms were wide, beige, pillared and in need of a paint job. The place had been “sanitized” – swept clean of the “personal” — the usual detritus of everyday life, unto and including family pictures. Jacquetta thought she could guess where they had gone, seeing an impressively sized dumpster standing out back. Dare she come back at night and try to explore further? She could imagine herself wrestling with a seagull at the dump. Ugh! This would not be the kind of “detecting” that Honey – or any sane person – would choose to do.
While wondering she wandered, pretending to look at objects. Many, many objects; lamps, bowls, knick-knacks, chairs, beds, vases, bibelots, tchotchkes of every description. All, Jacquetta was forced to admit, unblushingly hideous. Poor Avalon. None of it was her style at all. The stained glass, on the other hand, was lovely, but big. Jacquetta didn’t see a single piece anyone would estimate at six thousand dollars or under.
And then, in the upstairs hall, she saw Mrs. Dettler. She went hot, then cold, and immediately turned her back. Mrs. Dettler was bending over a glass case of particularly hideous damascened and enameled knives and boxes: typical tourist litter. Jacquetta hadn’t been at all sure she would recognize her again, but she was unmistakable.
She had a long horse-face, a wide jaw and an untidy brown ponytail, but she was nicely enough dressed in a navy-blue suit, white blouse and pumps, as if for a job interview. So the agoraphobia was manageable to at least this extent or the vaunted medications were working.
Was it possible that the Ingebrand realtor would have ever gushed over this woman, described her as “pretty”? Jacquetta didn’t think so – it seemed surprising the fussy Neil Dettler had even married her – but Mrs. Dettler might once have looked very different. A long advertising career had shown Jacquetta more than one make-up miracle.
Mrs. Dettler was trying to lift the lid on a locked glass case that wasn’t going to cooperate. Trying to steal a stiletto?
God, I’m a horrible detective, thought Jacquetta for the thousandth time. I need to speak to her and all I want to do is run away.
She cleared her throat and Mrs. Dettler jumped – out of her fantasy world – wherever it had been – and back into reality.
“Morocco,” she said distinctly.
“What’s that?” Jacquetta asked with equal nervousness.
“These come from Morocco,” said Mrs. Dettler. “My father was in the foreign service.”
Her pale blue-gray eyes swept over Jacquetta unseeingly. Jacquetta offered a hand. “We met the other day,” she offered, when I gave your husband a ride to the funeral.”
“We didn’t meet,” argued Mrs. Dettler, weirdly wiping her hands on her thighs before touching Jacquetta’s skin. “And you are?”
“Jacquetta Strike. I was a friend of Miss Rainbeaux’s.”
“Oh, the Johnnie-come-lately. That’s what Neil called you. Meet Beatrix one day and show up in the will the next. I’m Penny Dettler.”
She was looking a bit more bright-eyed now. She looked like a bad bet for the pretty secretary of a famous exotic dancer, but a good bet for a murderer. If I – or anyone – knew what a murderer looked like, thought Jacquetta.
“Oh, you knew Miss Rainbeaux?”
“I saw her a few times.” Penny Dettler seemed uninterested. She looked around and sniffed. “This is my first time here, though. What do you make of it?”
“It’s depressing,” said Jacquetta honestly. “So big and full of junk.”
Penny warmed up. “That’s what I thought! Poor Avalon!”
Jacquetta echoed, “Poor Avalon!” and they smiled at each other.
They were standing on a balcony with a view of the downstairs foyer; out of the corner of her eye Jacquetta distinctly saw mail – quite a lot of mail! – come through the mail slot and hit the floor. Mail!
“Well, I have to be going,” she gabbled with entirely false heartiness. “Nice to see you looking so well!”
Penny Dettler’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Divorce is very energizing,” she said. Jacquetta thought over this comment as she walked downstairs. Were the Dettlers divorcing? It certainly sounded like it. She could see a motive for investigating Avalon, impersonating Avalon – even killing her or Mr. Dettler – but why Miss Rainbeaux? Because she had stumbled over said murderer’s dastardly plans?
If only Jacquetta could recall exactly what the old lady had said. Something about exposure; a false self. What if Penny Dettler were not who she pretended to be? The only person who seemingly would care was Neil Dettler but Penny seemed thrilled to be divorcing him. Jacquetta couldn’t wait to throw this inchoate problem into Honey’s capable lap.
The front door had opened a few more times and the mail was getting kicked across the floor. It seemed natural enough for Jacquetta to pick it up, open the front door again, stand behind it, and toss the circulars into a ready jardinière. The security guard could not care less. Bill, bill, bill, “Miss Beatrix Rainbeaux.” A returned letter! It had been sent to “Mr. Carter Benson” but was marked, “Deceased.”
This must be the very Benson Jacquetta was looking for; and it turned out – providentially, perhaps? That he, too was dead.
God knows I wanted to; As he inveighed against Krutupian The whole way back And I kept silent, Longing to be elsewhere. I no longer wanted to play nice With this impossible man.
I felt myself becoming mature but not In the way my parents hoped – That I would co-operate with authority – But in my own way Where I see “outside” power – Even when it’s attractive.. At the Fifth Avenue apartments Someone claiming to be Derek Lowther Was pacing back and forth, Eyed by a suspicious doorman.
He was over six feet tall, skinny with Shoulder length brown hair, Big soulful green eyes and perfect skin. “You’re not Derek,” I announced, exiting the car, “Derek Lowther is a ratty, pimply little brat Who spits when he talks.” “And you were a squirt with braces And a squint,” he sassed back, All I needed for confirmation. Nobody knows about that squint!
“It’s called amblyopia And I’m all cured now,” I told him As we race-scrolled through our family pics Growing up for each other Years of ski slopes, school parties, Beaches and Merry, Merry Christmas. “Verne, this is Derek Lowther.” Verne barely registered the presence of Another human being.
“Step into the café,” he ordered. Hadn’t we just breakfasted? But if You’re six feet tall it’s different Derek: Breakfast burrito and café Americano, Verne: espresso and blueberry blintzes Richenda: Milky coffee, everything bagel. Only ordered where I can Shed bagel dust at will. “You know Mirabel?” Demanded Verne, scouting Bona fides.
“I know the Mirabel Legend,” Derek offered. Honest guy. “Kids hear gossip.” “What kind of gossip?” Verne was too sharp, I thought. Soon Derek too would want escape – Playing into my hands exactly. “Text and sub text.
