In 1979 I borrowed a dime And stepped out in my party-dress To make a call. I’d need a cell phone now. A careless man said, “Find your own way home.”
St Theresa cut in on our line – A sixteenth century nun pierced by light Reminded me while kneeling there To cut my anger with the sword of bliss And revel in the sacred music Anchor-less.
I still seek among the faces Grief unstrung, listen to their emptiness Of joy undone Amidst the rage, the blindness and the fear; Recognize magnificence She told me would be there.
There are those (psychiatrists) who say Environment is All. I will raise my children with stimulation & excitement. I say routine’s the modern curse; we’re always hanging about like goldfish with our mouths open awaiting the next bell. Who lives more fully, a tiger or Walter Mitty? I say Mitty because imagination IS a life but no one agrees! In fact last night’s party turned into a “company meeting” where we all complained they work us too hard, yell at us too much and are too insulting in their criticisms. (Lucky they haven’t had a suicide.) They’ve turned us into a heap of Pavlov dogs and no one has the nerve to tell them this however.
Found my own personal philosophy perfectly expressed in the explanatory paragraph before Browning’s Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister (a most awkward poem in my opinion.) I abhor the Victorians. Ugliness refined to an art. Anyway, “Life is a moral testing ground and the call to the individual to realize his (or her) potentialities is also a call to meet the moral demands of his (her) world! So true!
I wonder how many people I’ve influenced to start diaries! JoAnn is starting one. She’s thinking of becoming a nun!
Thurs. 6 July 67 In the smoker listening to Jefferson Airplane. Fran says Grace Slick is bad for her voice but she’s attracted anyway. Jodi wants The Chad Mitchell Trio which is all western and warbly. I say there must be something in between – how about Night on Bald Mountain? Fran says there’s no singing, I say yes there is. I’m pretty sure the demons howl at the end. No different from Grace Slick really. Mousetrap opening tonight. Robin gave me a charming ring made from a silver spoon. We went to a thrift store so I could buy new jeans (and corduroys) – my old ones won’t stay up!
Sat. 8 July 67 Why has Robin such a small mind? BUT HE’S SO BRIGHT AND AFFECTIONATE AND WHO ELSE IS THERE? He’s grabby and pawy and the word No is against his religion. I dressed up for the Hawk because Michael Steele the MN reviewer would be there. Robin said we had to stop at his apt first but he wouldn’t leave. I got so mad I smacked him across the face as hard as I could. He was hurt, I apologized so he started up again! He produced condoms! I was insulted, he was angry. I told him Anything but That. We did manage some pleasure – I had several seizures. But men don’t like it if they’re not impregnating you, which is A Problem. I’m willing to grapple with birth control but not for this guy. He thinks never seeing each other again is a plus!
I kind of hate myself now. Feel like Lady Ellenborough – “too much trouble to say No.” Feeling emotionally stomped.
Sun 9 July 67 Long mosquito-slapping talk with Robin on the way to Denny’s party. He looked really good in a gold-buttoned vest. I couldn’t believe what a long walk it was until I realized he was going around and around the block! He says he is going through a stage and he wouldn’t have admired me if I’d said Yes! So it seems to be a game and he’s angry at me because I wouldn’t lose! Now that he knows I’m a fine person it’s time for me to lose! I was so upset I had to look away. This was supposed to make our future easier?
Merry Widow such a failure of a play. Dippy and trite. Between rehearsals Robin walked me to Lourdes Hall for dinner. We were relaxed like people no longer wary of each other. Or maybe I am exhausted. We were drinking coffee and eating dessert when I was paged – ship to shore call from “the yacht Gryphon”!
Mom and Dad are not coming to the play. Last weekend Genevieve brought her boyfriend Kent Winokur to meet them and Mom had a meltdown. She says he’s a bearded hippie, Genevieve says he’s a law student and Dad has a beard. Mom made Dad shave off his beard! They already knew Gen & Kent were living together so I don’t quite understand.
Dad said they want to go to VISTA together and VISTA won’t accept them together unless they’re married so they’re getting married! Mom wants a family wedding and they don’t. Dad’s loyalties are torn. Genevieve has always been his favorite daughter – I am barely “also ran”.
Avril wanted to talk about her cat Morgan (his name means “seafarer but they have to keep rescuing him with the net because he thinks he can swim.) She did say Kent has “long hair”.
Dad felt bad they canceled their flights – he knows I’ve been homesick but I reassured him that I’m having a marvelous time. I remember Genevieve making so much fun of Merrill’s wedding, also the idea of marriage – “How can she be sure?”
