Alysse Aallyn

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  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

    Shadowe Island 23 June 77 11 PM

    Walked around corner of house to deck – there’s


    Devon sitting with his Mom and my Mom and Dad. Waiting


    for me. He is still dreamily beautiful; cut glass profile,
    muscles shining through clothes; a star. The understanding
    between us electric as always – hope I did not gape too
    obviously. I felt a “reaching-out” from this shy man –
    seemingly frightened by his own beauty bubbling up
    from the deep wells of his most secret personality.
    Obliterating poor hopeless Ryder, which is just what
    I need. I must have babbled something as they gave
    me a huge Tanqueray gin and tonic. Mom has that
    wrinkle between her eyes whenever she looks at me l
    ike there is no book I can publish, job I can take, no man
    I can marry to iron out that wrinkle.


    We hear them talking about us as if we weren’t there:
    “1972 was such an important year for them, that Winter
    Carnival;” “Why don’t they get together if they love each
    other?” “Kids these days think marriage just a piece of
    paper.” Just a piece of paper? You won’t get a rise out
    of me over that. I pass my life in a blizzard of papers,
    which may (or not) survive me. May (or not) have any
    ultimate meaning.
    His Mom offers me studio apt in their ski chalet –
    $125 month utilities included. Staking an early claim to
    any progeny I may produce. I say, No thank you, I need
    a city. Still, it gives one furiously to think.
    When Devon left he lifted up my chin to kiss
    me – tight familiar “everyone’s watching” mouth and
    prickly blond moustache. He says he’s going to England
    for a week. Invited me to Boston after. I imagine us
    unpeeling at the station, two nude souls confronting one
    another. Rank terror. The body reacts first, hands trembling
    violently. All I could do to keep from just savaging him in
    front of everybody. I could hardly hold my drink.
    I am an easy catch, too. He quoted from my poem
    “the one you wrote on the bus” when I visited him at Amherst –
    I had completely forgotten about that one. Quote to me from
    my own work and I become your slave. Poor Ryder! He never
    thought of that! He will “feel” the moment I lose interest in
    him; he will lift his head – wherever he is and whatever he’s
    doing – and come after me. Just when I don’t want him any more.
    (The quote: “memories like stones I’m free to choose and
    in life’s rivers, eventually lose”)
    Still true.
    Barnacle – Sat June 25 – 77
    I can tell it’s early by the light but can’t find out what time
    it is without waking someone. Health complete. Walked the dogs
    all over Heath Island, ran into Paul Morris who just bought the Burnside
    Inn. He invited me back for coffee and brandy, to show me the
    changes he has made. He sneered when he asked me if I thought
    “exotic dancing” was “art”. I said Sure, why not.? It can be. He read
    Boston Globe “exposé” on “strippers who are just little girls. They were
    all molested by their fathers.” I told him they get better tips by calling
    people “Daddy”.


    Paul has a mysterious live-in girlfriend who refers to herself as
    The Sinister Chambermaid. Helping him renovate the place, traveling
    with him from Boston where he is a university professor. Since they
    are not married I wonder about their “financial deal”. Let me guess,
    she invests labor, you own title and invest cash? But now I have a
    good excuse to stay at the Inn and I am considering it. They have
    electricity for my typewriter and the Barnacle doesn’t.

        New York City, 96th off the Park Sat June 25 77 ll PM
    Suffered through my sister’s wedding – a day of hideous

    rain forcing us out from the rooftop garden to huddle in the restaurant.
    I wore a gray silk backless tuxedo pantsuit – halter-top and bare midriff
    – Mom did NOT approve. (Looked ravishing if I do say so myself.)
    Someone asked Dad – about me – “How many of you are redheads?
    And Dad answered, “Hardly any of us.” Bride tells me she chose Brett
    because he would make a good father. Says she’s coming back
    pregnant from this honeymoon if it kills them both (they take temp,
    every morn, etc.) Mom all dewy eyed. I feel like replaying a few
    “deleted” scenes from Genevieve’s past of which Mom is blissfully
    unaware but loyally refrain, thus retaining my title as Official Bad
    Daughter. Hey, it’s a pivotal job.

        NYC 10:45 PM Sun26 June 77
    Last night Avril came into my hotel room to stop my wailing

    and we talked till 2:30 AM. We both agree “fireplug sex” – you stand
    there while I spray you – is out of the question. She says women
    who expect nurturing from men are always disappointed because
    men lack the nurturing gene. Hmm. This is not true of Ryder OR
    Devon (it was true of Bruce.) If we’re going to talk about “nurturing”
    we have to face the fact that plenty of mothers seem to lack the
    gene too – they don’t care what you want or who you are they are
    just trying to smack you into “shape”. That’s the kind Ryder is.
    Devon? Remains to be seen but the way he talked about my novel –
    seeing me inside it – gives me hope.


    Went to see 3 Women tonight with Best Man (Brett’s
    brother) on the Doobie Bros principle of “why you in such a hurry to
    be lonely one more night?” But he is still in college. Immature frat
    boy. Any relationship speculative at best. There’s Genevieve’s bike
    to ride when the physical becomes overwhelming on my 3 wk housesit
    (while they are on their honeymoon & Devon is in Eng) will pass fast.
    Hearing I was “house-sitting” in NYC parents’ friend at wedding offers
    me another outside Boston – perfect for seeing Devon whose theological
    college is nearby. That’s a definite yes.


    I REALLY miss dancing. Yet creativity heals all. Conquers
    my fear of ultimate impotence. The act of creation – even if others don’t
    agree – has a purifying effect. After all, we can’t live in other people’s heads
    (it’s dangerous to try).

        Tues. 28 Jun 77
    Walk Genevieve’s miniature dogs, tend fish & plants, take bike

    ride, wash hair, see Swedish flick Man on a Roof (like a Lincoln Mercury
    ad). Bought huge-brimmed red sun hat with single rose in Greenwich Village.
    Walked HUNDREDS of blocks to NY Pub Lib they won’t let me take anything
    out. Planning next novel, A Demon Roused. Need to give Jewell some past
    crime. Infanticide? But under sympathetic circumstances. Or maybe murder
    of Stephen Ward-like pimp. Bad news at publisher: Harcourt acquires
    Pyramid and my editor dumped (lunch with her Thurs). Could be good
    news for me (lunch with new editor tomorrow). Trying not to feel
    dragged in to dumped editor’ hysteria.
    Out to dinner at Fiorello’s last night with Brett’s brother,
    then Altman’s Images (which he knew I wanted to see.) He is trying
    to figure “a way in”. There is no way in. Images exquisite. Much
    better than 3 Women. Transitions so elegant they hardly existed.
    Wish I could do that. Didn’t want to ruin it by talking about it. Very
    reminiscent of La Prisonniere. My previous all-time favorite. Sent R.
    my Pevensey Old Farms address so he won’t harass M & D. That’s
    what I tell myself, anyway.


    Listening to Vivaldi and reading Haskell’s From Reverence
    to Rape –anything I can find around here. Genevieve likes novels and
    I HATE other novelists writing (usually). Lauren changed our Monk’s
    Inn lunch to dinner.


    Chuck Kornowitz offered to read Secaire – I invited him to
    dinner here.

        Wed 29 June 77
    Disappointing meeting with “editor”.  I guess dinner went

    as well as it could on the surface – but Lauren doesn’t like me and
    eager to wash her hands of me. Damned if I know why. Trying not to
    take it personally. She is furious at being in “paperback division”
    (subtext: “throwaways” ) and says my new novel being read by
    someone else – guy promoted over her who used to edit Westerns.
    Think she enjoyed my panic at this news.


    Tried entertaining her with usually reliable Tales of childhood
    but she was not amused. Probably considered it all bragging. She
    was very what I expected, mousy bun, tortoise shell earrings, presumably
    raging hormones. Dinner with me was something she had to “go through”.
    Work, not fun. Said she has to read two novels a day and prefers
    memoirs! That’s what she reads for pleasure. I ate snails with lots
    of garlic and I think she was a bit disgusted. I conjectured you could
    take out an eyeball with those special snail tongs. Since she was
    not turned on by the idea I could see she is not the editor for me.
    Snails were delicious, however. Anyone who loves mushrooms
    would adore snails.