“Text” was my parents saying Mirabel ran away And “sub-text” eavesdropped a Girl who lived wild and free to public acclaim.” I could work with this guy. We spoke the same language – Very unlike me & Verne.
“We were going to get married,” huffed Verne. “She gave up her job –“ “With her nasty boss –“ I added. Helping. “She called Richenda to plan the wedding.” See? THAT wasn’t true. “Ghosted us for dinner.
Didn’t come home at all last night.” Derek looked at me as if Checking on this story. I liked him more and more. “Wow,” Derek commented evenly. “Rough.” Turned to me. “You saw her?” “I did,” I offered, not willing to say In front of Verne what exactly I had seen. “She’s sort of red-haired now.”
Verne was impressed enough to launch Into a long vituperation Of evil Krutupian, Then insisting Ravi posed as Mirabel’s groom. I could tell My silence registered with Derek – He knew there was Another story, must know I wanted To get out of there.
“Runaway Bride,” said Derek, “I get you can’t involve police or media.” “Any ideas?” asked Verne. “Consult traffic cameras for Mirabel,” Derek offered, “See exactly Where she went. With who.” Verne’s eyes jumped with excitement. “You can do that?”
He thought he could manage Derek. It only made me despise him More. “Traffic cameras are easy, private cams Are more complex.” “I’ve got the exact times she was in Brooklyn and at the spa,” I offered.
“I just need to go get my laptop,” said Derek, I added hastily, “I’ll go get my bag.” Little did Verne know I was getting my BIG bag – exiting The hell out of there. They let me go – needing More time to eat vast meals.
When I returned they discussed Hiring a P.I., Derek’s dad’s Old art theft guy. “And there’s Mirabel’s phone -“ “She took her phone –“ “I mean her online account. “It’s just a password hack,” said Derek.
“Depends how well you know the person.” “I can help with that,” I said Possibly unwisely – as I saw Verne’s face Freeze in jealous competition. I threw him a bone – Hopefully for the final time.
“She’d pick something you Couldn’t guess,” I hazarded. “She didn’t Protecting her phone from ME. Verne paid the bill, Discomfited by abandonment.
Wanting to block us but not knowing how. “I have people I could call,” he sniffed.
It sounded almost threatening. What kind of folks? Verne made a note of Derek’s number. I trailed after Derek Walking decisively.
“So where are we going?” I hissed Conspiratorially. “Subway. No car service on my allowance.” Down the steps into the hot and stinky Underworld.
(BISH appears, his white clothing glowing – arms held out)
BISH Don’t touch me. I’m still on fire.
PERSEY (Staggers back, DIGGER hiding behind her) What is it. Bish? Why can’t I hug you? Are you radioactive?
BISH In a way. I am dead.
PERSEY (Crying) Oh, Bish, please don’t tease me, I’ve been through hell.
(She charges him, he eludes her easily)
BISH So have we all.
(PERSEY falls to her knees)
PERSEY Oh, Bish! What’s going on? What has happened?
(Slowly the WOLF SPIRITS, DEADGIRLS, BOYGIRLS come out of the trees, glowing with beauty. They crown BISH with a wolf’s head and bow to him. Solemn dance around the pair; DIGGER, transported, joins in.)
BISH I didn’t understand. I offered love, but he needed death. That’s not a game I ever played. When he told me to kill myself I thought He was joking. But then –
PERSEY They revel in sacrifice. They always planned To pin blame on you. It’s a death cult, Bish. Their murder is everywhere.
BISH That’s all behind me. I’m a Wolf Spirit now. (He howls, then raises PERSEY to her feet)
BISH And so are you, I can see. (She looks down amazed at her own transformation)
PERSEY But I’m still alive, Bish. And you feel so cold.
BISH It’s your choice, Persey. You can come or you can stay. If we touch, we can dance! (He starts to dance – he is elegant – she is awkward.)
PERSEY Oh, Bish, don’t ever let go!
BISH But I must, Persey. I’m past sorrow but you’re still unfinished. Stay. Stay and be wolved.
PERSEY I don’t know what to do. All I know is I’ll never let the monsters win.
(BISH dances with the WOLF SPIRITS. ROY’s and JAROD’s voices offstage calling,)
ROY & JAROD PERSEY! PERSEY! WHERE ARE YOU?
(The WOLF SPIRITS & BISH melt into the trees, the trees go dead. Enter ROY carrying a shotgun. DIGGER cowers behind PERSEY)
ROY Sweetmeat! Finally!
(Shouts behind him)
I found her!
(ROY makes a move to embrace her – she eludes him as BISH eluded her.)
ROY Sweetmeat, what’s wrong? You should never leave home. The world’s not a safe place.
(PERSEY holds up her arms to block him. He appreciates her difference.)
What’s wrong with you? Don’t say you’ve gone native.
PERSEY Don’t you remember?
ROY Sweetmeat, everyone gets drunk. Jarod and I are so close We’re practically brothers. You know we share everything. Closer than any man can be To a woman. But There’s a part for you to play, a whole Future ahead. Don’t you get it?
PERSEY I do get it. Your mom told me everything – that You’ve always been Bruce.
ROY That bitch!
PERSEY Did you murder Stormee? Is that what you “shared”? (JAROD appears behind ROY, also carrying a shotgun.)
JAROD We’re hunters, darlin’. That’s what we do. Rid the world of its Vermin. Bitches know their places. Bros before hos.
ROY (Upset over PERSEY’s disclosure) Babe’s a liar, that woman! You can’t believe her! I oughta –
(WOLVES appear, howl wildly and advance menacingly. DIGGER joins in. JAROD & ROY jump.)
PERSEY It’s over, Roy. Don’t you see? The universe is against you. Truth is the one thing You’ll never destroy. Truth goes underground. Where the roots of the forest Nourish the faithful and Keep growing stronger.
ROY Nobody’s faithful. I see females and she-males Who can’t keep their mouths shut.
JAROD Open mouths only say yes.
PERSEY You’re lost, boys This time you’ve ventured Too deep in the woods. This is OUR turf now! Cookie Louise, Monica and Jean, Jo Lee, Mina, “DaToy”, Jane and John Doe I summon you!
ROY What’s that? Who’s that Ya callin’?
PERSEY Did you think you destroyed them? You only transformed them.
(The TREES awaken. WOLFSPIRITS, DEADGIRLS & BOYGIRLS appear and advance menacingly.)
