Too many emotions To remember — Depression, disgust, anger, Amazement. But am I safe to say I’m not “alt-Mirabel” And I never will be?
When this journey began I sort of envied Mirabel – I think We all enjoy imagining A Perfect Life – I’ve even caught parents & teachers doing it. How delicious doing only Everything you want!
Relief to feel above it all! But now I saw her slavery. When had Mirabel learned to pretend? It must have happened early – why She and never me?
Thesis, antithesis Synthesis – if I’m not Mirabel, then I’m her rival. Of course he tried to kiss me. “I’m changing,” I said abruptly. I saw by his face he thought My statement transcendental – but – “Getting out of this idiotic dress.”
“He’s downstairs,” said Verne. “You don’t have time. He’ll take us where she went.” “Then go without me,” Of course he waited- I knew he would – This rigamarole Could be staged for me alone.
When I joined them downstairs I wore my oldest jeans and Three Mad Cats t-shirt. Turned out she’d gone to Brooklyn, – a long, long way away. The driver was unhelpful – Mirabel’d said nothing and He was a glum fellow by himself. We halted in the warehouse district. Verne coaxed him to wait while we stepped out of the car. Pessimism back.
“Nothing here. I was hoping she’d get sloppy.” I had my own ideas. Behind one of these doors could be a place Where Mirabel changed In that transcendental way From one facade to many? Unlabeled doors were locked – Loading docks bereft.
No numbers, no bells, no camera and No speaker phones. I began gaining a special sense of her – Inhaling like faint perfume – Lending me a heady sense of Power I had never known.
I wasn’t alt-Mirabel But I did know her In a way denied to others – Because I’d seen her Just beginning – before She polished up her act And took it on the road. I knew what shaped her – Knew what it took to make her cry.
The question was never – When did Mirabel get wily? Because She’d always been this way – but Now I wondered Whether her plans had Ever included us. “Maybe she met another car,” Verne offered, hopefully “Parked in there.” I smelled his nemesis again – He preferred to live in a world Of dastardly rivals.
“One chance left,” said Verne. “Humiliating, but What’s to lose?” I looked him up and down Thinking how many on this planet – Would change places right this moment With this guy. My mother’s drill-sergeant snapped Inside my head, demanding we “buck up.”
Verne gave the driver another address The Upper East Side this time, and We settled in for another ride. “So…what’s this place?” “Mirabel had a job – personal assistant to… This man and they Were friends. Too close for me. They shared secrets, I just know it. He might know something.” “Was he invited to the wedding?” I inquired all ingenuous.
“No. His wife thought they Were too close too. Let’s say he gave Mirabel Too many gifts.” Aha. Torn between two rich men, Only one of them Unmarried. Picture becoming clearer. Verne drummed his fingers, Grim but cheered. “She might be there. If we take him by surprise.” His eyes raked me over.
“You were smart to change. I apologize for rushing you. Button up your coat. I want you Front and center.” I understood he Planned to use the Adolescence he’d Once forgotten – Most would blame my “sexy dressing” – But now he wanted me young and Vulnerable.
“I’m just the jilted groom. He won’t care About me – I’m the person she complained about – But you’re the abandoned sister summoned up to town.” Both would look to me for clues to what Mirabel had been.
As it happened Surprise was impossible. At another golden barracks Doorman demanded purpose for our visit. Verne said, “Emergency.” He flashed a picture From his phone. “Seen this girl tonight?”
Doorman shook his head, listening to the phone. “Penthouse Suite on the top floor. Mr. Krutupian will see you now.”
She must have known we’d come After – the apartment was empty. Furniture gazed Forlornly as I wandered through – Expensive accommodations crying out For individuality, for life. Closets still packed but Some clothes could have disappeared; How could I tell?
Bathrooms littered with impersonal cosmetics – Everything replaceable. In the long, bare white kitchen I Ignited a pot of coffee. The refrigerator was particularly sad: champagne, A month’s supply of celery juice.
And three kinds of wedding cake in origami boxes. Mirabel must have returned – however briefly – Because someone drank the last champagne. Her dress lay discarded on the floor One flounce torn, stepped on, Ground beneath a fleeing heel. When the coffee was ready I sampled cake – Choosing lemon though Everyone likes coconut and Some people cleave to raspberry. Verne was collapsed in the bedroom, Clutching Mirabel’s dress.
“I didn’t think she’d really do it,” He said. “I suppose the wedding’s off.” “Maybe she had an errand,” I stupidly proposed. “She’ll be back.” I bundled the fantasy dress into its slick bag; a glittering Promise too fragile to stand up to actual wear. “Don’t you see what’s happened?”
Verne demanded. “She doesn’t want to marry me. Probably she never did. All along There’s been this game. Some other man; Using me as leverage.” “What other man?” Was this the double life he’d mentioned?
Crazy stuff. I sat beside But not to comfort him. Let’s get some facts. “Who?” I demanded. Those fiancés were bad at facts. He held his head. “There were too many.” Now seemed the time for Comforting. “She’ll return – of course she will – Or why on earth invite me here?”
He turned to me a tear-stained face – Grabbed my shoulders and Sucked me into a kiss – That real “adult” kiss I’d pined for – Dreamed of – Oh those lonely nights After Ricky Stoekels ghosted me – But not this one – A probing invasion Shutting off my air.
I jerked away with so much force I landed on the floor. Verne threw himself On the bed, face down Wracked with sobs While I wiped my face Amazed. Kisses you don’t want Are no reward. “Love the one you’re with” – Isn’t that what Ricky Stoekels says? “She cheats, you cheat,” Bastards all. I’d received No compliment.
“Forgive me,” shuddered Verne, “I’m out of my mind. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Maybe. I recognize excuses. Having used them. “Don’t do it again,” I said. “Where would she go? You have some guy in mind?” “Maybe,” said Verne. He looked so childish, shoulders dropped, Unresponsive iPhone fallen to the floor.
I felt sorry for him but also Old; sophisticated; Like he was fourteen and I was thirty-seven. I pushed coffee. Always been my favorite panacea. He sipped in new docility. “You know the way I like it.” I corrected brusquely, “There is no cream or sugar.” “I mean strong. I like it Strong.”
There only was espresso in the house but Why proceed with this? Trying to apologize? I muted so He studied me ironically. “I suppose you’ll go home to Mama?” I felt a chill. Unconsidered horror. After grasping at Independence – Something to actually write in my break essay – I’d return A powerless teenage nobody.
And there were Further Problems were My folks convinced I’d screwed this up somehow. Or I could stay here, Indulge my favorite sport; Figuring out What The Hell Is Going On. It’s true that Verne A loose cannon now but I could always arm myself and Lock my door. Best to grab that bull by his You Know Where.
“No more kissing. OK?” He flushed a dirty red. “No. Hell no.” “Then I want to stay. Maybe she’s in trouble.” He shrugged this off. “Impossible. She’s just a tease.” But why tease ME? Did not feel right.