    Lunch with ex-editor Ruby a scary experience. She
    made me meet her at a laundromat where her clothes were in the
    drier! Went to a Mexican restaurant around the corner, I ordered
    Sangria. She wore old jeans, ill-fitting shirt, had a price list in hand.
    Trying to get me to hire her as freelance editor! She showed me
    her poetry collection (awful: title “Twitterings”.) Says she has a
    novel ¼ done. Praised me awkwardly by saying I am “a real writer”.
    When I tell her I just want to find out what I need to write by patiently
    building house of cards in my head she tells me people like me are
    trampled underfoot by the thousand and I need her to make my novels
    acceptable; her qualifications are that she has been fired by all the
    big publishers (they are “consolidating”) but she also expresses
    disgust with them. She is probably right on facts but she needs to
    work on her presentation.


    I was horrified. Wanted to be friendly because she bought
    my book, but when I say why pay someone to rewrite your book in a way
    you might hate she say there are no guarantees in life. You have to go
    with whatever “works”. That she is not working seems too rude to point
    out. I agree the world’s a dark wood but I need to find my way out
    alone. She drank 3 bullshots, I order coffee frantically afraid I’ll have
    to drag her and her laundry home. We split the tab both probably
    thinking the other should have treated (last time out was on Harcourt’s
    dime). I tried to act like I might be thinking about it but I don’t have a
    good face for not showing when I am absolutely appalled.


    Purged my mind at Visconti’s Conversation Piece.
    Especially reveled in the beauty of our modern Dorian Gray
    Helmut Berger and the “footsteps of death” in apt. overhead.
    Very Edith Wharton. Dinner at Ms. McManus’ Sutton Place apt.
    (whose house I will sit next.) She shows off her latest antique
    acquisitions.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

    12:50 AM Plush Palace – exhausted and bathed in sweat.
    Man tried to crawl onstage with me. He was in the mood to dance!
    Every dancer (except me and I guess him) is using Darla’s overdose
    death (suicide or accident? I say why not murder?) as an excuse to
    not dance. I like dancing. Passes the time faster and the tips are
    better. Steve managing tonight – he looks just like Dylan Thomas.
    I keep expecting a Welsh accent when he warns the old men with
    their balls hanging out. Great tales from new dancer Charmian –
    she has toured the entire country. Just dancing. (She has the body
    of a seven year old. Plasters pasties on her completely flat chest. )
    There’s a townhouse in New City I like the sound of but nobody
    EVER answers that phone. Tomorrow dinner with poor A and that
    awful Mason whom I loathe and despise. Couldn’t get through Babs
    Deals’ The Walls Came Tumbling Down – and Crystal Mouse was
    so good. Fortunately I have Steven Marcus’ The Other Victorians
    which is excellent. Pornotopia, indeed! Should have $1000 in savings
    by the 24th June.


    3PM Wed 25 May 77
    Weighed myself – I shouldn’t have. Lost two pounds but I
    can gain it back through thought alone. Reading Gore Vidal’s essays –
    like them better than his novels – unsettling man. A says Dad’s taken
    hotel rooms for everybody in NYC. New City townhouse a terrible
    shock – NOT to be thought of. R. called to invite me to the Emmys
    June 4. He had the nerve to say I’ll “always come back” to him. So
    I have to be careful not to, even when at night I howl like an animal.
    I can’t trust him to “take care” of me.


    7:45 PM Thurs May 26
    Who knew the worst was yet to come? I was talking to
    A at Broadcast Agency and a call came in and it was Ryder. “Hello
    Broadcast Agency”. I said, “You’re on the wrong line.” He said, “Your
    private line is busy and I’ve got to talk to you. Need to come clean
    and beg your forgiveness.” Uh oh.
    Yup. He invited another girl to the Emmys BEFORE me
    (that’s his story) she said she couldn’t afford to come, he invited me,
    then she contacted him to say she managed to get a plane ticket.
    So he’s disinviting me! I disconnected him immediately. He’ll be
    lucky if I ever speak to him again. I ought to be glad it happened –
    I was dithering. Needed a decision maker.
    I said to Charmian this evening, “Are you happy? I’m
    taking a poll.” She said, “Well, I feel all right. All that bothers me
    are asshole men.”
    So true! I think the pain is over if I decide it is. Struggling not
    to be feel ashamed of ever loving that man. Distance is required.
    Distance & discipline. Dancing makes me feel better. I kicked
    really high. Audience enjoyed it.


    3:10 AM
    Home dreading he would be here – if so I was prepared
    to scream the place down. He wasn’t. Just a note – saying I was
    “right to get rid” of him. Calling himself a worthless shit! He said
    he’s “sinned” ever since he met me by refusing to admit how much
    I mean to him. The problem is it doesn’t matter. We are the wrong
    people for each other.


    8:30 PM Fri. Plush Palace May 27 1977
    The only place I can sleep is work, dozing off between
    sets. Not even masturbation knocks me out. Tempting to make
    Mon my last day but I should last out the week – I need the cash.
    Still have so much packing to do. Keith in my office the last day of
    Broadcast Agency work – I told him about the Emmys – he said it
    didn’t sound like a deathblow. Men! I had considered inviting
    him to the wedding – this decided me against it.
    3 weeks alone in NYC house-sitting for Genevieve
    while she’s on her honeymoon. Parents will take dogs. The Blessing
    is an awful book. Nancy Mitford not cut out to be a novelist; she’s
    really not interested in motivation. Only wants a forum for her retro opinions.


    4:30 PM Sat 28 May 77 – Plush Palace
    A girl left early so Laverne and I are splitting her sets.
    Courtly Jim of the hush puppy body and the Elvis Presley hair
    realizes he has to pay us more to keep someone onstage. Good tips –
    holidays make people feel richer. Only 3 days left.


    7:30 PM Sun 29 May 77
    Packed for six straight hours, ate yogurt and chicken,
    walked dogs now I’m lying on mattress more exhausted than
    I’ve ever been. Shoulders has agreed to store my furniture –
    we don’t need a van since his house is right across the street.
    Told him he can use whatever pieces he wants. Jim will be in
    to pay me Fri so I don’t need to trust the mails. Called phone,
    gas, water, elec people. Don’t think I like EM Forster
    (where Angels Fear To Tread) – Henry James without the
    Henry James. Edwardian didacticism makes me miss James’s
    scrupulous objectivity. Why did he write this book? Because
    he’s “The Literary Type”. Compare with Woolf’s Unwritten Novel.
    Stagger about forcing myself to gulp Yuban. So enjoying throwing
    things away.


    Wed. 1 June 77 – 8:30 PM Plush Palace
    $770 to take off with – not bad I think. Ryder tells me
    I am “fleeing.” Damn straight. Mom asked me what was going on –
    I said I proposed to Ryder and he turned me down. She was
    squeaking on the other end of the phone like a gerbil but I couldn’t
    help it. It’s almost true – I didn’t take her advice but showed him
    my true self! Too bad!
    Reading Forster’s Longest Journey. Still feeling another story
    trying to get through. Pretty sick of the glory that wasn’t Greece.
    Everyone in book sanctimonious prig.


    12:30PM
    Forster so foul I reread this diary. Deeply shaming.
    Maybe Forster is right: whatever you do, don’t write about what is
    actually going on – nobody may ever recover.
    Opal took me out to lunch at Apple Tree – painless. Crab
    quiche and 2 Brandy Alexanders. An elegant poem unspools in my
    head about the difference between hummingbirds and hawks.
    Will I go round in circles? Or will I fly high like a bird up in the sky?