DEADGIRLS & BOYGIRLS The chrysalis is broken! We will Always remember.
TREE SPIRITS & WOLF SPIRITS Who shattered the chrysalis?
ROY (To PERSEY) I’ll deal with you later. Let’s slaughter this pack!
JAROD Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!
(A Murder Ballet, in which TREE SPIRITS, DEADGIRLS & BOYGIRLS, WOLF SPIRITS, BISH, PERSEY, JAROD, ROY and DIGGER rush teasingly in and out, nipping, spinning. Ineffectual shots from the frustrated hunters.)
DEADGIRLS & BOYGIRLS When you murdered us, you killed your own selves.
TREE SPIRITS & WOLF SPIRITS We all are one! We remember!
(ROY & JAROD form a circular firing squad and shoot each other – registering shock & dismay at the bloodied moment of collapse. PERSEY sits vigil over the bodies while the WOLF SPIRITS, TREE SPIRITS, DEADGIRLS & BOYGIRLS take a gentle, longing, loving leave.)
PERSEY So much waste. So much lost. Goodbye, Roy. Goodbye Bruce.
BISH I wish you’d come with us. Where glorious sunset meets Unending dawn, We run forever. When the chrysalis shatters The earth remembers and New creatures are born.
PERSEY I love life, Bish. I’m not ready. There’s so much unfinished and I’ve got things to do. But Grant me one wish.
BISH (Disappearing into the trees) I know what you’re asking If you saw what I see You’d live every second Without fear.
PERSEY (His echo fades. She holds out her arms to his dissolving spirit) Wolve me! Wolve me! I want to live!
(DIGGER whines, very unwilling to let the WOLVES go.)
PERSEY You can join them, Digger. You have been wolved. You’ll always be free.
(DIGGER rushes back to her. She pets him.)
And I love you too.
(Flashing police lights. NED appears at the edge of the stage in his police uniform, speaking into a hand-held radio.)
NED Two males, unresponsive Shotgun wounds fatal Face and chest discharge – Maximum injury, all Self-inflicted; Backup, backup GPS coordinates –
Even more satisfying than telling my mother I would no longer be hanging around as her overgrown loser baby, even more thrilling than handing in my notice at Fluffernutter, was breaking up with Bex. Actually I can’t technically “break up” with Bex because he always insists we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. True, neither of us dates anyone else, but on the other hand, there’s really nobody around to date, and neither of us hard working grunts ever had the time. Plus Bex has sort of a temper, which is why I’ve learned not to cross him. But it is annoying that I don’t ever get to win an argument just because I’m not willing to yell as loud.
Bex and I actually met at my high school graduation. If he wasn’t really the brother of a cousin of a friend’s friend’s sister, (I checked) I’d have suspected he cruises high school graduations looking for pathetic graduettes whose futures just derailed. On the surface he seems really attractive because he has a job and a motorcycle and he’s quite handsome, but after our “dates” degenerated into TV with his squalid, brain-dead roommates or videogames at his sordid biker bar (Dutch treat – naturally) I was definitely looking to get out. But since we weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend it was somehow never possible. You see my problem. What guy can you date anyway when you’re always working weekends? Weekends are prime mall crawling and princess paraphernalia-buying hours.
Bex treated any change I attempted to negotiate in our relationship as a personal insult, or an attempt to shackle. Sick of listening to lectures about what a free bird he is and how no girl is ever going to game him out of his independence I took the exhausted road of least resistance. Whenever I shared my dreams with him or I tried to tell him how determined I was to go to college someday he acted as if he was as high as I could possibly rise. College is a ripoff. Not for such as us.
When I invited him out for coffee at the mall – I figured it would go easier in public – his answer was, “You’re buying.”
I agreed that I was.
I didn’t beat around the bush. As soon as we sat down with our self- service mugs, I told him, “I got into college!”
His face refused to catch fire from my delight. It’s a dark, swarthy face, and if anything, he looked darker.
“Oh really,” he said, eyes narrowing as if I this was some elaborate con. “Where?”
“Cadensis. It’s a really small school but it has a great reputation. I got a two year scholarship.” I deliberately brought no packet materials. Not so much as a brochure for him to desecrate. I realized uneasily just how certain I had been that he’d “act up”. Wreck something, break something, spatter something. Make a scene. I sure didn’t want him to find out about the “out of body” research I’d signed up for – I’d never hear the end of that. But I was totally unprepared for what he actually did. He slammed his cup down on the table so hard coffee flew everywhere. I had to grab that little metal napkin holder and start shoveling out the miniscule slips that they call napkins.
“That’s bogus!” he said, so loudly everyone in the place turned to stare.
I was embarrassed, but I was also congratulating myself for having the foresight to tell him this in public. He’s never gotten physical – he’s already got a police record – but he really doesn’t like hearing things he doesn’t like to hear.
“It’s real,” I said uncomfortably but faking it. “I’m leaving next week.” I had worked up to the final moment and there hadn’t seemed any reason to tell him before I quit my job.
He looked at me like I was a liar/betrayer/snake-woman from one of his video games.
“How long have you been planning this?”
“Not long,” I said. Outright lie! Wish I was better at it. But I do have this blushing problem…thank God for hard-shell geisha makeup. “I was on the waiting list. I just found out.” The trouble with these scary dudes is they make you lie to them. Anything is easier than arguing with him.
“Do you know what you’re letting yourself in for?” He pulled at the sprouting whiskers on his grimy chin. “Don’t sign anything. They’ll make sure you’re broke for life. They come after you. You can’t get out of college loans through bankruptcy, you know.”
“It’s a full scholarship,” I tried explaining. “Housing, books, food. I even get a small stipend.” I emphasized the “small” so he wouldn’t think I was too lucky. I knew he wouldn’t understand the word “stipend” but sometimes you can’t avoid using words people don’t understand just because they think you’re stigmatizing. So look it up! Get smart! Vocabularies don’t get smaller because you won’t learn them. People who refuse to learn new words deserve having fun made of them.
What could I say to help him to get the message – start trolling for somebody else? His contorted face did relax a bit at the mention of money. Gold is gold in Bex’s world. “You get an apartment?”
OMG! Saw it in a flash. Out of sheer self defense I’ve learned to read his mind. He’s thinking of coming with!