Of course, I don’t know Mirabel – must Remind myself – But realizing Verne was Verne he’s Probably the last to know. I’m only second-last. “You really think she’s left you?” He writhed. “We play hurt To the top of our bent. This could Be her winning shot.”
So why keep score? Did she owe me or – Did I owe her? “Well, if she left you She left me, too.” Why couldn’t I believe Mirabel would ghost me? Wasn’t that what she’d always done? It seemed different now – We’d been “sisters” together – For one split second.
A fresh chill fevered me – what if – She was handing off her bridegroom? Those matching dresses were just too weird. On the other hand, fashion is transgressive – They always try to break the rules. No. no. Let’s not go there. “It’s on till Mirabel calls it off. This could be nothing. She might come back. She’ll call. Let’s sleep. Or try this lemon cake.” He shuddered grumpily. “I chose the Hazelnut.”
We ate companionably together. He’d fed me, now I fed him. That’s called “relationship”. He fixed me with A gnarly eye. “Did she warn you? She must have said something. What did she tell you? Anything about him?” I always hated third degree.
I blush as if I’m guilty. “She told me nothing,” I said coldly. “I “Was invited to a wedding.” “She’ll never call,” he moaned. “She’ll keep the tension up Until the victim dies. That’s her way.” “Then you should call it off.” I scraped the rest of my cake Into the trash – I only Like the frosting – Hardening myself against their Craziness.
Verne rose so decisively His plate fell to the rug. “I’m going to find her,” He said. “Game on. She chose me. She doesn’t get Another choice.” What was the matter with this man? Physically attractive – Probably wealthy – Why so insecure?
The only game is not to play. Mirabel had always coveted those She could manipulate. Was That my own knowledge – or Did my parents tell me? That’s the benefit of growing up – it slowly dawns that All you’re told is nonsense. A dose of sense is Obviously required. “I think you’re looking at this wrong, Mirabel’s frightened Of our dad. He’s your “other man.”
Verne gaped at me, Focus readjusting as if He saw me for the first time. “Explain.” “Don’t you know the story? She pretended to go to college but really cashed all Daddy’s checks and lived the high life. She got in trouble with student loans, Forging dox. We haven’t heard from her for Years and Dad’s still angry.
I thought something was up when She wanted to come home.” “I didn’t know. Quite little scamp.” He seemed cheered. “Should we wed in church? I don’t know one marriage that’s survived ten years.” This man could certainly surprise me. “Mom and Dad have been married forever,”
It was more than that – They were unimaginable without each other; A true team – like Laurel & Hardy or Abbott & Costello. I could imagine no other human Who’d put up with either of them. How to convey this? “Maybe you shouldn’t get married When you are so uncertain,” I suggested. Would I get kissed or Slapped for interfering?
Adults don’t like second-guessing but Mirabel forced my hand. “All our bridges burned,” He sighed. “The only way is forward.” Depressing thought! Cheering this guy’s mood is work.
“Let’s figure out where she Could have possibly gone. Like, How would she travel?” Verne sat straight up. “Car service,” he announced. “I pay the bills. Let’s track her.”
He worked his phone. “I’m so glad “You’re staying. We need you – Alt-Mirabel.”
I felt played. It’s what they do to children. Couldn’t shuck the memory of
My own mother– Lofty & deceitful – Briskly turning “road trips” turned into “Summer camp” and “one night” Into seven.
I was being “managed”, but Could I blame Mirabel? Quoting Mom – again – “ Guests must Be adaptable, obliging – a guest has No one to blame but herself For her bad treatment.” Was it the expression on my face When she showed me that dress? Snarky baby sister punished for it now.
Mirabel had something Better to do than me. I was startled by The driver’s admiration As the Stanhope – he looked at me As if I’d matured. Had I insulted the bride By overreaching? I blame those heels – She must have secretly hated them.
Regretted her choice of bridesmaid. I was chastened as I joined Verne in splendor at the bar. He rose at the sight of me His face a tribute To a beauty that I didn’t want – I felt on the edge of a childish scene. Why didn’t his jaw set at the sight of me alone? Were they sick already Of each other?
His arm was decidedly un-brotherly: Squiring me away – He enjoyed them seeing he was meeting Some strange woman. “Let’s get you dinner.” Anything better than a bar That looked me over like Some Russian call girl.
As we turned I was confronted By the mirrors: I looked like Some Russian call girl. Blame the champagne that allowed Mirabel to paint me up. In my best-guest manner, I said, “Should we wait for Mirabel?” He demurred. “Waiting for Mirabel’s never good. It only encourages her.”
As the headwaiter flashed his menu Verne snuck angry glances At his darkened phone. “Turtle soup’s good here,” Said Verne: he knew my weakness – I yearned to sample everything. I sucked water greedily As martini-bearing waiters Smothered and assessed. I ordered pineapple juice before Verne could countermand.
He insulted me – “I heard you were religious.” I enlightened him. “Famiglia’s religious but My life’s my own free choice.” He breathed relief – I switched it up – “What kind of ceremony will you have?”
He seemed stunned I’d propositioned Then vague. “Some judge. A ballroom. Mirabel’s in charge of that.” I teased, I needled – “Mirabel says you proposed The first night you met.” Let him fear our confidence! He laughed sharply. “I was waiting for trustees to die.” Well THAT was tough to follow up.
Verne could switch it up as well. “Mirabel can be very shattering, can’t she?” I shirked disloyalty at this God’s honest truth. Chose vagueness as He had. “Life comes at us so fast.” “I tried to free her from the life,” said Verne. “I don’t believe she really let me.” This was depressing – parents hoping For good news, bride and groom stuck In mutual complaining.
“Mirabel proposed to me.” He said coldly. “It’s the title. They all do that.” I was stung on her behalf – who wants his Moth-eaten aging royalty? I almost choked On sugared juice: doesn’t sugar Wreck your palate?
I braced myself against Verne’s Un-subtle desire To put me in the “wrong”. Too bad for him – I was used to disapproval. “I think people should make themselves,” I argued everything Too fiercely.
Soup arrived, bread slathered with Mozzarella, pesto & tomato. Mini-pizzas! I sighed ecstatically and felt from him An answering thaw. “When you inherit an ancient world,” He pontificated, “you learn to value the past.” “Do you have a castle?” I asked through my full mouth.
Turtle soup OK. Too much sherry – Too much curry – He checked his phone. “It’s a ruin with tourists crawling Everywhere. Mirabel doesn’t care for it.” His phone lit up. Mirabel ‘s texts? I studied mine to be Companionable. But it was folks again – Always, with the questions. “She’s not answering,” he sighed.
“We’re not as charming as Her double life.” This jolted me. “She has a double life?” “Probably triplicate by now.” He snorted. I tried my lawyer father’s ploy; Let ‘em talk. “Tell me about it.” “She’d been so hard to pin down lately.” Did he blush or blanch? His throat was raw With pent emotion.