    Like me the hummingbird
    Transcribes inner space
    Half wingtip pinwheel
    Leaving outer reaches
    To the ragged hawk that flies alone
    The hawk is:
    I am what shall be

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

    10PM Mon 16 May 77
    Finally got a reaction from agent to Secaire. I was
    physically sick when I opened it but she was full of praise. I could
    teach Poe, Verlaine and Mallarme a thing or two! She’s sending it
    to Harcourt but telling them it’s “too fine for a paperback”. Says it’s
    also readable, which is a thing more “precious than rubies”. I was
    really afraid of what she would say after our literary discussions
    and her poetry sneers.


    So elated! Hit the library today and hit it hard – Nancy
    Mitford’s novels, Hilaire Belloc’s Letters, life of Brontë. Delicious
    dreaming.

        5:35 Pm Broadcast Agency – 17 May 77 
    Enjoyed Helen Bevington’s The House was Quiet and

    the World Was Calm. In my bloodthirsty way would have preferred
    a better description of her husband’s death. Must make do with
    cuckoos and thrushes and loblolly pines.

        Bored to tears with this stupid job but you can’t say

    it’s “hard”. I’m the last happy dodo in a world of dinosaurs – all this
    equipment about to be ripped out. In 5 mins I get to disconnect
    phone, walk to Church St (parking’s free in Mafia territory). Drive
    to Arlington. Fish sandwich for dinner, read about Unquiet Haworth
    while wearing G-string & stockings. (So appropriate.) Expanding
    my house hunt to Rt 450. (Towards Annapolis; might need Dad to
    co-sign.) Obviously I can handle 45 min commute. (Don’t like rain,
    however.) Aware El Diablo is nothing but a hunk of junk. Future of
    American literature is fragile on some of these May nights.

        Broadcast Agency Thurs May 19, 77
    Only $134 in my saving acct and $7 in checking, curse that

    clutch. Crisis brewing with R. He is jealous and suspicious that I am out
    so much in the evening. He’s the one who wants to be non-exclusive
    so let him sweat. I have too many negative emotions about him – that
    he’s a coward, for example. Which would make him angrier – if I was
    dancing or screwing some other guy? (Which I have no desire to do and
    he should know me by now.) I think he sees my privacy and aloneness
    as infidelity. While he’s doubtless experimenting with “goofy chicks”
    who’ve “never been touched”; I’m only “unfaithful” with Shelley & Brontë.
    But that’s STILL too much for him.) After all this time if he still doesn’t
    realize I’m the best, the hell with him.

        Worry about the dangers of scars. They can seem to heal,

    but sometimes they re-shape the life beneath. All I know, is, contempt
    is the ultimate relationship killer. To love is to be happy with! Boy scout
    methods won’t work with me, the sabre-toothed tiger. Our relationship
    may already be fatally spoiled by resentment and revenge.

        Last night audience bored and hostile, but who cares?

    Bouncers won’t let them show it! We are goddesses to be revered and
    if they won’t worship at the shrine they’re out. Compared to the Shalimar,
    Palace is sheer joy. We are never hassled. God forbid if they try to
    touch us! They are bounced on their heads in the parking lot.
    If I have plain grits when I wake up at 9:30 or 10 (also coffee and
    orange juice) I can last till 4. Hunger peaks at 5. Salad, then rush
    to work – when I get there I’m not hungry anymore. Would like to cut
    the burger habit.
    Need to sew my G-strings but Merribeth can see me
    through the glass and she won’t leave. Reading Robt Fish as an
    antidote for poor Charlotte Brontë’s pain.

        1:00 AM Plush Palace – 20 May 77
    Four dancers tonight. Less work, more intellect. (!) Fred,

    the cook, insists I try his potato pancakes and they are DAMN good.
    Can’t say no. Long wailing phone call from Maeve this afternoon. Why
    is it we can see other’s relationships so clearly? “Dump him”, I always
    say. Am I telling myself something? R & I make date tomorrow night.
    Now wearing black velvet, smoky eyeshadow, black stockings and
    glitter I look in the mirror and am astonished by my own beauty. Take
    that, Ryder, you poor bastard. Eight mins and I’m up – One more
    dance and home. Front table of impressionable navy cadets eminently
    shockable.

        11:30 AM – Sun 22 May 77
    It’s all over, baby blue.  Getting up my strength for our date

    tonight by sunbathing in back yard – literally cooking in coconut oil.
    R. complained on Fri he called me “all night long” and I wasn’t home.
    Aww. Could have told him I was writing but lying just postpones the
    inevitable (because next time he’ll come over.) So told him I would
    explain on our date. A poem came suddenly :In the Butterfly Pavilion.

    This evening you said you wished
    I was more conventional.
    I bowed my head. I did not speak.
    Outside the animals leaned together,
    Breathing lightly; waiting
    For my answer.
    Cats-tongue ferns
    Swelled up like swords, pushed out a stink
    Occluding fields of vision while
    The rabbit-bloodied lawn curled away. 
    Phlox flamed  
      Sows littered in the cyclamen
    Dwarf stars broke free as
    Frazzled molten ore raced across a sky
    Darkening to night.
    Summoning my power
    My hands stay folded in my sleeves.
    Nighttime is my kingdom.
    .

    Exhaustion from the violent motions of the pendulum.
    I made dinner, but he refused to eat. He said, “I think
    I know what you’re going to tell me. “
    I said, “I bet you don’t.”
    “It’s another man.”
    “No. I’m dancing again. I’m living here alone. I need the
    money.” (I should have said “it nourishes me UNLIKE
    SOME PEOPLE” but I’m a coward too.)
    He said very dismissively, ”Well, if that’s all you think you can
    do.”
    He who read my novel! Bastard! He said, “Well, the ball’s
    in my court.” So I guess, that means “Game on!” (Was it ever
    off?) And he left! Put his dinner carefully away in the freezer
    (I’m not made of money) and took the dogs on an hour’s walk.
    Now I lie here again in Paradise – baking, basting, trying to recall
    every detail of the last time we had sex. Because that’s all I’ll ever
    get from him.
    11:30 PM
    Session this aft with Chloe at Pacifica and a young PBS guy
    named John about writing a radio play for kids. I threw out some ideas.
    Then out for dinner with Chloe who complained that her husband has a
    mental illness given to him by the Army – he only wants to fuck never
    kiss. He fantasizes about “swinging” with another couple. I stolidly
    drink red wine and eat bad doughy pizza. She says he’s always on
    the verge of suicide, but she would never leave him. Play around,
    OK, but never leave.
    And I think that I have problems. I reject “victim” AND “slut”. The
    poet alone in her lofty palace. Feels like an abscess has been lanced.
    Heard about a great apt in Takoma Pk that’s OK for dogs.

        Broadcast Agency – 4:20 PM – Mon 23 May 77
    Present tenant says do not mention dogs so I am out of

    love with Perfect Apt. Would rather have a house. Lots of calls today.
    I seem to be getting fat – but I look so good – much too good for 128.
    How I hate to starve but it’s the only way. Need to be a fine-honed
    racing machine.
    Considering entering Courtney in the Saxton fellowship.
    Can I get a readable copy? Lack of sex keeping me awake at night.
    Now I know why people take drugs. Devon writes to say he’ll be in
    Maine on the island but not at Genevieve’s wedding for “financial
    reasons”. I plan to do my best to seduce him. Reading Mitford’s
    Wigs on the Green – not as funny as it is sad. Pastiche, really –
    Wodehouse is better. But I feel that way about E Waugh’s humor
    too – that it is basically tragic – “this is all we can expect”. R. called
    this AM as I was rushing to get ready – I said I was surprised to hear
    from him, he said he “knew I was upset”. We could have had a little
    argument about who’s more upset but I said what have you been up to?
    Horseback riding out in Sperryville. (Doubtless not alone. What would
    be the point of that? He is such a pain.)
    Asked me when I was moving, when going to wedding.
    He couldn’t be hinting for an invite – if I show up with him my family
    will have me institutionalized for sure. They never could figure out
    what I was doing with this hysterical little man.
    We’ve said our fond goodbyes. If the ball is in his court,
    it died there. Need to buy a dress for wedding. Macy’s? My mother
    criticizes me for:


    1) Making money
    2) Caring about making money
    3) Needing money AND
    4) Buying inexpensive clothes. AND fake jewelry. A lady
    never – etc.