“I’m in the freshman dorm,” I disabused him. “With a roommate. But what a great opportunity, huh? I get two whole years before I even have to declare a major so I can experiment…take classes in all departments…” My voice died away. Like he was interested! “Find out what I really want to do.” He seemed somewhat appeased. “They have a nursing school?”
I tried so hard not to roll my eyes. Bex hates when I do that. Bex is very dismissive of any possibility of future employment in the arts, even fashion. Whereas – I’ve heard this interminably, nursing is an expanding field. Bex’s mom is a practical nurse.
According to the both of them, it’s a government plot that we’re all getting sicker and sicker. You know, poisoned water, poisoned air, poisoned food, yada, yada, yada. “They do NOT have a nursing school,” I emphasized.“That’s too bad,” said Bex. “Because nursing is an expanding field.
So what are you gonna do?”
He just wanted me to say anything so he could find fault with it. I wasn’t falling into that trap. I only wished I had the nerve to stand up and tell him we had never had anything in common and he’d be happier without me, but if I injected any negatives into this conversation he would just take it as a license to escalate like crazy. I said, “It’s my best shot and I’m going to take it. If it doesn’t work –“ I shrugged my shoulders.
He fired up like I’d insulted him! “You think I’ll be waiting here for you?” he asked angrily. “No, no, no,” I hastened to clarify. Trying to keep my poker face. How desperate could I have been to waste a year on this guy? “I understand we’re not like a couple. You’re always saying – so –“ “Oh, so now it’s my fault,” he said, pouring some of my coffee in his mug. Not for its missile properties, I had to hope.
“I’m going by what you said,” I insisted. “We both agreed. We left each other completely free.” “And you’re really looking forward to all those college boys, those jocks, right? “ he sneered. “Is that it? Well, thanks for nothing!” And he went right ahead and slammed his newly filled mug on the table spilling all that coffee. And he got up and stormed out.
“Well, that went well,” I said to all the startled faces watching me mop up. Actually I was kind of relieved. I had been afraid the next fight would be over not seeing him for the week I was trying to get ready to depart. Moral of this story is, never celebrate too soon. Jazz, the jinx. He was outside waiting for me. Heart plummeted as I expected the worst.
“Ride home?” He asked mildly. Tall guy. He always liked looking down on me. Even when I wore my highest heels I could never reach his height.
“I’ve got Mom’s car,” I said stiffly.
“Sorry I got upset in there.” He kept pace with me to the car. “You know I hate surprises.” “Some things happen fast,” I said. “I’m sorry you’re angry.”
“Let’s just get things squared away so we know where we stand,” he said. “Let me take you out one more time. Dinner. At like the Olive Garden.”
“What if it’s like coffee was today? You don’t like rules and I don’t like yelling. Let’s just part as friends, OK?”
“I don’t get why you keep trying to make this my fault –“ stormed Bex, but when I got into the car he slammed his hand so hard on the hood I was afraid he made a dent. As I drove away he was yelling, “Talk to me, dammit!”
He called and emailed me so many times that week. He even sent flowers which was an absolute first. I did try talking to him but there was nothing to accomplish. I considered us broken up, and he treated me like a dog who had gotten loose. For some weird reason, he seemed to interpret my departure as some kind of personal challenge. He just wouldn’t agree to disagree.
Boston to Rockland shuttle 11:45 AM Fri Dec 22
Thank God I brought this diary in my purse. Bad flight
feels like Week 7 of the flu and I need something to take my mind off stomach. Love people-watching at the Downeast Gate – there’s a novel in that all by itself. This flight goes straight up the coast. Avril is sleeping in the co-pilot’s seat – let’s hope she doesn’t have to assume the controls. She is trying to get a march on the insomnia she always gets around parents. We just missed Genevieve and Brett – they put 2 planes on this flight and they must be on the other one.
Christmas Day
Enmeshed in a family that’s not even close to changing
age old patterns. Listening to Christmas music by the Oberlin Choir and roasting chestnuts. As always, food preparations take a disproportionate amount of time – one might as well just surrender and become a restaurant prep chef. Family “scene” caused this time by me – I objected to Dad making the two older daughters executors – I guess that makes me and A “executees”? He says you can’t have four executors. A likely story. Well I felt I had to lodge a formal protest but of course it didn’t change a thing.
Plush Palace – midnight – Fri 29 Dec 78
Merrill and Julian came to watch me dance. I think
they were interested. Don The Lawyer came and sat at their table – he behaved himself. Good evening for tips. Don asked me out Wed – I explained I have a lot of demands on my time – just about to double my working schedule to buy this damn house – so it doesn’t look good. He passed that test by taking this news calmly. Having a sister makes me a Real Person at least.
Catching up on dancers – Jerrilee’s pregnant, Fatima’s new boyfriend is obviously an ethnic gangster. (Armenian I’m guessing.) Jerrilee tried dancing at a club in DC where the girls “make lots of money” but just in tips – they have no salary. Rotten. I need extra hours but won’t audition there – prefer the protections offered by The Great Commonwealth of Virginia.
Plush Palace – 7:30 PM Tues 2 Jan 79
Horrifying letter from Scott Meredith demanding money
to read my novel. His form letter didn’t acknowledge mine in which I said I was already the author of one book but went on and on about “unpublished writers new to the business.” They obviously didn’t even read my letter. My father said, “Maybe he knows what he’s doing since he’s Norman Mailer’s agent” but I wrote back and said non merci. Auditioned at The Country Fair – they offered me $100 each three x a week. Call for my schedule. So that’s set. They have a good stage plus a barre and a pole. Haven’t seen a barre since Shalimar.
Zachary unfortunately back from New York and in a mood to party. Claims to have provided drugs to SNL. Reads my novel and says it’s not commercial enough. I’m sure he’s right, which doesn’t cheer me up at all. Says it’s too brief – needs development which is also probably true. Trying to write a poem about funerals called Treading Pasture. Bad, bad, bad. Reading Tillie Olsen’s Silences and that’s not cheering me up either.
Party Castle 11:15 AM Mon 8 Jan 79
I think I like this place better than Plush Palace or
Country Fair. The dancers are totally uninterested in their jobs – they are all busy being college students, musicians and models – they rush in, rush out, spend their time studying and on the phone and offering me cash to finish their sets. Fine with me. It’s very restful not having to make friends. I called J’s brother – he’s due Thurs. Probably the worst thing about this place is the commute – I need to take Rock Creek Parkway and sometimes it goes one way and sometimes it goes the other way. An unwary person could end up in a head-on collision.