My face betrayed my armoring. “She seemed so ready To be a wife. Said my time Had come to meet the family.” Did he know of The Great Silence? Perfidious to squeal yet how else Could I find out What was going on? Beef wellington arrived But I was full.
“I’m amazed you were real, most frankly. I thought “the little sister” Was another of her stories. Kudos to your parents.” This – and the beef wellington – Maybe I’m vegan after all – Made me gag. “I was afraid she’d hire stand-ins but, “You’re just like her yet so Unspoiled.”
Never had a compliment Felt more like an insult. Creepy and revolting. “Mirabel and I are opposites,” I stressed Angrily before I thought. “How can that be?” He was smug. Superior. “You’re litter-mates.” “She cares what others think and I just don’t.”
That should have stopped him but – He smiled. “Sisterhood is powerful.’ Unable to read him, Know him, change him, I felt the dawning of Despair. It makes me hate The grown-up world.
“I’m becoming vegetarian,” I said. And pushed my plate away. I was trying to be polite and now I’d stopped. “Americans think food fuss Makes them interesting,” He snarled. “It doesn’t.”
But it turned out His disgust was not for me. “Imagine that,” snorted his Lordship scornfully, Still looking at his phone.
“We’re on our own, Mirabel can’t make it. And now her phone is locked! We’ll see about that! I’m ordering the car. Time to find out just what Our bride is playing at.”
Mirabel cinched me tight. “There!” The mirror exposed a stranger. I was a new person. “Too much dress” said Mirabel, “But with skyscraper shoes…” From the closet she threw out bundles.
“I’d rather wear flats,” I told her. She reproved: “Verne is very tall.” Who cares how tall HE is? “Bridesmaid shouldn’t tower over bride!” I suggested; Reining in the Clashing egos.
In weird familial telepathy Mirabel declaimed, “Princess Richenda To the Dark Tower came. Just like Tarot cards.” I admired my nude, mirrored Ribboned back. “But how about your dress?” “You’ve seen it.” Like breath went out of her – She tossed it out – they were identical.
How could that be? Wasn’t that too strange? I was gobsmacked – Never heard of bride and bridesmaid Wearing the same dress – Think of the confusing pictures – People getting entirely Wrong ideas.
“Isn’t that bad luck?” I questioned; “The groom will see the gown Before they’re hitched” – Ending Lamely, “If you believe That sort of thing.” I petered out because No one DOES believe that sort of thing. “My dress is size “zero” –“ Sniffed Mirabel –
Competitive, Combative Mirabel, and I was silenced. She knocked my phone right out of my hand – Sussing out my efforts to bring in troops – Mom would NEVER approve of this! “No pictures till the wedding.”
Her pressured speech rushed on – And on – “And now – we dress for dinner.” More fantasy clothes. I looked embarrassed at my Wrinkled skirt Discarded Carapace along the floor – shriveling Like my pride.
Mirabel threw open mirrored Doors to reveal another bedroom – This one stocked with girlish stuff. “This room is yours -” She told me – “He’s staying at The Stanhope.”
I blushed – I don’t know why – He’d called this residence “his” – But these closets were packed With Mirabel clothes so Where did I fit in? My sister unbound my dress –
I’m not used to Clothes that need assistants. There’s no getting out of these gowns Without help. “These are yours -”
Blue slits whose ruffles Matched my eyes – A dress with scales – Peekaboo and baby-doll Price tags proclaiming The less the dress the more the cost.
No bras here either – And everything my size. What was going on? Angrily I chose heels to tower over Mirabel – we’ll see who’s boss – But she didn’t seem to mind.
Her makeup kit delivered smoky eye, nude mouth and Emerald glitter. “Verne hates the kiss of Lipstick.” Who cares? These people kiss the air – I couldn’t Get the hang of this.
She wore cherry red chinoiserie – Now I’m impostor too. “He’s waiting at the Stanhope Bar.” We were silent in the elevator. I clutched the fur I’d borrowed Feeling naked –
Summoning up my nerve but Maribel seemed depressed. Deflated. Encumbered? With me? With Verne? With family obligation? Traditions I could Only guess at? I tried to play my role. “So… how did he propose?”
My query’s gaucheness seemed Amplified by elevator doors Whose golden mirror Bent our beauty so Unflatteringly we seemed Haunted.
“It’s not about when he proposed,” she Told me crisply, “but “When I accepted. He Proposed the first night we met – Five years ago – Said we’d marry – If he could get approval From his trustees.” Much to puzzle out in here! So trustees must propose to Mirabel?
O Bad New World that has Such creatures in it. “Five years ago? Was this a secret?” Why didn’t anyone – snoopy Richenda in fact – Find this out? “He hates the press – “ says Mirabel,
Whose explanations Don’t explain. “He Wants me to himself. And I was so unready – seeing other people…LOTS of other people.” Poor Verne! We nodded at the doorman, Safe beside the limo
I whispered, “How’d he win You over?” But Mirabel Did not seem to want to discuss This sacred aspect of their story. She dismissed me. “He was so adoring.”
She bundled me inside the car then Backed away confronted by a ghost. “I forgot something. Tell Verne I’ll be along.”
The car swept away, leaving Mirabel Huddled by the curb – overwhelmed by Her mink coat.
On Fifth Avenue; nonstop parade of glittery storefronts & Entitled shoppers.
Glamorous trousseau fun! . Our limo pulls up to Questrina, Sets off parking lights; A woman rushed through the double doors offering Glossy green dress bags in outstretched hands-
Driver swept them to the car and we were off again. “Your clothes,” explained Verne. Excitement, confusion; the Disappointment that Always follows bait and switch:
You get SOMETHING Just not what you expected. Had my dress been chosen for me? “I thought Maribel and I-“ “Oh, there’s lots for you to do,” He dismissed.
Surprised he didn’t offer Lollies to distract me. “Here we are,” says would-be groom. “My place.” A skyscraper on Fifth Avenue?
Shiny red and black doorman – general Of a third world country – Rushed the curb. “Your lordship.” I thought my ears unplugged. Had I heard this right? Did he speak American and was Verne in fact, “a lord”?
I should have watched those damned Downton Abbey episodes my folks begged me to see instead of proudly sequestering with Japanese anime. Limo driver brought all bags – He had to use a different elevator.
43 floor ride, black & gold enameled door thrown open on the penthouse there stood Mirabel.
Chapter Four : The Lost Sister
My eyes filled with tears and I realized How much I’d feared that This was all a scam. “Darling!”
She waved her skinny arms and kissed the air. “Mwah! Mwah! You escaped!” I couldn’t touch her – We laughed and laughed. She gave Verne a burning look – “Get us drinks”
And dragged me – Literally DRAGGED me into A double-doored bedroom and Swept me down upon a white flokati rug. We were children again – Conspiring & strategizing together or She played all the parts and I Gazed on adoringly.