    You figure it out. Finished Farber’s essays – very bad book.
    He seems to regard the female orgasm as some kind of personal insult –
    “Now I’ve got this to contend with!” We’re not doing it to annoy you.
    Hopelessness on the subject of sex a grave inadequacy in a philosopher
    I would say. Merribeth sent me to the bank today – I was thrilled to get
    outside – when I came back Keith called down to say he was having
    lunch at the Hyatt Regency and had seen me walking and wanted to say
    hi! Nothing to say after that. I thought of inviting him to the Palace
    but what would be the point? Everyone would think he’s my boyfriend
    and it’s a tips killer.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

        10 PM Sun 24 Apr 77
    Very good day working "critic" at Pacifica radio. Worrying if I get 2nd job

    novel will suffer. Maybe Mr. Pierce will take care of that. Finished
    Shelley – why is Triumph of Life always the Triumph of Death?
    Nothing left to read – Natural Hist of Vampire; ho hum, Beyond
    Belief is a yawn, Spoor of Spooks holds some interest but grating
    tone. Finished scene between Nilssa and Labarraz – not really happy
    with it. Total collapse of self-confidence a real problem for an artist.

        Tues 26 Apr 77
    Keith Dalrymple came in to place a call and unfortunately

    asked me how I was. Threw myself sobbing into his arms. Scary bad
    news.
    R. called last night to say, “I’ll take care of you.” Then said
    I should move to Maine and get an apt I can “afford”!!! Then said he’d
    been comparing everyone in Boston with me – no one stacked up.
    Whiplash. “Taking care… isn’t that what hit men say? Butchers?
    Garbage men? He is schizo. The unspoken message is I have to be
    what he expects – clearly impossible. So why am I stuck? Why can’t
    I just move on?

        Sexually he’s spoiled me, alas. Must finish this goddam novel

    but I need to run around town in a G-string auditioning. Wish there
    was anyone I trust to show novel to but everyone’s taste is so weird.
    They don’t see what I’m trying to do and they don’t see any point in
    getting there. Must learn to please myself but I’m bone tired, dammit.
    Making a list of Sources of joy:
    Art
    Writing
    Sisters
    Dogs
    Nature
    The Beauty of Everything
    Friends
    Love?

        11:45 AM  Sun 1 May 77
    Keith softened me up by calling to ask if I’d been in

    his office. He smelled my perfume. (I hadn’t.) Agreed to go out with him
    Sat night. Just awful. Awful. Keep wishing he was literally ANYONE
    else. Dating someone who doesn’t interest you sexually is like trying
    to diet by ordering food you dislike. (I actually tried this. Ordered tripe.)
    Howlably stupid. Yet no one to howl to.
    R. says he’d “hate” to think I “needed” him and didn’t
    call. Am I the stupid one here? I think so. Sucker for punishment. Upstairs,
    Downstairs cheers me up a little. Considering renting little house in the
    wilds of Virginia. Or garden apt. utilities included. Dogs would like it –
    close to clubs. Read Eliz Savage’s Good Confession – very minor.
    Cleaning. Laundry, dishes, garbage.
    Thinking about Sylvia Plath and the problem of panic
    attacks. It’s all about learning to steer into the skid.

               Wed May 4 - 77
              Made illegal copies of novel at work, drove to Plush

    Palace in Virginia to audition. (10 Mins down Rt 1 from Woodrow
    Wilson bridge. 1 HR commute). VA pays better, mandates pasties
    & stockings, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms (I’m not kidding)
    makes sure you don’t sit with or talk to clientele. Amen! I was hired
    immediately $90 day plus tips. So pleased. Got a car appt Fri 13th
    so El Diablo won’t die on Beltway. Working Thurs, Fr. Sat and there’s
    no holdback, they pay you immediately. Buy G-strings & pasties
    Landover mall.
    Avril says R “betrayed” me. But do you “betray” someone
    by having a weak character? He can’t help it. A says he’s behaved
    so badly there’s no hope for him. I think he can’t make up his mind –
    he wants me only if I don’t want him. Plus if he finds out I’m dancing
    again he’ll want to “convert” me. (He’ll think I’m doing it just to torture
    him. I don’t plan to tell.) Gave A a copy of my novel to read – feeling
    insane – got to get reaction from SOMEBODY. Broadcast asks me to
    stay “on call” so Mr. Pierce has forgiven me or is desperate.

        Plush Palace – 9 PM Fri 6 May 77
    Very nice dressing room. Girl I’m dancing with (Darla) is just

    awful. Find the comparison very cheering. A gobbled my novel up, says
    it’s “deep” but “obsessive”; made me feel on right track. How much can
    I torture my audience? I‘ve GOT to stop blubbering and start fantasizing.
    Who CARES about the pathos of my existence? Make something up.

        Sat. 7 May 77
    House is mine! Everyone moved out.  (A’s & Mason’s new

    place just what they wanted – skyscraper urban nightmare.) Listening
    to opera, reading NY Times, feeling like a Big Success. Dog across
    my chest in blissful rapture. ($100 in tips last night!!!) R called to say
    I “always have a place with him” and He “has never taken my heart
    ring off”. Is he nuts or am I?

        Realize for the first time he says things he KNOWS aren’t

    true just to hear himself say them!! Just like the Victorians –
    mouthing something is halfway there! Because you’re making an
    effort! You could not imagine anyone more opposite from me. Hopeless,
    hopeless, hopeless, as the rock musicians say.

        Reading Bottle Factory Outing – so wonderful. (But liked

    The Secret Glass better.) Trying to numb weird longings to write ghost
    stories and eat chicken potpie (regression). Wrote first draft of a short
    story about a grandmother telling her shocked granddaughter about
    “the time I almost committed suicide”. Very matter of fact. Feel I’m
    recovering from “mono-soul-iosis” – not just R but my first marriage,
    Devon and everyone between. Shoulders asks to borrow lawnmower –
    asked me if I want to watch him use it. (He knows he’s pretty.) I do.

        7:15 PM 8 May 1977
    Feeling much better, like I’ve passed a turning point.  Wasn’t

    sure how much I could trust myself in the past, but if I’ve come through
    this, my core must be solid, instead of the jelly mass I fear. Sitting in my
    far-from-clean study beneath my poster of Blake’s God & the Angels
    enjoying an after dinner cup of coffee. Sanity returns. A. is coming tonight
    to get her flicati rugs – that will make the downstairs look empty. Trying
    to finish Household’s Courtesy of Death, so I can take all these silly books
    to the library, dump them, and get a lifetime supply of Peter de Vries. The
    only proven painkiller is laughter. My damn novel’s made a fool out of me.
    Time to admit it.

        3:15 PM 9 May 77
    Called into Broadcast to sub for Loretta.  Working on Devlyn

    galleys. The main scary thing about this place is that no one works
    here willingly. “Morale” is a poisonous miasma. Kind of like the
    architects’ office.
    Mom & Dad raise hell over A’s living with Mason. I thought
    they were so worked up about “commitment”! Sharing an apt is a
    commitment, isn’t it? Not according to them. Glad poor A is taking
    the storm for once and not me. Couldn’t cope with them on top of
    everything else. R. and I are trying to evolve into a “friendship”. I know
    it sounds stupid but there has to be some third place between
    attraction and avoidance because each of those is obsession.
    When I ran this idea past R he said I was his “best friend”. This is
    why he is so impossible to deal with. Best friend? He wouldn’t
    treat a pet the way he’s treated me (the SPCA would come and get him.)
    Speaking of Ryder, he just called. Finished my book,
    found the Black Mass a little short otherwise liked it. Didn’t say a
    word about “who’s Hank based on.” Thank God. He did ask who
    the baby’s father is – I said even Nilssa doesn’t know. According
    to R. I have “no problems”. (He doesn’t know about the dancing. I
    f he was REALLY my best friend I could tell him.) He says we have
    the whole rest of our lives to talk. He’s uncannily good at saying
    what I want to hear (unfortunately). Seeing him tonight. Take the bus
    home, buy wine, wash & set my hair. If only we could get to the stage
    where we no longer fear each other.