I told Robin all about it – he sides with Mom! Gave me a lecture on “social responsibility” that degenerated into a paen to noble pioneer women of the soil. He is hopeless! I told him to read Giants in the Earth and get disabused. He seems to look at life as having a “traveler” and a “wayside – who feels free enough to leave who. What if I refuse this wayside? He assures me somberly that Women who Forage will Be Foraged. I usually feel confident I can land on my feet in a conversation but with him bliss keeps turning to despair. I told him he’s a perfectionist but it’s not really the word I want.
Another depressing letter from Casey – I am getting afraid to open them. She says Brian Nydahl “gave” Marnie to Reed because Reed “loved” her more. Boil! I’m furious at the lot of them.
Tues 11 July 67 What a glorious day this has been – the change of directors makes an enormous difference! Mr. & Ms. Sullivan relaxed and cheerful, use Persuasion instead of Terror.
I think my body is beginning to listen to me. Mr. Johnson gave a ballet lecture to the nuns and we Dancing Girls demonstrated the moves. After the demonstration Sister Mary Rosycheeks plied us with sticky buns and cake. She told me my hair is the color of sunlight. She is so darling. These nuns are the best people.
Robin took 100 pictures of me (I warned him they’d all turn out bad) then rewarded me with lunch at the drugstore where we could relax in the airconditioning. When he bought me penny candy I said he was too lavish – he said I’m the only person who listens to him. Actually I’m the only person “expecting more” from him – every one else takes each other at “face value”. All the interesting stuff is underneath.
Jodi said we weren’t needed till 3 so we went over to Tempo and had a leisurely shop. Then time for bath! Hot water has the power to reshape me as if I were wax – white sundress – tied my hair back with a white satin ribbon. You look like Twiggy! Said the doorman and I felt complimented! I love the walk to the theatre, the old stone buildings, the greenery, the arches – this is a sort of paradise. Robin was waiting for me on the steps – rushed up and put his arm around me possessively. He said I looked like a tall cool glass of milk! Then he tried to talk me into staying an extra day. I said my parents need me.
When rehearsal started my joyous mood returned.
Rehearsal ended at ten fifteen so we could pile into cars for Mr. Johnson’s Mousetrap party in Wisconsin. Robin and I ended up walking on a country road beneath a sky ablaze with stars. I thought, this is not my place but it reminds me of my place. A satisfactory make-out session devolves into an argument about city people vs. country people. He says you can’t be both. If forced to pick I will choose the country just because it’s quieter but why choose? I said if you feel controlled by circumstances you will always choose the wrong things thinking you aren’t choosing at all; that’s why people should feel free. He got mad thinking I meant him (which in a way I did.)
At Tiplady’s party we listened to the entire score of The Fantasticks (which I saw for my sixteenth birthday.)
Back at the dorm reading Irving Stone’s Those Who Love.
Thurs 13 July 67 Everyone released from rehearsals at 10:30 except Maxim’s Girls – we kept at it till 11:10! Steve walked me back to the dorm – said all my freedom makes people think I am a “loose liver”. I said why can’t we just be friends and got the Victorian line: “It’s IMPOSSIBLE for MEN & WOMEN etc etc etc.” I’d be willing to kiss him if in the midst of it he’s not talking about hating me and hating himself.
We ended up wrestling against a wall – I kicked him with my newly hardened legs, trying to say he’s making me not trust him. He turned into an animal! He really scared me. I never imagined getting raped before but I see how it could happen. I’ve come unscathed through some pretty tight spots. I think I knocked his head against the wall. I said I’m sorry, He said, “Don’t apologize. It’s my fault.” But I can’t help berating myself. I shouldn’t even walk with him much less make out with him but I’m so hungry too! For passion and love and anything I can get.
I kept talking as we walked back – I can cheer myself up with the sound of my own voice. “I can’t figure you out,” he said, “You want sex and you don’t want it.”
“I like pleasure and I don’t like pain,” I told him but he still doesn’t get it. He thinks I don’t “do it” because he would despise me as he told me he would. But if we really aren’t going to see each other again, would that matter? (I’ve got a lot of boys despising me already; Beales, Reed, Shawn too, now, apparently.) I have to feel sex will be worth doing and I’ve almost felt it with other boys – just not with Robin. Am I “using him”? He says No!
I flippantly said I didn’t think I’d find the “right guy” before age 30. He said he thinks I’ll find him sooner than that. It definitely felt like a goodbye speech. I had to go around to the smoker to rap on the window to find someone to let me in.
He thought the reason he was getting nowhere with me was he wasn’t “forceful” enough! I’m praying he leaves me the hell alone after this. I think he will.
Sat 15 July 67 I should be so lucky. Robin grabbed my arm on the theatre steps and told me he’s going crazy. I said I have bad dreams too. He asked me to “fake it” for a week! I was blind with rage. I asked him to never touch me again. He asked if I’m going to write him off as “another mistake”. I shouldn’t have told him about my boyfriends – they aren’t “mistakes” even if we don’t end up together. (Beales was a little bit of a mistake.) I don’t accept what Miss Cluny says, that its what OTHER people think of you that makes you what you are! How could you become yourself?