She took control with those hypnotic eyes While my school self asked, IS this really Mirabel? So much smaller than my memory – Disappearing before my eyes in fact, As she had managed to do my whole entire Life; darker – blond all gone –
I know I’m taller now, but how could this tiny thing Have ever been a supermodel? Someone rattled at the door – Mirabel called – “We’re dressing!” Pulled me into giggle – “Leave it!”
Covered my mouth signalling with her Humongous eyes – Crawling to the door she – Peeked out – Pulled in a Champagne bucket and a pair of flutes.
“Grooms get in the WAY!” She laughed and toasted me. “But men! You know!” She gasped and gagged as if She’d never had such wine. I sipped sedately.
Judgingly As I’d learned to do with grown-ups. Who was this Mirabel? The way she carved me With her eyes She must be real Yet something smelled Imposture.
I just don’t know – I’m far too new – It’s far too weird. She leaned to touch my hair. “I always thought They should have named you Anne.”
The door opened and Verne stood over us Looking down reprovingly. Mirabel blanched – I thought because she’d said He’s not to enter – But he was mild enough
Laying dress bags along the bed Reproachfully As if to ask “How can you dress without dresses?” Then he was gone The door slightly left ajar. Mirabel clicked it closed with her foot. She called, “See you at dinner!”
I felt sorry for poor Verne But when we heard the outer door click Mirabel rose and unzipped the bags. She topped off her glass with Vodka from a bottle by the bed. “It’s such bad champagne,” she excused, “In Europe, babies drink this stuff.”
I studied the bottle – Beau Joie Brut Special Cuvée – A brute champagne. Tasted fine to me – like Sharpest winter air.
Mirabel offered her bottle. “No thanks.” She drained her tulip glass. ”You’ve certainly changed,” she commented. Did I drink vodka at eight years old? I said, “So have you.”
“I’m darker now. Verne wouldn’t look at blondes.” Too bad, I thought. I’d hoped she’d find a different type of guy. “Is he really a lord?” Maribel rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.” At my surprise she added – “It always seems to mean you can’t do Anything you want.”
She shrugged. “At least the restaurants like it.” “And you’ll be –“ “Lady Verne.” She shrugged; unexcited By the prospect. Seemed The opposite of what Old Maribel would have thought.
“So, you just met?” “Oh no, we’ve been together FOREVER – And only now we tie the knot. But you!” She spun me all around. “You’re so tall! And thin!” “I eat like a horse” I apologized
I grow too fast – all my friends are vegan But I eat Everything – “I can’t seem to fast.” “Wait till after the wedding,” Said Maribel
“Then just do a purge. “Think you’d fit a four?” The dress she pulled was pale gold, fairytale dress with endless puffy skirt. My gasp relaxed Mirabel’s face. She smiled.
“I’m sure I could!” almost dropped my wineglass in my excitement to try it on. Stripped down to my unsightly sports bra And boy’s brief pants.
“Can’t wear a bra with this one,” says Mirabel. “I’ll do you up.” She gazed too long – A man’s gaze I thought – I turned away.
I followed all her modeling pages But there’s been nothing for the past Three years.
I was smart enough to know that airbrushed people don’t look like that in real life. Mirabel had been so gorgeous;
those huge eyes and perfect Roman nose seemed to promise a matching depth of soul. We all want to believe that beautiful people Get everything they need from life;
yet I remembered the Mirabel I’d known. She’d never come back to this family fold unless something had gone horribly wrong. As my train slid into the darkness of the Grand Central tunnel I texted the number I’d been given with “Train on time”
followed by a happiness emoji. Then of course I wanted to delete it But wasn’t I – as the only bridesmaid – Obligated to act excited? I’d never done any of this before – It’s Brave New World to me.
The response wasn’t from Mirabel at all but labelled @Valerian: “I’m meeting you. Mirabel otherwise occupied as usual. Look out for red hunting coat.” Who was Valerian? Where was Mirabel? Was this the fiancé who had her phone? If that was the deal from the beginning Mom and Dad would never let me come.
Here’s Mirabel at her core – proficient In the art of “softening people up” Which never meant the truth. Dad says Mirabel always “plays the inside straight” Some disparaging poker term.
As the train lurched to a stop I stood up and studied myself in the Mirrored windows. The girl “Valerian” would see Looked good enough in gray skirt with shiny thigh high patent leather boots and recently highlighted auburn hair. Nothing like Mirabel’s blond gorgeousness of course. But Out from beneath Mom’s thumb
I’d added to my eye makeup – Mom frowns on false lashes – Because looking ready for my moment gives me hope. I hadn’t answered the text: Stranger Danger just too strong. I’d Uber myself – if I knew where I was going. But I wanted the chance to Look at him before he looked
At me. That would work Unless He was the one who’d tried to Friend me – Meaning he’d seen all my pictures? Ugh. You want to be seen and yet somehow Not.
We project ourselves into others’ eyes – I want to be seen in a certain way – Where I control reactions! Of course it makes no sense And that’s what diaries are for – endlessly Trying to reshape Cellphone diary fantasy. But There he was
right by the escalators, standing out in his red coat. Mirabel would never descend to the tracks. A tall, distinguished looking man in his thirties probably, very thin – dark pants and a red down jacket. The closer I got the more Startlingly handsome was that weathered knife-planed face –
Beneath dark glasses – he broke into smiles at the sight of me. No hope of escape – If I thought anything it was – “He’s better than I dreamed!” Made it easier forging some new Relation with my uncomfortably lost sister. He reached for my bag
Kissed the top of my forehead Dry lips – tasting sweat and foundation. “Richenda?” English accent. “I Recognized you immediately. You look just like Mirabel. It’s the eyes.”
I felt a gush of pleasure at Such baseless flattery – Wanted to argue “I am not!” but Zines do say we girls must learn accepting compliments. Sooner rather than never. “Er, thanks.” So ungraceful.
“What happened to Mirabel?” “Unavoidably detained.” He swept both me and bag away from the escalator Down the platform. “We’ll take the elevator to the car service.” Actually, a limo. The driver rushed to take my pathetic flowered bag. Did the driver and this so far unintroduced man know each other – casually or permanent – hard to say.
“You’re the fiancé?” I stuttered out. He seemed surprised. “Sorry,” he said, bundling me into the limo, “It’s Wedding nerves. I’m Philip Valerian. Everyone calls me Verne.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Mom thought your name was Rupert Golden!” Verne didn’t find this amusing. “Some previous swain,” he huffed. Wedding nerves? Exactly right. He was jumpy, Fingers drumming on my knee. I was alone with @Valerian.
Fourteen and I used to be bored. Winter breaks were especially glacial
Till just recently –
Right before dinner Mom Put her head around my door : “You won’t believe what happened!” What could excite such A dull person?
But I lacked comparisons because This never happened before. Slammed my book shut because – Geometry is paralyzing – And joined the Guessing game.
“We won Powerball?” “Your sister’s coming home! To get married!” I hadn’t seen Mirabel –ten years older – in eight years. Truth to tell, I could barely remember her. A lifetime ago. “Why?”