        4:50 PM Tues 10 May 77
    Well we’re not out of the woods yet but perhaps have

    found a path. Last night was like losing my virginity all over again
    – we were both so shy. Slept wrapped up and embracing. Many
    compliments on my body (no tell-tale glitter in the bed.) He said he
    was so upset by me breaking up with him at McDonald’s he can’t
    go to any McD’s anymore. Pledges of love somewhat ruined by
    an argument during breakfast about whether a novel can be “good”
    if no one will buy it. Uh oh. I tried keeping it philosophical, not
    giving historical examples he wouldn’t recognize (which would be
    “one-upping”.) Finally stopped when he got a call from a “goofy
    chick.” Should I be worried, I ask, and he says no. But I can’t avoid
    the sinking feeling that I don’t dare hitch my wagon to anyone
    so dependent on mass psychology – even as a friend – without
    losing my way.

        8:20 PM Plush Palace
    Getting ready for my 2nd set. Thinking hard I decide

    I need 8 months in Maine. I should quit Broadcast Agency right
    away (I think they need two weeks, poor bastards. No one wants
    to work there. When you have to quit a job that allows you to read
    you know its bad. This job lets me read and it’s a lot more interesting.)
    Stay there the summer at the very least. Just writing. The problem
    is, if I’ve got Mom and Dad working on my one side and R working
    the other, I’m like a chew toy.
    Horrible realization that if I told R I was dancing he would
    demand I quit and I might do it. So when I realize the person I need
    to be afraid of is me, it’s a Mary Shelley-like horrific moment. Trying
    to read Household’s Three Sentinels but all I can think of is those
    awful Juan Carlos coffee commercials; “harvesting de beans wid de
    donkeys”. My own life way more interesting.
    10 PM – It’s my diary that’s my best friend – tell you
    anything. Household’s women are unspeakable. Just got to the
    place where he describes being “turned on” by the hair on a woman’s
    upper lip. Doesn’t do a thing for me. Hungry, but maybe when I get
    home I’ll have a yogurt. Trying to save $1000. And stay away from
    the 12¢ donuts.
    12:55 PM In an hour I’ll be on the road and not a moment
    too soon. Fall into the arms of empty house & importunate dogs.
    Just ate a whole plate of cold French fries (not good). Boredom’s
    my worst enemy. Food at least feels like excitement. Such pathos.
    Gentleman Jim just gave me Thurs night, which is welcome.

        Broadcast Agency – Wed – 11 May 77 5:35 PM
    R. says his latest philosophy is “To Love is to Be

    Happy With.” He’s all worked up about snowshoeing and horseback
    riding as the cure-alls for anything that ails us; says he’s budgeting
    money to spend on me every week. I do not find this appealing.
    He’s a warm puppy, all right, but I’ve already got two of those. In
    spite of that I fall into a reverie where we buy an old house outside of
    Annapolis, slowly fill it up with precious junk and love each other to
    death. Need to go home, eat rice & vegetables, and give dogs a
    good long walk. Reading Martha in Paris but thinking about Alysse
    in Annapolis…

        7:50 PM Sun 15 May 77 
    Justifiably proud –  paid ALL my bills and sent off my

    galleys. Nothing like money! (Stupid car needs a new clutch.
    It’s always something.) Able to refuse “help” from Mom and Dad
    who are dithering about whether I need to be institutionalized.

        Told them I was working at a “restaurant” (Let them

    assume waitressing. They know I can’t cook. PP does serve food;
    State of Virginia makes people who serve alcohol serve something
    to sop it up with. Good old Virginia. ) Sent M & D a DEVLYN cover.
    $57 left in my acct.; $100 in my purse. (Open a savings acct tomorrow).

        Ordered a beautiful Vietnamese print ($80) for Genevieve’s

    wedding gift (last time she got married I sent candy. Well, I wasn’t
    invited!) Horseback riding did make me horny however – Ryder & I
    made love like a pair of wild animals. He may be compact, but he’s
    beautiful. Cleaned the entire house. Now darkness falls – means it’s
    time to walk the dogs. How I love peering into people’s windows.
    When I get back, strong tea with milk and the “splendeurs et misères”
    of Monica Dickens. Or will I succumb to that modern master of
    the Grimm fairytale, Agatha Christie? No poetry, but plenty of trolls.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

        Sat 9 Apr 77
    Mason & Avril moving out. I wash and de-flea dogs – take

    Them for a long run. Check Rolfe books out of library to incorporate
    into Father Vespula’s act. Supposed to see Black Sunday w/Keith
    tonight. I like Robt Shaw and there’s nothing else around.
    Had a chance to sell Bruce’s stereo for $100 so jumped
    at it.

        Sun 10 Apr
    Terrifying evening with Keith. We were at Gallagher’s

    (ran into Shoulders with Garrett & Opal.) Keith invited me to go
    to NJ conference with him! I am not willing to step from “dating”
    to “involved”. I have to face ugly truth I’m dating him to make myself
    feel better about an abusive ex-boyfriend who refuses to become an
    ex (because I keep inviting him back in.) Behind each mask is another
    mask. Shoulders said I can store “anything” in his basement if I want to
    take off for the summer (that would be nice.) Read Voices in an
    Empty Room by Phil Lorraine – just TERRIBLE. Every bad book sets
    me back another month. Received copy of Plumly Alumni Directory in
    mail.
    Reed dies in a climbing accident! He wasn’t wearing climbing
    shoes! He was always purposely careless. Challenging God I think.
    But it is very sad. Toss Sheffield “my bloodmate” is unmarried! Woo hoo!
    Wrote a poem about it.
    Met an attaché of the Trinidad-Tobago embassy at the
    library. He invited me to dinner. I said yes. Do I really need
    “big scenes” in Secaire? Can’t I use “psychic brushes?” Fear
    it’s a non-commercial mishmash. I want it to be unique – but
    they don’t like that. R. says I’m a beginner who is trying to take
    control. Probably true. Despising myself for wanting to tell him
    I’ve decided to take up dancing again. I don’t owe him anything.
    He wants me to make a big glamorous financial splash WITHOUT
    writing genre, taking money from Mom or Dad or dancing!!! Who’s
    the beginner trying to take control?
    Sat 16 Apr 77
    Told R no more phone conversations. They are
    not good for me. (He told me he cannot “allow” me to go to
    a male gyno!!! Just evil.) He countered, What if I need you?
    And I just started shivering. His seeming “tenderness” while
    he makes his attacks fools my brain (and heart) but not my body.
    I said let’s give it a month. Please. See what happens. I didn’t
    want to say why I’m trying so hard to live without him – but it’s
    because he makes me feel impotent. Pretty sure he hasn’t
    guessed. So I can still hold up my head a little bit. But he’ll
    figure it out fast if this goes on. He asked can he break the
    silence if he can’t bear it? I said yes. He wrote down the
    date of the reunion and that was it.
    Trying to read a disgusting student novel for Chloe –
    called her needing reassurance I don’t have to read the
    whole thing. It is AWFUL. Sex among art students. Bad sex,
    bad art. Out with Keith I got contact dislodged and started
    muttering about the fact that makeup and contacts don’t mix.
    I said to him, “You don’t wear much makeup do you?’ He said,
    “Just some base and a little color.” Funny.
    Mon 18 Apr 77
    Feel like I’m recovering from some awful disease.
    The slightest effort depletes me. Thinking about Keith;
    I don’t want a relationship without sex. It’s the staff of life.
    Going without is like dieting – attending parties where you
    watch everyone else partake. But I don’t want to have
    sex with him, and I don’t want a relationship that’s only sex,
    which appears to be what’s on offer from the attaché of
    Trinidad-Tobago. He invited me to the International Hotel
    for dinner – turned out to be in his room!! Room service!
    No thank you! I said. He says, “Nobody thinks anything of it
    on the “Continent” (which is ridiculous.) He is married, used
    a false name, please. I said No thank you. He had the grace
    to apologize mightily, take me to my favorite restaurant L’Escargot,
    and gave me a case of bitters from the trunk of his car ! How
    “break up” with Keith when we are not an item? I guess I just
    have to start turning him down. Chloe sicced some horrible
    poet on me who wants me to read her memoir. I don’t think I
    like the “literary life”.
    Tues 19 Apr 77
    Forcing myself not to call R. Starting to suffer sexually.
    Gotta have something. But I don’t want to see what lies beneath
    Keith’s suit.
    Wed 20 Apr 77
    Beginning the novel AGAIN in accordance with my
    latest idea. Reading Shelley at work. Chloe’s latest find, Erika is
    lesbian poet with a fetish for black girls. She picks them up at clubs.
    Kicks them out without breakfast. Ryder called. He doesn’t want to
    wait until the twenty-second because he will be in Boston for a job
    interview! I was polite but distant, listening to his tales of “growth”.
    Said he’s been “comforting” his friend Sherry who sounds like a
    poor wretch. I know I was supposed to get jealous but she sounded
    sexually unborn; “No one has ever really “touched” her. I know I was
    supposed to ask if he’d assumed the job. Refused. Did get kind of
    excited about Boston, however, telling him how wonderful it is. Bliss to
    shed all of this and just start over.