The stage is way better than Plush Palace but the dressing room far worse – a miniature chamber behind the potato bins – très très très Colette. With me tonight are Phoebe, ex-stewardess with a degree in languages and Tasha, very silent black fashion model. She is gorgeous. Costumes are not big here – the idea is to wear one g-string all night – pasties small as possible. Contac really works – has totally drained my sinuses but also made me very thirsty – I am drinking gallons of water which I am afraid will make me visibly sweat. (Then pasties slide off and the woman from the Alcohol & Tobacco Task Force rushes forth with ticket.) Got my MS back from Scott Meredith. Zachary came to see me dance in the new club. We had a tender moment on how tough and insensitive the world is – he is having a bitching time with his new band – wants to go solo but feels that will never get anywhere. The truth is it’s tough to go it alone. Everybody thinks Gift is “unfinished’ – which – horrors – means I have to do more. The dog to her vomit. Absolutely NOT fun.
I want to start something totally, totally new. I suppose tolerating all this barfing and re-barfing is what separates the sheep from the goats – but which do I want to be? Sheep? Goat? Spare me the “fun” of wandering around blindfold trying to imagine what you are touching followed by the Inevitable Disillusionment of taking it off and seeing you’re locked in the Same Old Basement.
I think Buck has found another girlfriend. I am rather relieved to be let so painlessly off the hook – of course I miss the great parts of our relationship. It was starting to get unmanageable along with everything else. At least with Zachary I can level with him about my life. Tonight’s reading: Margaret Millar whether I like her or not – and I don’t like her.
Ordered a book on depression through the mail. Need all the help I can get. GiGi came in tonight – probably to gloat over my exhausted dancing. Even people who love it inevitably do too much. She’s enjoying being a trophy wife. She says.
Tues 16 Jan 79
A call from the real estate agent – we can move into
the Queens’ Chapel Road house Feb 1 if we want to because that’s when they’ll be out. We’d only have to pay them one-month rent. A and I looked at each other and immediately said “yes”! Woohoo! Rushed off to Wendy’s for celebration dinner – note we chose a cheap place. It will be that way from now on. Called Mom and Dad in Trinidad to tell them. Dad sounded very dejected and gloomy like we are completely crazy and certain to be old maids on his tab forever now.
Sunday Zachary and I went to Ellicott City. We were coming out of Cocoa Lane (he paid) when we met an old friend of Zachary’s
Corio – singer for the Bills Blues Band. Gorgeous. I stuttered and quivered like an infant. I may have to do something about this powerful attraction. He gave me his card. Avril listens to call-in shows all the time and she says women are sick of being penalized for making the first move. Men say they “want it” but usually that’s an absolute lie. So how can I make this guy think he’s making the first move? Puzzler. Z needed to score some dope so we parted company. Corio is playing Childe Harold’s next month so maybe I will see him there.
Plush Palace 11:15 PM Two doubles in two days. My father’s right, I’m off my head. Can’t keep doing this to myself. Drive from one club to the other in full makeup wearing only a gold lamé cover-up in rush hour traffic. God knows what the drivers think I do for a living but I can imagine. Ronnie says Jervaze was in asking for me! Alvera dancing tonight – she says I’m her favorite person to dance with. Sigh. Feels like home. Famous poet – Usher Glayne – came in tonight – I recognized him from party at the Folger Shakespeare Library (we both read). Shyly introduced myself. He gave me his card told me to send him something. Who would expect to see a beautiful man like this in a sleazy trap like the Plush Palace? Send him my Heloise & Abelard poem.
HELOISE TO ABELARD: “FROM THE FLAME TO THE FLAME”
Master, my Brother; Father Confessor; my all – Before you see a nun Abbess in fact – antiphon of grace enclosing Octaves of silence. I had rather be your whore. Slut, jade, poule – What sweets! I relished those words as I craved the Blows you struck like kisses. Five, like Christ’s wounds. I counted them.
No midwife cut my cord but You delivered me. Satan wormed your root; left Me whole but Empty. I’m still cinque-cut while You’re a smooth stockade. I “mistook” the veil – Impetuously as you stole me – Masquerading, copying the night We stole from uncle’s house In holy guise.
This veil is Jason’s wedding dress – It cannot be removed. It burns my flesh, these cerements Cremate me. You denied me thrice, False Peter Though I crawl to Bethany to earn One word. Master, cousin, lover – slave – We are bound. This grave is not so silent as you are.
Yes, I’ve chatted up the dead I’m closer to you than that tattoo you wear As if it became you. When you die I’ll be the fire that quickens In your veins – the centime on your eyes The empty scabbard left Along your thigh Your last escaping sigh – I.
Reading Crazy Sundays about Fitzgerald in Hollywood.
Ten days till we move into new house. Need sleep badly. Maybe buy Quaalude from Maureen.
Castle – Fri Jan 26- 79 –5:30 PM
Halfway through my double – pacing myself – still
feel fine. Reading Published in Paris. Obnoxious guy in tonight calls himself Spewey Suckman – says he knows Zachary. No I do not wish to spend my evening chatting – but he does tip well. Discovered that my phone’s been accidentally unplugged for days so I fantasize about all these men – Jervaze, Usher Glayne, Zachary, Don trying to reach me. Maureen very excited about moving in with us – A and I each get 2 bedrooms (a bedroom and a study) and she gets one (but it’s a big one). She and I will have to share a bathroom upstairs (there’s two on the first floor) but we’ll survive. Just had the most fascinating conversation about sex with Roulette.
If I hadn’t drunk two glasses of wine I’d understand it better, but if I hadn’t drunk two glasses of wine I wouldn’t be having it in the first place. She says her son’s penis is so huge she got embarrassed at his wrestling match. She also wants to discuss the clitorises of bisexual females – she’s convinced they’re bigger. I really couldn’t say.
Jervaze is getting married – that’s the latest – his brother set it up – so he brought in the bottle of wine and we’re all taking swigs. That’s my excuse for drinking on the job. “Long-time girlfriend from Alabama.” I suppose this is my fault for being so discouraging about him living with me. We are just at different stages, I guess. I wished him well. Cross him off my list (sigh.) Feel this leaves my sexual eggs bouncing around in a single basket – very unsafe place for them, in my experience. Avril and I toured our house. I hadn’t fully appreciated the yucky white paneling but the carpets are good and the place is spotlessly clean. Kitchen huge, yard very nice (gas grill and “workshop”.) Exciting! My bedroom and study painted lime and emerald green with matching shag carpet. I can work with that.