Mom – never invited in – Leaned against the INSIDE Of my door. “Make up for the past.” Is that even possible? Or does she want a free wedding?
Mirabel was ALWAYS Always always always About the money. “So who’s she marrying?” “I think his name was something like Rupert Golden.”
“I didn’t want to ask her to wait while I got a pen. She said she’d send details. You know how she hates Snooping.” Everyone hates snooping, I thought.
Mirabel hates Accountability. Snooping can be fun If you’re the one doing it. Addictive. “Rupert Golden’s no real name,” was all I had To contribute. Mom gave me her “Like you’re the expert” face.
But fourteen year olds DO Know everything. We just forget Distracted so easily. We’ll be a whole family again for the first time in – ages.” So she can leave us again, I thought.
I knew. I’d always been Weirdly tuned from Mirabel “Murble” I called her When I learned to speak The dazzling goddess of my Dappled infancy.
Parents are nonsensical. All they cared was that She was willing to pretend for whatever short period that things are copacetic at the family manse.
Parents love pretending. “When’s this happening happening?’ “Unsettled,” said Mom. “She wants your help to buy a dress.” “Me?”
Up to that second I’d been a Peeper at The Family Drama. Did I want to participate? What choice did I have?
“You’ll be her only bridesmaid so she wants your dresses to match,” said Mom, But slowly as if just realizing What stupidity she spoke.
“You go up tomorrow night and the two of you come back Sunday.” How had she agreed to this? She still wasn’t happy.
“Unless… perhaps I’d drive you?” “I’ve taken trains before,” I said, trying to keep the baby whine Out of my voice. “I’m fourteen years old!” “But it’s the city,” wailed Mom
Panic flaring. “I’ve been to the city before, too,” I said. School field trips!!! Alone? First time for everything.
“She said she’d meet the five o’clock train,” sighed Mom, Obviously wondering How had she agreed to this? I almost didn’t like it.
So some strange woman Could call Mom up and Gain more freedom for me Than I’d ever managed?
It’s a gift. Don’t criticize its teeth. “It won’t be dark yet,” I said blithely.
“So is that where she’s living? In the city?” Rumors of international travel had reached us when Mirabel’s modeling cancelled. And all this time she’s Twenty miles away?
Mom seemed so unhappy. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s Rupert’s place. I’ll be trusting your good sense.”
She certainly can’t trust Mirabel, I thought. Someone in this family Needs to do some serious snooping.
That night someone named Philip Valerian Tried friending me on Facebook. I turned him down Like a bedspread, I Don’t talk to strangers.
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.
Here’s the theatre where I serve my Indentured Seniors Project. Hem hem Mr. Green is late. I’ve forgotten how to sleep. It’s just not happening. Quit coffee, tried Sominex, nothing doing. Sitting in lobby of theatre school waiting for appointment. Wish I didn’t have to keep a journal the fathead faculty can read about my Theatre Experiences. I will write The Truth here and Dress it up later. Sitting next to me in an armchair is the best looking thing I’ve seen in a month of Sundays – peacenik with red gold hair & mustache named Dale Whitman.
Dylan Green strides in – receding hairline, round cheeks, hypnotic light eyes. Very attractive. Now watching them rehearse O’Casey’s Bedtime Story: Love it. I could watch rehearsals forever. Painting with people. Is that a job? Unfortunately actresses need to be seen and I wish I were invisible. How can one love fashion so much yet not want to be seen? Dr. Gilmour says I am an “enigma”. Green’s an excellent director; working on actors “mood”.
Love writing on trains. Things always look brighter. At Plumly dreaming & reflecting are criminal offenses. Must travel by train: crying for no reason in the car makes M & D think I’m psychotic.
Mon 25 Mar 68 Feel like a lonely drifter. $200 and go directly to jail. Trying to live exclusively in the present. Preston hot & cold, asks me to “give him more time.” That pisses me off just thinking about it; then he gets beggy. Don’t like him or me. He’s a placeholder. This is all my fault: I want subtle, skeptical doubting people and so that’s what I get! Ambivalent confusion. Think I’ll do my nails.
Tues. 26 Mar 68 Train to Radnor where I’m staying with the Carnahans while M & D & A cruise Virgin Islands. Hope I never arrive I like the journey so much. Carnahans very dull. Dislike her, have crush on him. She talks and talks – everything is Freudian. Any object you could grasp, touch or pick up is a penis; vaginas are negative space and no one thinks about them! He listens mournfully. Drinking.
Dancing class this AM at Southwark in leotard too big for me. Still it was fun. Release in a way, if they didn’t have so many mirrors and it was so painfully obvious I am the worst in the class. Guess my “lessons” with that hungry friend of Mom’s didn’t count.
Wanted to sit in on David Margulies’ rehearsal of Oresteia but Ron Reston made me sit in office & answer phones. Ron Bruncati asked me out to Art Museum show. I said OK. He’s bald and old enough to be my father but he is a director and its all grist.
And now for my emotional state – aha! Caught you with a bored expression. Bought a chocolate Easter egg at the station and now I’m going to eat it SLOWLY.
Wed 27 Mar 68 Ron Roston gave me some typing but Ellen Roston’s machine is broken so take an early lunch hour. (Use Sam’s machine when he’s done.) God what a year it’s been. God I would like to destroy this book. Just flipping through it is sheer psychological torture. But can’t destroy – probably for the same reason I’m compelled to finish all that’s on my plate.
Can’t write on the train any more: people are too fascinating. I want to ride in all directions as far as it goes. Just looking. (Is that a job?) Every stop would be a different story.
Bruncati picked me up ( not before I made date with interesting bearded character in acting class – Jack Foster.) Told me all about his boring Roman Catholic upbringing. He ordered alcohol for me – but they turned him down.
Yawned through art museum show – very dull except pen drawings. Pretty sure Bruncati realizes we’re no match. He was driving me up the hill to our house – amazed there was so much land in the middle of town asked, “Do you really live here or are you just trying to get me into the woods?” Har har. (He did not attack me.)
As soon as Avril gets back from Virgin Islands we’ll go see Tommy Steele in Half a Sixpence. (She will be so tan and I will be so jealous.) Reading Julie de Carneilhan – strange little masterpiece. Worship Colette.
The Carnahans pester me to take a cab at night but there’s never one there – I walk from station and no one’s raped me yet. Turn cartwheels and climb trees. I’ll see if they can take me home Sun night – my laundry’s becoming a menace.
April Fool’s Day – Mon 68 Reading Terminal crying my eyes out with everyone staring and that’s no joke. Want to crawl into a hot bath and die. Seems like I will never be much more than a squishy rag. Just opened my purse and NOTHING was there! No wallet, no ticket, no money, nothing!! I can’t WALK to Pewter Hill!!! Left my wallet locked up in Southwark office! Borrow dime from nice man to call home, of course no one’s there. Call the Coxes instead. Good old Theo hope he loves me.