        23 Apr 77
    Mason and Avril borrowing $500 from Dad so they can

    move to Calif! Sounds definite. I’m sad. Don’t think he’s good for
    her but in my experience there’s only one way to find that out. If she
    goes I inherit a quantity of very nice furniture (including cute little
    rolltop desk.) Got 3 free bottles of wine from Amis des Vins so invited
    Shoulders over to celebrate. He is beautiful but has far too roving an
    eye for my comfort. (The Master of One Night Stands.) I need to rely
    on knowing where my next emotional meal is coming from. Or you
    can blame my compulsive need to be worshipped.

        Broadcast Agency – Wash DC – 21 Apr 77 4:55PM
    Peaceful job bordering on narcosis. Sitting in my own little

    office, feet up on windowsill till something happens – staff places
    most of their calls themselves. Switching over to newer system means
    my recently acquired talents soon will be obsolete and I am so
    backward in my thinking that this is just fine with me as long as
    they leave me alone for now. Reading more Woolf; her interesting
    artist/critic fusion.
    Avril called asking about R: Am I kicking and screaming
    sufficiently against my fate? No. I want him to show his real self to me
    in all its horror so I know where I am. Seems like he is good at saying
    he loves me and wants me when I am not around. No use to me. I
    demand constant growth & rebirth and he doesn’t like that. So, not a
    healthy state of affairs.
    Endless diet of vegetables & yogurt, yogurt & vegetables.
    To think I used to believe “being published” made all the difference! In
    fact, screaming madness seems just a shot away. How can you trust
    anyone who doesn’t know who they are (much less care who you are!)
    Walk myself to exhaustion at night through darkened Chevy Chase,
    remembering the old days when A. & I used to slip into people’s pools.
    Ah youth.

        Bus – 12:25 PM Fri 22 Apr 77
    Hot day, dreamy and content. Secaire at 40,000 words coming

    along just fine. Reading Rosalind Ashe’s Moths. 100 degrees out.

        5:15 PM
    Mr. Pierce rooting in my desk finds my pornographic sample

    telegrams. (They look like cut & paste objets d’art.) I say obviously I
    didn’t send them and he reluctantly believes me since they’re not on
    charge list. But he was horrified and looked at me with unpleasantly
    new eyes. My days here could be numbered. R. is triggering flashbacks
    to worst aspects of my marriage to Bruce. Our marriage failed because
    of his character: he dove for cover in a shelter that held only one. He was
    a weak, shiftless, spineless, pathetic liar, so now we know I have a
    propensity for those. Time for dinner? I brought pears, cheese, pineapple,
    bread. Finishing The Pursuit about Shelley – so involving and fantastic
    I should just start it over again the minute I get to last page (as I
    did with Anna Karenina). A good desert island book. I make a vow
    not to drink alone. Dangerously depressed. Sexual hunger is bad
    news. Standards could plummet. Pool of possibles restricted.
    Starting to understand how “good sex” can actually be a
    bad thing in a relationship. Wishing R will move to Boston to take
    care of my situation but he’s too much of a “home boy”. The opposite
    of a world citizen.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

      Mon 7 Mar 77
  Ryder says he talks so much about me associate director

    Kerry’s asked to meet me. (He told Kerry he doesn’t deserve
    me. It’s the truth!) I said he can’t come to our party at
    The Plum – we have no room.
    Sex too rough. Experimenting or letting his anger
    out? Maybe I’ve stopped lubricating – my body’s ready
    to quit even if I’m not. Wants me to wake up and smell
    the coffee. Lunch w/Maeve at Carmac’s, me splendid in
    orange leather suit, boots, bracelets. Bloody Marys.
    I gave her phone bill – also letter from collection agency
    about plane bill she said boyfriend paid for. He’s obviously
    running a scam on her. She says she found a Bethesda
    efficiency $180/month. Had to rush to get back to work –
    then saw List of Adrian Messenger with A. Made up writing
    schedule for Secaire. But the minute I start I get idea for
    another work – story about father/ daughter/ stepmother war–
    A Demon Roused. Who’s the demon? Reading The Ring,
    the Book & The Poet.


    11 Mar 77
    Sent home 3:30 because B’Nai B’rith under siege
    by terrorists (3 blocks away). Police will tell us when to
    come back. Real estate agent leads inspector thru house.
    Bad letter from my agent telling me not to try to sell “old” stuff,
    write in “new” vein – but she means “like Devlyn”. No more
    historicals for me!!!! Got to get out of this stalemated “love”
    relationship – when I tax R with things he’s said, he
    claims he “doesn’t remember” so we never advance
    and I feel diminished. Had to tell him sex is over – I can
    see he doesn’t believe me. Must ask for his key back,
    that should do it. Dragged A protesting to Freaky Friday –
    it was worth it. Barbara Harris Chaplinesque. Told Broadcast
    I will work only one full day per week – must go back to dancing.
    Read Ellen Glasgow’s The Woman Within. Trying to
    rewrite Secaire in third person. Unsuccessful. Dreaming
    about houses with deep, cool porches but tax people
    giving me only $112. A crying over Mason’s “hideous brutality”
    but she won’t break up with him. Ugh. (Feel my relationship mirrored.)


    13 Mar 77
    Made love with R for what I hope was last time
    (he brought lubricant.) His body no longer a key to mine.
    Think I’m started on Secaire Final Draft. God I hope so.
    R will sulk for a while, then we’ll “talk”. Prayed for the first
    time, to the “life source”. Pray away panic and disorder,
    pray for clarity, purity, calm. Beautiful long walk. Heat like July.
    Storm burst 4:30. Coffee, orange slices, do my nails. Re-
    read Great Gatsby, pitying Fitzgerald the while. Someone
    should write this novel from Daisy’s point of view. Exciting
    way to get back into Courtney – but I don’t want to put it in the ‘20’s.
    Told R I’m dating so had to invite Keith to All Night Strut –
    he was pleased. Says he’s not hung up on men paying for everything.


    17 Mar 77
    Everyone fussing about Scenes from a Marriage. It is excellent.
    Reading good bio Dorothy Thompson. Novel going swimmingly –
    suddenly feel fearless. Sex scene perfect. Why elaborate?
    Why elucidate? Need to be out of this house June 1 – can do,
    but should I return to dancing or take summer off? Undecided.