Mon 29 Jan 79 Castle 7:30 PM
J. came by. Kind of broke my heart he was so loving and tender with me. He said he wanted to come Wed and help us move. Nice of him.
Zachary’s also coming. That could be fun. J. says his fiancée feels I’m “no threat to their relationship.” She must be from another planet. But possibly I can control myself. It’s always dangerous to tell me I can’t have something. Old home week for boyfriends. Marc Kramer called and said his “Official Girlfriend” found my valentine and “got upset”. In my recollection it wasn’t very incriminating. Avril and I trying to scrape together $120 to pay for oil in fuel tank – its always the bills you don’t expect that sink you.
Tonight I’m working with Gaysha, Indonesian law student, and Phoebe. Don came in wearing a Bill Blass suit. Boring crowd. I’m wearing my feathers for fun – got one $40 tip. I think changing costumes helps keep the crowd awake. The really drunk ones think I am a different dancer they haven’t tipped yet. Tasha came in on her night off. Her boyfriend drives a dump truck. She wanted to show off her new flowing weave, rabbit coat and picture of her Eldorado. They are a pair.
Party Castle – 3 Feb 79 11:30 AM
We did it – moved into the Queens Chapel Road house
though nothing is organized yet. My study is the nicest room in the house – a whole wall of huge windows – sunlight always blazing in. I covered the walls with my pictures and they fit perfectly – leaving one wall empty for a big corkboard.
Guess who showed up to help us move? Ryder! He brought his “girlfriend”, plus a huge bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a large bottle of Irish Mist. Girlfriend a shocker – little nursy mousebird of a woman! After all the hell he gave me, this is who he ends up with. His sexual revolution is over – single shot fired.
Went to see Corio play at Childe Harolde – he acted surprised to see me – introduced me to his date, Bev. I didn’t feel Bev is much of a threat – Avril says, “She’s a hot water bottle.” I said, “I’m not giving up”. Zachary didn’t help move – so when he showed up for sex I sent him away. I was really annoyed – his excuse was he “wasn’t up to it.” Who is? Fortunately, I have strong muscles. Carried a gold velvet sofa practically on my head.
Mon 5 Feb 79
Moments of pure joy while painting my bedroom shelves.
So adoring Sylvia Plath. Closer Look at Ariel & Letters. Her letters burst with plans, lists & preparations – like this diary. That’s how it goes. Feeling capable, independent – maybe strong enough to even rewrite Gift. There is pleasure to be had even at the start of a journey with no apparent end in sight. Back on my Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner diet. Feel house will be ready Sunday. Party?
8 Feb 79 Plush Palace
Surprise today - Usher Glayne came in to see me
dance. Curtsied low and slow. I felt intimidated by him but he said he liked poem I sent. Struggling with Boston Adventure – Me no likey. I’m on p. 300 and if there’s a novel in this mess I can’t find it.
8PM Mon night 12 Feb 79
Snowed all night – didn’t feel guilty about calling the
Plush Palace and saying I couldn’t make it. Used the time well – finished my study. It is perfect. Bedroom almost done – must unscramble my jewelry to put it away. Great having laundry in-house – I am washing all my costumes. I give up on Boston Adventure. To think a critic compared her to the Brontës. Well they did have under-functioning ovaries and the English language in common. Marc called – he will be in town and wants to have lunch at the Capitol. Which I would love to do. Told him I took his advice and bought a house. Roll my eyes while he complains about his horrible life investing other people’s money.
Maureen is never here so we hardly see her. And she’s very neat, so far sharing a bathroom is no problem. Recovering from my bout of restlessness, I managed two pages. But it was too hot to work up here last night (I can’t seem to control the heat.) Tomorrow buy fan. Usher called. He wants to be “friends”.
Queens Chapel Rd – Wed 14 Feb 79 At last a comment from an agent who likes Blood Memory (latest incarnation of Gift). We now have one agent who likes it, one who didn’t, one close relative who likes it and two who didn’t, one lover who likes it (and two who didn’t.) I wish she would start a “sell job” with me but she’s just “dying to talk with me about it.” In other words, she wants to know, how crazy ARE you? Sadly, it depends on the day of the week. Avril just phoned – invited me downstairs for an omelet. I said no. Fasting today. (I like being somewhere the kitchen is not.) Later we’ll go out and try to find a pair of emerald pants for me to see my new agent in. This is one of the ways A and I make do with living together – we respect each other’s privacy.
Yesterday at work who should be second dancer but Yvonne! We had so much fun catching up. She’s still dancing at Mother Joe’s, but needs all the work she can get. I feel a perverse satisfaction in the fact that even amazingly talented, flaming beauties can’t seem to struggle out of life’s junk pile. Her ex, whom she quit dancing for, went out with an “all nude” dancer the night after they broke up! A friend of Ryder’s came into the bar – I pretended not to recognize him. I’m sure he’ll be running back with the story. Dreamed I had open lesions in my face and you could see right through them. Reading Greene’s The Human Factor.
11Am Tues 17 Jan 78 Reading Evelyn Waugh’s diaries over my third cup of coffee with open mouthed amazement. It seems almost a work of fiction. Try to imagine these whines and wails ever appearing in print! Imposserous Bert Lahr would say. Thank God for The Victorian High Colonic: a pre-mortem bonfire. Highly recommended, my dear.
7:30 PM No word from J so I assume he is really coming to eat dinner here. The evening’s menu: sherry and smoked oysters, cheese and crackers, burgundy and manicotti stuffed with crab. French bread, banana nutbread and coffee for dessert, if we make it that far without attacking each other. Need to watch the drinking – had two glasses of sherry while cooking and am definitely feeling it.
2:15 AM Wed 19 Jan
J gone – he had to – no clothes here. I let him go
fairly gracefully – after hours of sex without anyone coming I was happy to be alone. He’s definitely an alcoholic. He gets away with it by never seeming drunk (only once in awhile. His “tell” is he wants to talk about Alabama.) But he’s also never not drinking. He seems too young but it definitely explains the physical problem.
11Am
A came home from a bad date. Glad her classes start
tomorrow – Limbo an unpleasant place to live. Need to walk dogs now – going to AFI theatre tonight to see Next Stop, Greenwich Village. Time keeps chewing us up and spitting us out.