Thurs 4 Apr 68 – Southwark Theatre School Dropped into Goody’s on the way here to pick up a Donovan record for Genevieve’s birthday. Easy day so far. I get to write rejection letters to amazingly accomplished actors pretending I’m Ron – including the lady from Gilligan’s Island. If this doesn’t discourage an aspiring actor, nothing will. Flirting with Dale Whitman – I love his hair. Wonder if he’s red gold & fuzzy all over. Preston walked in all young and ill at ease – I saw him through Dale’s eyes. Ouch! When he wants me I don’t want him and when I want him he doesn’t want me. Impasse. Dancing with Jack Foster last night – easy, happy guy. But he told me “Ball’s in your court” and I don’t like it there. He’s a doper, alas.
5 Apr Fri 68 – Train to Queen Lane
O Brave New World Meteorological Report: Looks like rain. Fashion Report: Looks like I’ve got a run in my stocking.
Importance of Being Earnest seen with Preston. A particularly bad Lady Bracknell. Preston desperately clutched my hand to the inside of his leg (wish he’d put his hand on MY leg occasionally.) He argues that polygamy is man’s natural state. Says “Look at dogs.” Told him to look at wolves, foxes (some birds). All news to him; which is bad news for his “progressive school”. Then off to the Electric Factory. Strobe lights. Pandora’s Box (they stank) & Electric Light Orchestra. (Good.) Preston and I tried getting into the same “leaning box” but a “security guard” jumps at us. What on earth is the point of the boxes then!!!
Preston angry at me because I wouldn’t let him come in at home. Good thing! Dad (just in from the Chesapeake) mixing daiquiris (gave me one!) and wanting to talk.
“You’re getting to be a big girl,” he says insultingly. I gave him my Big Girl on Daiquiris Smile. ( Daiquiris are good.) “How are you fixed for birth control?” Fatally uncool. I staggered. Recovered. “I’m still a virgin.” (In spite of them rather than because of them.) He skipped right over that. He said Dr. Rhodes could fit me with a diaphragm. I said, “I hear those interfere with sexual pleasure.”
He said, “No, no no. We’ve been using one for years.” Mom came in and to my surprise chimed in so this was a staged event. “You were born because of a diaphragm,” she said meaningfully. Dad said, “How about the loop? Looks like a question mark. You don’t want to be changing diapers at theatre school.”
That’ll never happen! If I couldn’t get an abortion I’d throw myself down the stairs. I said, “I think you have to have already had a kid to use those things. There’s always the pill.”
At this point Mom became predictably upset. She hates the pill because you don’t have to struggle with it. And if you don’t have to struggle with sex – then she bursts into tears. So I’ll never find out why sex needs to be a struggle. Dad admitted it was my date with 33-year-old Ron that blew the alarm.
Thurs 12:28 PM 11 Apr 68 Day of for Martin Luther King’s funeral. Watched it on TV. After 200 years looks like the rot is all the way through. Preston came over to invite me to see Paul Butterfield and Jesse Colin Young – too good to resist. Says he has been accepted at Haverford, Columbia & Chicago. Nice to have a future. Ended up wrestling on the floor. He got my shirt off but why do boys find bras such complex engineering problems That’s as far as we went. Watched the Academy Awards – Dustin Hoffman is a darling. (Listening to Tim Buckley. Will not be your Summer Princess or your Midnight Maiden. I will be your Sundown Angel.) Reading Madame Sarah. She was a big failure at the beginning of her career. Some comfort.
Read To Bed in the Afternoon to mom – she laughed the whole time. About child molestation and frigidity? I said, it’s not supposed to be a comedy – she said, “But it’s so funny!” A prophet is without honor, etc. etc. Time to shake the sand off my new, elegantly spurred leather boots.
Thurs 25 Apr 68 – Plumly Trying to learn a little self-reliance but it seems there’s nothing there. No wonder people take drugs. If there was a confidence pill I’d be seriously tempted. Unfortunately on alcohol I am only silly. Sweet loving letter from Devon who has decided to go into politics. I told him all the women would vote for him! He promised to invite me to Paris when he’s ambassador to France – I said it’s a deal. Lying in the sun reading Citizen Hearst.
9PM- relaxing in the Listening Room (no talking. My new favorite spot.) Handel’s Israel in Egypt. At least the music in this Institution for the Severely Disturbed is good. Catharsis! Feeling extremely good nose to grindstone finishing all my work.
Mom coming for Alumni Day – no Dad. She took me to the Cocked Hat to buy Lanz dress for prom. Long and white with thick lace cuffs, very pretty. Senior boys have banded together to “go stag – refusing old fashioned dating enslavement” so I was forced (pride) to import Preston. I’m sure he thinks I’m madly in love with him. I always want people to fall in love with me and when they do I am repulsed. But at least I can be polite.
Put aside Sybille Bedford’s Favorite of the Gods. Bland. Generation of messed up women. Now why would I want to read about THAT here in my prison cell??? Writing porn exotique under my current nom de plume Kathryn Klavier-Scott.
French Class – 11:l0 AM Tues 30 Apr 68 Finished test in 10 mins. Great letter from Merrill saying underneath my “blaze of emotions is a core of strength.” Reassuring. I love her so much. It’s hard not to worry about how false everything feels. I understand the boys’ fears, I really do, I don’t want to commit to something awful & irrevocable either. Old young, make female we are all at total cross-purposes with each other. Language fails us. Poetry? Art? Try to think of a way. Want to run through an art gallery in a nude leotard trailing a colored scarf. It could be my own work: enormously enlarged letters – fragments of “ransom notes” but you can’t tell where or when to make the “drop” so the precious thing is bound to die. (Saw it in a dream.) But I don’t want to go to Art school!!! (Not that they’d let me in anyway.) Then what? “Center down” as the old Quakers say.
Mom & Dad offer me trip to Europe for graduation if I work in a peacenik work project. Sent me a list of possibles. All the obviously, desperate starving places. But Sweden’s also on the list! I want to go to Ireland. (NOT on list.) Reading short stories of Sean O’Faolain.
Wish I didn’t have breasts. I don’t like them. They make me feel like Somebody’s Mother. I would prefer to be flat chested. No sex since JULY. Bought a bottle of New York champagne from Laura for $8 and locked it in my trunk. Not sure what I’m saving it for. Kate Moody signed me up for Operation Match. I got a list of 4 names and I told Casey “I’m going to get us a date. “ So I called the first name on the list – Craig Crawford, a U of Penn student with an apartment. So that’s good! He answered his phone! “Must be a loser if he’s home on Sat night” said the loser home on Sat night. He had company but told me not to worry, “I think she’s in the bathroom.”
He turned out to be absolutely charming, all American, ROTC. By no means a lost cause. Said he’d gone out with 2 girls through Operation Match and one of them spoke no English. I asked for a millionaire (Kate asked for me.)