    Mon. 21 Mar 77
    Wish I hadn’t called Ryder but I did. He was very injured
    by my sex comments. I said I was very injured by the sex. (He says
    he fears me.) Goddamit feel like turning in my phone if this is how
    I am going to behave. Watched Upstairs Downstairs, Monty Python.
    Felt better. All Night Strut amusing – Keith invited me to Voyage of the
    Damned. (He pronounces it Dam – NED. In a class by himself after all?)
    Unfortunately not feeling the chemistry. Trying to take what pleasure I
    can in high heels and see through blouses. Could we just date? Secaire
    solid, beautiful, disturbing. Avril says its very exciting. Found a shack in
    Virginia for $200/month. But maybe I have to flee this state to eradicate
    R from my soul.

        23 Mar 77
    Voyage classically awful. Majestically, stupendously awful.

    Bad date. I talked too much. Goddamit dating’s awful. Like those endless
    “teas” we suffered through in Girl Scouts. Sex is less work (not that I
    indulged. He has a repellently gooey corpus.) He took me to Alfio’s
    for dinner! Scene of R’s & my first date! Couldn’t resist telling him I
    used to dance at Shalimar next door. Keith invited me to his house
    in Potomac. I said nix. Dumped on doorstep with closed mouth kiss.
    Shudders of relief. Walked in on Mason in a rage over my “betrayal” of
    Ryder!! I said he’s dating other people. Mason said but he loves you!
    I didn’t say his love is a septic condition. (Because Mason’s love is also a
    septic condition. Poor Avril.) Happily to bed with Becker’s Escape from Evil.

        2 April 77
    Crisis at work sending my first cablegram to France – Keith

    showed up looking extremely handsome. Terrible suspicions novel is bad.
    Gave Divina a hysterectomy to please Nicky. Not sure it works. Then off to splendiferous bash – literary party. Met Chuck Kornowitz,
    editor from Athenaeum. Acted interested in my work – where can we
    have dinner? Took him to the Serbian Crown. He is NOT interested in
    my work he is interested in me. Damn. Told me the most erotic encounter
    he has ever had was with a stranger in an elevator! Feels sex with
    complete strangers has not yet been fully explored!!! Not by me that’s for sure.
    He drove me home, insisted on walking dogs with me, holding
    my hand! Weird but I don’t want to turn him off entirely. (He’s old and ugly –
    looks like a Gila monster.) Fighting the impulse to call R and yell at him. Boy
    am I sick. Poor Keith does not know I need him for a rabies shot. Against hair
    of the dog?

        Fri. 8 Apr 77
    Agency offers me over-time while files are reorganized.  More

    cash. We celebrate A‘s new job as fake nurse at urology office. She has
    to buy a nursing uniform so patients won’t know. (Doctor not willing to
    pay over minimum wage.) Still, it looks classy. Went to Black Tahiti
    where I had sweet & sour shrimp. Turns out I need to stay away from
    booze because called You Know Who came right over and we
    indulged in mad passionate sex all night long. R was delicate and
    gentle – brought me to the edge several times before finally pushing
    me off cliff. Showoff.
    Talked about me like he’d read my work. (Praising it.
    Thought I’d be pleased.) Then told me he’d “busy” this weekend.
    Steeerike three! Tragically I need a guardian, conservator AND a
    bodyguard. (Keith doesn’t have the build.)
    Chloe apologized for bad writing workshop with dinner
    after at Armand’s. My advice to writers – learn what kind of writer
    you need to be and get on with it. Found myself getting defensive
    about Devlyn – if I don’t want to write “that way” again it must mean
    there was “something wrong” with it!!! Bad advice from Ted Hughes :
    “When you find yourself using someone else’s voice, stop at once.”
    Nothing ventured nothing gained under that theory. This is not making
    me eager to hit the “literary events” as Chloe advised. The “noise”
    interferes with my working mind.
    Hostile questioning from Mom and Dad who don’t know
    why I don’t move closer to Devon!!! All this “playing the field” is
    cheapening my brand. Reading Mrs. Starr Lives Alone.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

    10:30AM Sun 20 Feb 77
    R and I went on ski weekend to Massanutten.

    Didn’t work. Never felt so far from him, and he realized it.
    Opal & Garrett over for dinner last night – their relationship is
    boring when I’m alone and don’t have R doing all the work for me.
    Drank too much out of sheer boredom and because I was
    depressed over R, then I get depressed over being depressed
    and drink more. Clearly he’s worthless and I must be too if I can
    get depressed over him. No good work on novel. Filing, cleaning,
    paying bills takes up all my time and my room still looks like a filthy hole.
    Hermiting seems only option (cheaper, too). Must learn to roll
    with the punches.
    Fantasizing about Devon because 24th is his birthday. Bad sign.

        1:00PM 21 Feb 77
    Dizzy from dieting. Not dancing very bad for my body.

    Current weight 122. (Opal says I have the perfect body. Glad
    someone appreciates it.) Ryder suggested jogging – bad mistake.
    Instantly attacked by colds & flu. Instead of eating go to library on
    my lunch hr to take out books. Went to see The Sentinel somewhere
    in the burbs with Avril and Mason, who drove like a crazy person
    (“I’m not afraid of death!”) Never again. Ghastly flick. Mason moving in
    – his money is good. Another secret to be kept from landlord. A guy
    at work (Keith Dalrymple) is courting me. He looks all right, though
    he has receding hairline. Kind of old. Asked to read my novel. I gave
    him my poems instead. He needs to hit the ground running.

        Tues. 22 Feb 77
    Mason trying to talk A into moving to Calif with him. Uh oh.

    Maeve also wants to move out because I’m critical of her
    “dating” her married boss (they have sex in the supply closet).
    She believes his tiredest lines. “Drop him – he’s outrageous
    and destructive,” I say. I’m one to talk. Will use her room for
    my study. Try to live without roommates. Sent Devon a long
    grey silk scarf for his birthday.

        3:40 PM Wed 23 Feb 77
    Keith Dalrymple amazingly told me he loves my

    poems. Wow. Having good literary taste definitely works with me!
    Having a drink with him tonight. Had to struggle to keep myself
    from hurling cash at a gorgeous $50 suit in going-out-of-business
    dress shop on Dupont Circle. Slogging through Mrs Dalloway –
    it’s her best book. But all this blind struggle not my thing. Require
    some consciousness. I guess we were reptiles in those days just
    turning amphibious.

        Thurs. 24 Feb 77
    Can’t seem to write poetry anymore. Cocktail bar buffet

    with Keith (A calls him a “dim bulb”. We are very critical of each
    other’s honeys.) He’s a Woolf novel – smooth glossy surface,
    violence and trauma beneath. He is intelligent – quoted Frost –
    38 yrs old – divorced (was married 15 years!!!) I sat swilling
    Scotch and giving him the hairy eyeball – do I have the strength
    for this? He blanched when I ordered escargots chablisienne.
    Wouldn’t even kiss him. I demand exceptionality and refuse to
    settle for less. Whatever else you can say about Ryder, he’s
    definitely one of a kind. I am in a unique position compared to
    other women writers. Given the chance to rise above sexual
    strictures. Bought an exquisite pair of very high-heeled boots.
    I tower over Ryder – in more ways than one. Heheheh.
    Fri. 25 Feb 77
    I fuss, I fume. I shriek and scream. I circle my
    desk warily. Cannot get into this awful novel. Stare hard at
    the clutching sisters in the Victorian photo for inspiration.
    None comes. Instead slapped together a first poetry collection
    – In the Vein.
    5:20 PM Sun 27 Feb 77
    Ryder will be here any minute. Driving straight
    through from Pittsburgh because he “misses me so much.”
    Flank steak marinating, turnips, parsnips & parsley, tomatoes
    & sour cream – everything ready but wine. Too lazy to drive
    to the Tick Tock. Day of ecstasy sorting books in new study.
    Sections are: crime writing, Victorians, Great Novels, the Occult,
    Women Writers, Cinema, Politics, Science, Children, History &
    Murder Mysteries. (Move those downstairs.) Hating Orlando.
    Why did Bowen write Afterword if she didn’t like the book?