Robin quiet during rehearsal – I just got the “reproachful stare”. It bothers me WORST OF ALL that he thinks GUILT is the way to get to me. Whatever I’m doing, I SHOULD be doing something else! This is the end. I don’t want to waste valuable notebook paper on Robin. Shawn’s the kind of man I would THINK I’d want but Reed’s the type I REALLY do. Artistic. Uh oh.
Pawed my way through Those Who Love. Much too slick and glib. But at least he’s reassuring me I’ve made the right decision! Finished O’Faolain – he’s not Mansfield but he does have something. Struggling with Mary Renault but I’m tired of The Ancient World.
So much has happened! I covet every moment! Screwtape Letters remind me every day is a gift and warn me against reverting to self-pity. CS Lewis amusing & cultured. Unfortunately his God demands belief and I do not believe in a jealous God. Jealousy’s a sin! Also don’t care for “forcing” prayer. Is it a tribute? I pray to my inner resources every day!
Finished Quennell’s Byron – Years of Fame and started Miss Bigland’s Lord Byron; sheer plagiarism!
Reading Waugh’s Men at Arms instead. He is a genius! I think we would look like his stumbling, bumbling characters if we could view ourselves objectively. The weird part is Waugh LIKES the army! I guess he makes fun of everybody.
The Madwoman of Chaillot is a failure because everyone knows going in that rag pickers with daisies are Good and Presidents in tall black hats are bad. But we don’t live life like that!
Spent half an hour putting on my gypsy makeup. Jodi very worried that I don’t do it the same way every night! Looking forward to Tiplady’s party – having someone interesting to talk to makes everything worthwhile.
Tues. 27 June 67 Everyone got drunk on beer at Tiplady’s party. I hate beer! I guess I should be glad there weren’t whisky sours or Purple Jesuses. I cold-shouldered Robin and he grabbed me and kissed me in front of everybody! Told him I forgive him. I’m the forgiving type. We danced and sat around. He stroked my thigh beneath the table.
Horrible letter from Shawn – a more prosaic and fatherly epistle cannot be imagined. Why do all boys flunk writing? If they knew the power it confers! Maybe Robin will do better.
Shawn is a Victorian – working hard to separate girls into “types”. (He’s the “Victorian type!”) This is the boy who bit my breast! I ran right up to dorm after and refused to talk to him until he apologized over and over. Obviously to his way of thinking it’s somehow subtly my fault! His bad letter had the good result of keeping me from missing him so much. I let Robin stroke my belly, even though if he was Shawn it would have given him “dangerous ideas”.
Got a coveted part of Dodo in The Merry Widow – a Maxim’s dancer! I didn’t even want to try out I was so convinced of my own inferiority but Mr. Johnson made me! Abject humility! Mr. Dolan was very polite about my reading – he is the best of the professional actors here. (He completely saved the last play.)
Alas the play is hopelessly insipid. But we do get a lot of fun costume changes. (I run right up to the audience, throw my skirts over my head and show them my backside! This will be especially fun with a theatre full of nuns!)
We have been working so hard I am a living bruise. Back to the dorm to boil myself pink, enjoying Gladys Schmitt’s very well-written Rembrandt. It’s full of trivia but LIFE is trivia. She’s latched onto a great theme – birthright sold for a mess of pottage. Of course if you need pottage, what are you going to do?
Solitude is as refreshing as a meal. Starting to feel bad for Casey – she doesn’t know what she’s getting into. I must be a trial to live with.
Wed Jun 28 67 The girls here are a really good bunch. I am sorry I was such a snob. Outward differences really are skin deep. Shows how prejudice can be defensive.
I am happy, struggling to achieve the balance between solitude and group endeavor. Carrie Benoit, Jeannie Morrison and Kathy Knoop are all the dancing girls – we have such fun together. We have to lace each other into ridiculous children’s tutus that barely cover our backs!
Thurs. June 29 – 67 Today was the sorest I’ve ever been. I am cross-eyed with exhaustion and half way through the ballet I was shot. I can’t believe they picked me for this! They must be crazy! The worst part is doing it over and over. I can see all sorts of shortcuts but I am not allowed to take them (I’m already faking a split beneath my skirt.) Ballet is a punishing discipline. I think it may have been made up originally as a punishment. Sleep without dinner (two oranges and iced tea) my jeans are HANGING on me. Mr. Johnson says the soreness goes away and leaves fine muscle. I hope so. I think I’ve just about stretched myself out.