I said, “Craig, will you be my millionaire?”
He said, “I want to be. Help me make my million.” Asked me out for Fri. I said sure if he can get a date for my friend. So – a reason for champagne.
Tues. 20 Feb 68 Mom came Sun night and took me & Casey out to dinner. Unfortunately she brought a Lame Duck Boarder – one of her “pretend children” some shockingly ugly girl she feels sorry for. I bewailed my barren existence. She told me I’m just “dissatisfied” not miserable. I told her about our date Fri night and she insisted Craig & Unknown Boy have dinner with the family! I told her Impossible. Not wanting to contradict her at dinner I called her up later and ruined it by crying. I SO want to be THERE and not HERE. She thinks I’m the worst spoiled child ever.
Paris Match said Bonnie & Clyde “encourages crime” and Pauline Kael said “those sawdust heads missed the point.” I like her.
1:15 AM Sun 25 Feb 68 The date was AWFUL. Just horribly, incredibly, irredeemably AWFUL. Craig was FAT (why didn’t Kate ask for someone thin?) and his friend was SHORT, with very glisteny wet slicked back hair. But still better looking than Craig.
The evening was so awful there’s no point in describing it. Shared a bottle of Almaden during a decent dinner (eggplant, mushrooms, chicken livers) but when the boys saw we were presentable all they wanted was to get us drunk. The only way this could have been worse would be if it all happened at Pewter Hill. Casey was no help – she’s been in that convent too long! She just went all glassy-eyed on me. The boys wanted to go to their apt and drink and she was all for it! I tried hard to talk them into The Electric Factory and thought I’d succeeded but they said, “Ha, we lied, we’re going to the apt.” Talked them into the Trauma – they stayed 10mins. So we ended up at their apt after all where Casey & Friend made out and danced while I parried pass after pass from Craig who finally gave us and lay with his head in my lap psychoanalyzing me. “You’re restless because you’ve never had roots.”
I had to call a cab before they agreed to take us home. Asked us to fraternity party Sat. Casey wants to go! (I talked her out of it later, thank God.)
We no sooner get home than Mom’s psychosis raises its ugly head, how starved and desperate I am so I will never get anyone good. That same woman who accused me of “going to meet boys” when I was trying to bike ride to Trevallion, who accused Merrill of “living in sin with Bill Saint” (they weren’t) and said Genevieve’s husband wasn’t “clean.” Just weird. So embarrassing with Casey there.
Then Dad came in and asked me “how’s school” like an uncle who hadn’t seen me for twelve years and I burst into tears. A mess all around. This dating stuff SHOULD be easy but its so not. You’d think Mom would be all for “Operation Match” – as long as people are honest it should work. (My advice: ask for a photo.) But no. It shows you want to date and that is evil.
Wed 28 Feb 68 Called Devon this evening – knew I shouldn’t have but I was so depressed. I’d invited Preston to the Mar 5 dance but he said he can’t go. Has to be in a play. Invited e to the play and asked me out for the 22nd instead. I agreed to that but it’s not The Dance. Called Devon to feel something – anything – he said he was glad I called and happy to speak to me. Thought I called to wish him happy birthday! (So I said I had.) He apologized for his letters said they were “written in moments of weakness.” I said they were very romantic. I felt better then, but worse after. He HAS a girlfriend (more than one) there is no point to this. Wrote a poem, Considering the Chill Factor. Hopeless couple who can’t connect.
CONSIDERING THE CHILL FACTOR Considering the chill factor As I always try to do The day was hot Too hot for love or war. We sit in restaurants. I pick The blue veined shrimp He picks the black-veined news. Outside drunkards Carom off the plexiglass like entertaining fish. “They envy us” and Andrew says “How nice.” I see a couple coming in; she holds him up As I so often upheld you. I know that touch surgeons who manipulate the dying. She wears my dress the one I wore the day you Shamed me Stuck me sizzling to the sidewalk Shamed us both with those red red stains. Andrew I don’t think I ever have forgiven you. Andrew says “How nice” he lays his coffee spoon upon the cloth I hate the brown stain it spreads like murder Like the bad smell of death Breeding fumes as we do Corpses in the sun. I rise to speak Shrimp spewing from my mouth like Parasites. “We have always been so happy, you and I.”
Mon 4 March 68 I’ve learned my lesson: when this huge book is used up I WILL GET A SMALL ONE. Gave up on March dance, called Preston and said I’d go to his play if he’ll go to the Electric Factory with me, Casey & Kip and champagne supper after at Pewter Hill. Mom likes Preston because his parents are her friends so she should behave herself. Rich parents used to give their sons peasant girls to practice the facts of life on and Mom is giving Preston to me. He has a nice bass voice, but something festers in his soul. I’m going to find it and poke at it. Mom wanted to invite Brice to dinner! I had to tell her the truth about him so she wouldn’t but if I thought I’d get points from her for spurning his dark desires I was wrong. Everything’s my fault because of clothes & personality. Past midnight – I write by flashlight. Casey talking in her sleep.
Hard to read Spark’s Mandelbaum Gate after Genet. Spark is trapped by her form, defeated by her subject and killed by her characters. Ho hum.
Casey & I started a film company – Gryphon Enterprises – to film my movie ideas. Marquis de Sade (of all people’s!) Eugenie de Franval is a terrific story (without the moralizing obviously) – also Donleavy’s Singular Man. Working on my scripts. Also wrote a short story – Odalisque – about a teenager robbing her own “Christina-esque” boat. Can’t use it for English because Master Gwill hates “plot” on principle. Gives the highest grades to character studies & mood pieces. For him I wrote To Bed In the Afternoon dialog of a frigid woman with her doctor. Sunday into the city to see Pinter’s The Lover – excellently done.
Tues 5 Mar 68 Benson builds a new philosophy in Defense of Homosexuality – happens to be my philosophy as well. One caveat: “the freedom of the subjective person to do as he pleases is overruled by the freedom of the responsible person to do as me must.” Who’s subjective and who’s responsible? For that matter, who’s free.
Benson knows he’s in enemy territory so he follows every argument to infinity: no loose ends. Do women take to lesbianism the way men take to homosexuality or are men just appalling lovers? Take Craig Crawford for example. #1 he’s hideous, #2 he WANTS to be drunk. Any rational sexy girl would start to look good if you’d had too much of that. At the moment I can’t imagine ever wanting to bear children but who knows maybe someday … At the moment 69ing sounds impossible. (Casey & I discuss.)
Merrill writes she “spontaneously aborted” after a month of pregnancy. Depressed her. I hastily replied that since all Aallyn girls are built to be Earth Mothers so she need have no fear. I can see my senior thesis needs to be a “book report: What’s Out There”. They will downgrade me for not expressing my view but they would downgrade me more if I did express it so Lesser of Two Evils…
Wed 6 Mar 68 Wonder if I can sit in a chair for auditions. Dr Gilmour says not. Don’t know what to do with this lump of a body of mine. I should be taking dance EACH DAY. What if I recite my poem?