        Mon 28 Feb 77 – Broadcast Agency
    Bad sex. Sore.  Feel like I’ve been run over. Something’s

    up with him. Mauled me again in the middle of the night. Guilt?
    Surprise visit from landlord – heard about “violations” from
    Montgomery County. Ha ha. Obviously only two people living here –
    (nothing visible of Mason’s.) Landlord calmed. Says he wants to
    sell the place. Would we allow to be shown? I said sure. Everybody
    happy. Sorry to lose such a beautiful house but it is too expensive
    for one person anyway.

        Thurs. 3 Mar 77
    Long talk with Avril about Mason. He is a racist.

    She says how is it possible to feel superior to and inferior to someone
    at the same time? Human condition, I say. Spring wind makes
    me long to shed my clothes! Poor Ryder! It’ll be halter tops
    and hot pants the minute temp hits 65. Finally got a V. Woolf poem –

    VIRGINIA WOOLF:
    The Membraned Sieve

    O bliss to be red admiral afeast
    Upon a rotten apple in the grass; she dreamed that guiltily
    Woke to Leonard bringing milk
    Nessa dancing bear-like on the lawn, woke
    To pain; cylindrical as seasons
    Burning white and burning blue like friends.
    The words fell fast, the blood fell faster;
    Split the membraned sieve.
    She raced the whitecaps out to sea
    Parting the waves with her mother’s hand.

       Keith and I still talk but he has made no moves. Relief.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

        7:45 AM Mon 20 Sept 76
    R’s latest accusation is that I fell in love first!!  So weird.

    Reminiscent of ex-husband. Some version of gaslighting? It’s a definite
    power grab. He said he was “embarrassed” by my emotional intensity!
    I have a feeling he’s trying to cobble together a story he can tell other
    people. As for me, I’m trying to figure out what really happened. Used
    to think R’s lack of experience wouldn’t affect us but I can see it really
    has. Got my hair cut; of course I think it’s too short. Dreading what
    Genevieve will say.

        10:40 AM Wed 22 Sept. 76
    Woke up after horrible nightmare in which Jacqueline

    Susann showed me her cancer to have R drive me to the station.
    We’re in a financial nightmare – A’s rent check bounced twice so
    expenses going up. R says I have to start an exercise plan –
    since I can’t dance. He’s hilarious!
    Lunch with Ruby and my agent. Agent (Ruth) was euphoric.
    Starting to feel the book was written by a stranger. I tried so hard to
    make it English and Victorian – I NEVER want to do that again.
    Can’t say THAT, obviously, especially after Ruby remarked I was
    “so good looking we should make it a series.” Devlyn’s best gothic
    they’ve ever read! They both drank heavily while disagreeing with
    virtually everything I had to say about poetry and literature. Their
    recommendation: write a love story. Pity we don’t know what love is,
    isn’t it? I MIGHT be able to manage a sex story. Oh well. Genevieve
    full of secret divorce-and-getting-together-with-hush-hush-sweetie
    plans. Don’t tell Kent anything. He asks me what’s going on –
    I play dumb but not too well. He must know something’s up.
    Awkward! Walk to library and back thinking about St. Secaire.
    How make that a love story? Everyone’s a predator or an idiot.

        Fri. 24 Sept 76
    Checked my acct - $54!! Don’t know where it came from

    but I will spend it. Sent poems to Chloe Aparo, borrow bike from
    Shoulders. Ryder wants to go horseback riding, we went to see
    The Tenant instead. (Cheaper). R managed to discuss it intelligently.
    Trying to research the occult for Secaire. Reading bad suspense
    novel – Geoffrey Turtons Devil’s Churchyard. I liked all his other
    books. Dump it for Aleister Crowley’s Diary of a Drug Fiend. $10
    to live on for 2 weeks. Mom & Dad sent emergency check.

        6:25 PM – Sun 3 Oct 76
    Fabulous dinner party last night. Steak tartare, crab

    and cheese casserole, lots of wine. R and I fall asleep in each
    other’s arms. We have more sex “broken up” than when we were
    dating. Got offered $3.50 an hour for 4 hr a day legal secretary!!!
    Out of their minds. Trying to sell my wedding dress for $150 –
    got one porno call.

        Tues 5 Oct 76
    4pm appt with Environmental Defense Fund. Howard

    Nemerov such a relief after Auden.

        Thurs 11:30 PM 7 Oct 76
    Typical Tyler St evening. Lying in bed (alone) powdered

    and polished from bath. Maeve and Avril out on dates. R is working,
    I’m reading Quest for Theseus. Got too depressed reading
    Shirley Jackson. Her life solutions: food and cigarettes – plenty
    of both. Lost EDF job – as soon as they turned me down I
    decide I want it! To WTTG to apply for “production asst” job –
    200 people spilling into street! Didn’t bother. How write about
    love if it’s impossible?
    I owe Maeve money – she doesn’t like it and I don’t
    like it. Tension almost unbearable waiting for my check.
    R offered jobs in Pittsburgh & Detroit. (He says he
    doesn’t ever want to leave though it’s the only way to make more $$.)

        12:55 PM Wed 13 1976 These are the times that try

    women’s souls. Desperately accepted switchboard job at Broadcasters
    Agency because it looks easy and I can think my own thoughts.
    Replacing a girl going on maternity leave so I’m not stuck if I don’t
    like it. Agent sent check told me not to cash it for a week!!! Thinking
    they’re all scam artists. Reading Diane Johnson’s brilliant Lesser
    Lives.     Avril depressed over Mason. Maeve depressed over George.
    I am buying diet pills because of sedentary job.

        Switchboard Broadcast Agency 9:15 AM – Fr. 18 Feb 77
    New notebooks such a thrill. Always a fresh start:

    I could almost become anyone. Worked 3 full days this week –
    more $$ in the coffers. Avril coming in to Broadcasters Agency
    to apply for Zelma’s old job – $8500/yr for 7 hr day. Hope she
    gets it. Brought in The Voyage Out today – I WILL finish it –
    bring it to its knees. Perfect example of everything usually wrong
    with first novels. Don’t like her novels as much as letters and diaries.
    Talk about peering through a glass darkly. Oh well. Still drinking
    coffee and picking the fuzz out of my eyes. Period’s arrived with its
    usual exquisite timing. Once I’ve finished Secaire (needs a final burst)
    can rewrite Find Courtney. Sort of a love story there.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary a Dancer

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

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

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

        Sat 28 Aug 76 Shalimar

    Ryder tried to pressure me not to go to work by

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

        3PM Mon 30 Aug 76

    Wakened by air-conditioner going on – Ryder

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

        3 Sept 76

    Just back from the worst vacation of my life. Both

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

        17 Sept 76

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

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

        Sun. 12 Sept 76 – 12:05 PM 

    Yesterday turned down job at art gallery that would

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

        Mon 13 Sept 76

    Avril and Mike met me and Ryder at The Royal

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

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

    Cedarwood Chest

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

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

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

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


    train to make it work!

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


    will sell.


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


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


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


    delicious thing. Waves of ecstasy bulging, rolling and crashing


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


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


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


    a fledgling – flight pattern undetermined.


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


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

    Diaries

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

      Club Shalimar, Mon 23 Aug 76


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


    Rick is helping him feel better.


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


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


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


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


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


    probably wouldn’t dance. 


    The fact that something feels natural and pleasurable


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


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


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


    and I definitely don’t want to dance forever.


    Sometimes I think the whole problem is that he’s


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


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


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


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


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


    I’ll find something special or interesting.


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


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


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


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


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


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


    house. My guess is total strangers up and down Wisconsin


    Avenue have been hearing his heartrending saga of the misery of


    dating an exotic dancer.