1 PM Thurs 20 Jan 78
Excellent morning lying in bed reading Byron. It would
be lovely to be rich – it would not be lovely to be Byron.
HAVING SEX WITH LORD BYRON or “Or, if you can’t have love, you can always have relatives”
Lord Byron took his lady on the sofa Before the wedding dinner; He considered sex a “hostile act” and Liked to get it over with. Afterwards both parties sued for rape. “Poor me”, quoth his lordship, “Nobody’s been so ravished since the Trojan War.” Some truth there was; the stampede Of countesses was considerable. This poet who fell upon chambermaids Like a “thunderbolt” Confounded all by falling in love with Foolish Gussie, his half-sister. Ain’t that the way; Perhaps the wealthy Overwhelmed by choice, cherish That forced card.
Another deeply rooted legacy of R’s is that I now expect others to constantly lie (to themselves, above all) about their motivations. You can only judge by what they actually do which throws all planning into the crapper and means you’re stuck with a lot of confused, open mouthed standing around waiting for disaster. I don’t make promises either – I just don’t say anything – which fact apparently caused me to assume I’d really enjoy a relationship with a totally nonverbal type like J. Turns out: noooooooo. I torture myself about what he must be thinking and feeling which – let’s face it – may not be much. Wish my royalties would arrive – I’ve spent them over in my mind a thousand different ways. Can’t do anything about island property, travel, car, or self-publicity without them. Capital expenditures, all. I am making dinner for A at four thirty to hear all about her first day of classes – then I go to work. Love driving down the highway with the other “night shifters” – I always think I can pick them out. Our special sense of purpose makes us different.
Sunday 24 Jan 78 7:30 PM
Read Popcorn Venus, saw Julia, so alternately
depressed and cheered by turns. Thinking a lot about “impure relationships”. How innocent to assume those are the ones with certain kinds of sex in them. In actuality, it is more the hostage taking mentality that is to be feared. Can one just “Glance in” so to speak and then hustle the hell out? I’ve been so scared off, I am having a non-relationship. When Jervaze is not in my bed, it’s as if he never existed. Would I surprised if I found out he had some secret life? Hell no, I’d be encouraged. I think the truth is he watches football alone, gets drunk, sleeps and works – that’s all he does. I liked Julia because I am interested in the question of what repressed sexuality does to relationships – does it change them? Seems it would have to. Well, you can fool some of the people… Starting to re-think Courtney. Worst novel ever written? If so, what can I do about it? Is it too late? Tell it from the cat’s point of view – something radical like that. Write it in blank verse like Spoon River Anthology. Jervaze is mystified that I read by choice. A says “Don’t you get it? He’s a mud puppy.” What can I say? I’m such a sucker for male beauty.
Mon. 23 Jan 78
Enraptured by biography of John O’Hara. Starts brilliantly,
describing his study at the time of his death – framed awards, Cape Cod lighters, bound diaries. Everything just “perfect” the way poor F. Scott always dreamed. The novels were steppingstones to the study, not the other way around! I am feeling alienated from my study at the moment. Have decided that my typewriter table – a board atop a wine rack – is all wrong. A and I went to Hechinger’s and studied several “office systems”. Plastic cubes $70 even for a looksee. I’ve set my heart on satinwood so I guess next stop antique stores. What would an antique typing table look like? A dressing table is the right height? Sans mirror? Wouldn’t want to look at oneself while working! First step to madness!
When I work without interruption, time vanishes. Maybe it’s like riding without spurs: you become the horse (one’s deepest self). J. showed up Sun night. We drank sherry, played cards. He is getting to like sherry, which I’m afraid, is my fault. Someone needs to go on the wagon and I don’t want it to be me. Heard via the rumor mill that R broke his leg skiing! Ha ha! Did he get insurance for that? Maybe he wasn’t kidding and he was trying to kill himself. I just don’t understand people like that. He approaches everything as “it’s you or me” so the mountain let him have it although frankly I’m surprised it wasn’t someone else’s leg that got broken. Maybe he killed the other guy. Sent him a card – he’s “recuperating” at his parents’ house on a steady diet of Italian food.
Thurs 26 Jan 78
J came in the Plush Palace last night and I talked to him
until Eddy got restive. Turns out he has horrendous financial problems, including hospital bills for a kidney complaint. Probably will have to sell his car even though it is a part of him like his cowboy hat. I was feeling carefree and immortal and suggested he move in with me – he’s thinking about it. Now of course I’m aghast. What if I gave him A’s room and he started bringing girls home? I could listen to them making love for hours and hours and hours – no one ever coming. Would I be jealous or would I feel sorry for her? See, this relationship is complex – I am wanting to run like hell or place an ad for “Needed: Goal oriented individual – good at sex – not too inflexible.“ Hopeless. They have to get stiff and then hang loose at just the right times – “Impeccable timing”? A tall order, I know. Today I had trip to the dentist and letter from Mom – trip to the dentist was easier. (He told me I have a “runner’s heart”. Did not tell him I was a dancer. Said I was a walker. True – since 10 mos old.) Mom says that if I really loved her I’d get a decent job. She a nd Dad offered to give me money so I don’t have to dance. Respectful endowment of course would be great. Unfortunately, they only mean, “till I get over my sickness.”
Happy to turn ‘em down flat. Mom keeps saying a feminist wouldn’t allow men to look at her in a sexual way. This is my mother of the “Marilyn Monroe dress” (still hers and Dad’s favorite.) My mother who has always turned heads and received accolades as a major beauty, with drunken men pawing her in European restaurants, dazed Arab men following her down the beach, stoned college professors slobbering over her at parties. All “her fault” apparently!! It’s a critical component of hers and Dad’s relationship that he “captured” such a “prize”. But all this must remain unsaid or “someone” will boo-hoo. Who would bother to deny the roles of biology and acculturation? I’d like to live off my writing – but it is rapidly becoming apparent that to do that you have to write to “their” taste. And they have such bad taste! Plus, I find I covet anonymity. In spite of my profession of “being stared at”, I feel like I am the observer. It’s a heady sense of power. This is theatre, after all. They may think they sit in darkness, but I can still see them.