Got a full weekend permission, there’s a wonder (before lowering of the financial boom.) I have overdrawn 3 times!!! Think of all the starving children in Asia and I spent $4 on a bottle of hair conditioner.
Like to think I am free from all the ridiculous dating taboos like “girls can’t call boys” so I phoned Preston. He’s an unpolished diamond – delighted to speak to me. He’s tall, intelligent, sensitive, thin, witty, friendly, etc. Plans to go to Harvard, run for everything & rule the world. So what if he doesn’t actually attend to this school? The less he knows of me the better, considering what people around here seem to think.
1 AM Sat 9 Mar 68 Twelve hours and my Wretched Audition will be over with. Numb with Dread. Chances very strongly that they will hate me, I will hate them, we will hate each other. I don’t see how I can stand any more rules. But everyone tells me I have to audition at Juilliard so audition at Juilliard I weakly do. Preston and I discussed it thoroughly fifteen mins ago. Nice to have someone to confide in. I impulsively invited him to the operetta and he impulsively accepted. Will he fear being Managed, like Shawn and chafe at it sorely? Insist on “spontaneity” while my calendar goes soggy from disuse? We’ll bomb that bridge when we come to it.
Thinking about Devon all afternoon. “So sweetly cold, so deadly fair!!!” (Byron) Really stupid. It’s like those chicks fixating on the first beak they see.
Plumly – Sun 10 Mar 68 “A character’s recognition, through the force of circumstance of the truth about himself is one of the classic themes of comedy” Walter Allen, NY Times Book Review.
Me at Juilliard. Get ready to laugh. I panicked at the institutionality of it all. Don’t want a building; was hoping for an ocean or a green field. Got through the audition but they’re going to hate me. John Housman told me to “pretend I was in the shower” and I froze. What the hell did THAT mean? Well, I didn’t figure it out. Should I strip? I sang instead which I’m fairly certain is NOT what he meant.
Depression not helped by Preston’s inept kisses, his damp limp hand throughout Guys & Dolls. Everyone envious of us as a “beautiful couple” but I couldn’t get him to apply pressure. Uh oh. This bodes ill, ill, ill for everything else. In memory Shawn tears apart my Lurex stockings to kiss my blue-veined legs.
I looked good I have to say. I wore a gorgeous white and silver glittery dress, white stockings and white six-strap heels. The most glorious part of the entire evening was fleeing this lousy institution in his father’s car instead of returning to my sex-starved roommate (same gender as me!)
We wander in the park at 1 AM in parka & boots over party wear. Steam rising out of the ground looked like Fall of the House of Usher. I climbed the rock wall to the art museum while Preston stared at me. Alas, he is no fun. A mad-haired spectacle was I. He says my nerves look like Francis Scott Key’s flag which is probably right. But I was NOT in the mood for psychoanalysis. Will I survive this place? Because it is winning.
Thinking about Devon all afternoon. “So sweetly cold, so deadly fair!!!” (Byron) Really stupid. It’s like those chicks fixating on the first beak they see.
“A character’s recognition, through the force of circumstance of the truth about himself is one of the classic themes of comedy” Walter Allen, NY Times Book Review.
That’s me at Juilliard. Get ready to laugh. I panicked at the institutionality of it all. Don’t want a building; was hoping for an ocean or a green field. Got through the audition but they’re going to hate me. John Housman told me to “pretend I was in the shower” and I froze. What the hell did THAT mean? Well, I didn’t figure it out. Should I strip? I sang instead which I’m fairly certain is NOT what he meant.
Depression not helped by Preston’s inept kisses, his damp limp hand throughout Guys & Dolls. Everyone envious of us as a “beautiful couple” but I couldn’t get him to apply pressure. Uh oh. This bodes ill, ill, ill for everything else. In memory Shawn tears apart my Lurex stockings to kiss my blue-veined legs.
I looked good I have to say. I wore a gorgeous white and silver glittery dress, white stockings and white six-strap heels. The most glorious part of the entire evening was fleeing this lousy institution in his father’s car instead of returning to my sex-starved roommate (same sex as me!)
We wander in the park at 1 AM in parka & boots over party wear. Steam rising out of the ground looked like Fall of the House of Usher. I climbed the rock wall to the art museum while Preston stared at me. Alas, he is no fun. A mad-haired spectacle was I. He says my nerves look like Francis Scott Key’s flag which is probably right. But I was NOT in the mood for psychoanalysis. Will I survive this place? Because it is winning.
Preston said he liked the sound of my dress. At least. He brought me the candy bar that used to be my favorite. It no longer is.
Tues 12 Mar 68 It is SNOWING outside. Final proof the world’s gone mad. Yesterday so spring-like Casey & I played tennis. Sat I lay in the lower field coated with Bain de Soleil! Vibrating like a wire over second mug of gray coffee.
Thurs. 14 Mar 68 Last day before vacances and I seem to have a fever. Sore throat ripped by endless scream, ears popping, the works. Getting out of class the only benefit. So no date for me. (Word for the day: Nacré. Means mother of pearl. Oh so beautiful. )
No date, but perhaps champagne. Casey and I looked at this enormous bottle (a magnum) and decided it was just what the doctor ordered. Invited Rob Severn (English exchange student) and Bob Burke (black eyebrows, long golden hair from Kenya or someplace) down to the Greenwood to drink it with us. They said they’d be delighted. Smuggled it in a Gimbels shopping bag. It was gone in about 10 mins! (Very grapey stuff.) Did make me feel better however. Unfortunately Burke threw me to the ground, tried to drag me to a shed and stuck his hand right up under my turtleneck. We are in the same weight class: I successfully fought him off.
Severn offered to show him how to behave, I said “please” and he kissed me beautifully. Very nice. I was regretfully forced to tell him I had probably given him typhoid but it was thoughtful of him to risk it. He invited Casey into the shed; she went. Burke said he would like typhoid too. I had to say no. I guess I am not as starved as I thought I was.
Pewter Hill – Sun. Midnight 17 Mar 68 Just read my diary for ’67 instead of writing my Special Project paper. Nauseating. What a boring idiotic little child I was. Pathetic. There is anguish associated with diaries and no mistake. This poor body is one raw nerve. Preston came over last night, I was too weak to make the first move so No Move Was Made. Shouldn’t there be SOMETHING between fighting for your life and fainting from boredom?
Saw his Yeomen of the Guard last night – Preston a very fetching spear-carrier. We saw Closely Watched Trains, came home, made coffee & hamburgers. I told him he didn’t miss anything with the champagne. Was a movie about a shy boy’s fear of impotence the best possible choice? (The best thing about it: Czechs don’t use extras, they use people.) Tried to discuss film (did not like it as much as Loves of a Blonde) but could hear Mom & Dad humping upstairs. Probably working on some kind of manual the doctor gave them. Thanks folks. Preston obviously embarrassed left early.
Alysse Aallyn 