Off to visit R and his broken leg. Took him cookies and magazines – cookies I did NOT bake myself. I wondered if I would end up telling him about J – flirted with the idea – he would be scared to death if he ever caught sight of that beautiful, beautiful man. That’s what J is best at. But I would be doing it to hurt him and since he has always accused me of doing everything to hurt him (being born on an island, going to a prep school, losing my virginity to someone else, writing) it seems as if actually doing it I would be “giving in” to his worldview. I must remain a refusenik. In the end he never asked me about myself; but talked incessantly about him. Trying to impress me, like on a first date.
Looking back on it I think he’s just trying to stoke any hots I may still have for him. He’s never bought into his own “friendship bullshit”; he doesn’t even believe it about same sex friends. The universe is fundamentally competitive and we’re all crabs in a barrel trying to step on each other’s heads to get a better view. Eat or be eaten, baby! He made allusions to the fact that “you” only value things you work hard for … or things you’ve lost. Ha ha – zinger! A grenade lobbed at me. The visit left me feeling uncomfortable – frustrated – vaguely “one down” but unable to put my finger on it. From the way his sisters treated me I have a horrible feeling he tells people I was the love of his life but wouldn’t give up my selfishly immoral lifestyle. That’s what he would do, the bastard, act like he was the victimized one. I hope his leg heals crooked.
Probably a good thing I didn’t mention Jervaze – he looks so good but he’s totally non-nutritious and collapses like a creampuff on scrutiny. We’d have to live in Alabama – he’s made that very clear. I can’t even imagine him having a conversation with another person in front of me. He has no family pictures. I’d drop in on him at work just to catch a glimpse of him interacting with humans but it’s the Pentagon !!! They wouldn’t let me in. He’s only a repairman, too, so he probably has a completely fictitious personality there.
Still working on Waugh’s diaries. Hard to avoid the conclusion that he became Catholic in order to avoid giving up his pride. Just another elegantly exclusive men’s club. Anything to get out of “becoming human”. You know. The way Jesus did. Almost midnight – last costume change of the evening. Pink and black lace, pink gladioli in my hair. Black tassels, the works. Gentleman Jim – now a magnate with a string of clubs – was in earlier – I was dancing my absolute best – wild applause – the crowd was chanting my name.
But when I went to find him to ask him for a raise he was gone. Next time. This is the time of the evening Zombiehood sets in. J comes in earlier and earlier – he asks me to come over, I don’t have to bring it up. Made me promise to wake him. I told him I would be “merciless” with him. He wanted to know “how merciless”. He is pretty cute. He wasn’t wearing my ring – said he took it off at work because it was bothering him. Uh oh! I can imagine. What an idiot I was to give it to him. Tips have been good – I think I’ll buy a steak on my way over. He doesn’t eat well at all. I am so hungry I have been stealing saltines from the kitchen.
No excitement here. Neither Gina nor Mary pregnant as they thought. Both have flu. The new girl, Maggie, has been telling me she’s got $35,000 in parking tickets. She is one of those see-through thin girls who can’t dance at all – but has a great sense of humor. She injects bute directly into her knees, as if she were a racehorse.
Mon 30 Jan 78
J and I were supposed to go out Sat night – I had the day
shift and he said he’d pick me up. I waited 20 mins before going to his apt. There he was with a little blond beard on his chin – lying on the sofa very depressed. Told me to go to the concert without him. By myself? Wouldn’t that be fun! I was aghast – tried arguing with him – he said he wasn’t leaving the apt. So I said I’d stay with him. Went out and bought fish and chips and beer. We watched Sahara, then Saturday Night Live. Pitiable. Made love in the shower. In the AM he refused to come out to breakfast with me, and I really had to go home to the dogs. He gave me a good hug when I left but do I want to drag this inert man through all the stages of intimacy?
Called him today, he was very blue. Homesick as always. Takes alcohol for depression! Can’t figure out whether to go over there or leave him alone. I really need a better invitation – my choice is to stay away. I don’t think he’s actually SUICIDAL although if he stopped drinking, he might be. And how could I tell? He still has his car so he’s either asking too much for it or he’s doing nothing about his problems. I bet the latter’s the case. Reading The Letters of Charles Dickens in conjunction with the Life. Decorated A’s old room with Dad’s old charts – looks pretty good.
Dancing well – I can’t give a bad set. Remembering what Devon said about skiing – the body does the right thing – if you “get out“ of its way. J came in – in a much better mood. (Some new “magic” elixir, no doubt.) He must have called to get my schedule because I didn’t tell him. Asked him if he wanted me to “drop by” after work – he said it was “up to me”. I think the traditional male female role thing may be reversed in our case. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of those pretty guys who’s always been pursued and as a result he feels like a “thing”. Never developed a self, so to speak. This is what comes of being so hung up on beauty. But when I look at the assemblage of clowns, predators and weirdos soliciting for my hand my heart fails me.
TWO LOVERS CONTEMPLATE THE SEAWRACK
He lost her Spoke too soon As men are wont Affinity flew overhead Danced with gulls A jazz-mad snowflake. His words Freighted by their inner logic Fell to earth and lay Prey to busy bristle-footed worms Who tidily dismantle Subject, verb & predicate; Sucked out the sense and left The elegiac bones to rot Amid kelp-wigged rock & glass-rope sponge Cheek by jowl with Long dead fishermen’s wives Punished now for ill-set dough and Worse-set hair Mouths agape in imitation of The badly sutured wounds of childbirth. Secrets told; corpses left to nourish Nature’s counting-house One season only; sharing space With shattered petrels Feathers spewed like pillow-stuffing Frenzied passade of love-struck boys – Strewn among the shavings of these once great ships Built by hearts & backs of men Who loved their daughters far too well Losing them to sailors Crueler than the great sea-god himself; He who stirs our sleep these nights With grief-crazed cries of loons Casting on the waters for their Far-flung children Lost forever now As we are lost as He lost her.
Wrote a difficult letter to Devon in which I answered
(long overdue) his about Gwynne and frankly (but with masterful subtlety) went all out to make him jealous of J. Cheap of me, but I have to have some fun. He started it: we are reduced to bragging about our dance cards. I don’t think you can truly have a “passionate” relationship with a guy who doesn’t want exclusivity because of then of necessity you’re required to hold
something back. Dad called, says he’s sending me more stock “for tax reasons” (I.e. it’s really mine and they’re making him.) Then said in a very depressed way, “I suppose you want to sell it.” I wanted to surprise him by saying NO but that would leave me feeling manipulated so I said it depends on my royalty statement (which it does.) Due in 3 weeks.
Alysse Aallyn 