Robin invited me out but I didn’t want to be alone with him so we went to the Black Hawk. Fran and John sat with us – I think they have the ideal relationship (they live together but it’s a secret.) Fran’s a dancer now that poor Jeannie threw her knee out. Occupational hazard of cancan dancers! Feeling indestructible (fingers crossed.) Think I am finally growing up – I hate it when Casey or Aynsley say they wish they were children again! UGH! To be my own mistress at last is all of my dream. Letter from Casey that she 69’d with Dan! Shudder. I can’t visualize it – what do you do with your knees? Letter I longed for from Mom I didn’t get.
Tues 4 July 67 Coldest July fourth in history! No tan possible under these conditions. Last year I had to rub my body with ice cubes and 4711 to get the fever down, now I lie beneath 2 blankets and a spread, swilling tea. Sooner or later all this tannic acid is going to catch up with me. On the other hand Mr. Nichols says tea’s the reason the Brits conquered the world – their insides had turned to leather and they could tolerate anything.
First day we’ve had off! Washed my hair, did my laundry, finished Waugh’s Men At Arms. His Catholic confusion really starting to show. He hates everybody for not following the rules, on the other hand they think they ARE following “the rules”. Constantly changing the rules is not helping. Also finished The Killing of Sister George, which reminded me of A Thousand Clowns. Preferred George for technical reasons, Clowns as a play. Study of the individual floundering in a cage a lot more interesting than the cage myself, if you get my meaning.
Reading Sean O’Faolain’s tales with occasional snacks of Shelley and Baudelaire, when I get bored which happens often because he’s no Chekhov or Henry James. The Darling and Europe still stand alone. Luckily Baudelaire comes with the original French. Would you translate:
“Des costumes qui sont pour les yeux une ivresse Des femmes don’t les dent et les ongles son teints Et des jongleurs savants qui le serpent caresse”
As
“we have seen wonder-striking robes and dresses women whose nails and teeth the betel stains and jugglers whom the rearing snake caresses” sacrificing beauty for rhyme?
Makes me wonder what’s really going on when I read Yevtushenko.
My feelings for Robin are a wild seesaw through indifference, unaffected affection and outright rudeness. Had it out with him on our walk. I hate this “game” – can I get my hand up her thigh? Will she let me touch both breasts? It pushes us apart.
He said “Do you realize after three weeks we may never meet again?”
I said, “If we stand long enough in Piccadilly Circus they say we’re bound to see each other.” He was very huffy: “I’m not going to Piccadilly Circus!”
He called me a “prick teaser” so I called him a bastard. There’s even less in it for me than there was with Aiken! I refuse to walk with him any more, will only see him at The Black Hawk.
My diet of One Meal a Day (can’t be bothered to leave my room) plus constant dancing has exposed all my ribs. I’d like to be even more emaciated but have no will power (two ice creams for dinner!)
Frannie’s having a party tonight and Robin WON’T be there! A welcome change.
10:00 PM – Party Castle – Wed 27 Jun 79
The inevitable panic reaction has set in – am I out of
my friggin MIND? But it’s my battle and I’m dealing with it. I hear myself saying WAY too much around him as if tempting him to find something to be disgusted by and to reject me – why can’t I just shut up and enjoy this?
Because I can’t believe he really loves the real me – we haven’t seen each other in 10 years. I plunge gratified into the dizzying sensory experiences – he is very sexual and willing to talk about it – everything he says turns me so ON. Heavenly night of ecstatic sex. Trying to go SLOW, not empty out my bag of tricks all at once. I resent my own anxieties and my fear of being vulnerable. Here at work I wrote a poem about our past – The Duel. Will I ever be able to show him?
I even like his snobbishness – he’s more elitist I guess you’d say. He assumes we’re “up there” – and it’s others job to qualify, to climb up to “our level”! That’s so refreshing after Usher Glayne’s weirdness! He just takes it for granted we’re in a class by ourselves; special people trying to do special things. And our tastes are so similar. He doesn’t plan to stay in Kentucky – wants to live in New England with its fall, its woodstoves and frozen lakes. I can barely comprehend such confidence much less contain it. Imagine being free forever from the fear that the party’s happening elsewhere. We ARE the party.
I said I felt safe with him – he said he wasn’t sure that was justified – looked at me like a beast longing to rend, but restraining itself. Wild frissons! He must be horrified by how fast things are going – I have never met a man who wouldn’t be. But he’s driving this train. Told me he’s been so celibate lately – very upfront discussing his discouraging relationship with a virginal anorexic perfectionist frightened by everything who compensates by torturing herself and all the people around her. In a flash I realized, that’s exactly what Devon is also.
Toss says he feels “stormed” by me –dizzied – by who and what I am, the summit of my “magnificence”. Wow! Such flattery very scary. How can he possibly mean it? Yet he seems so honest, so open. What will he do when he finds out I am human after all – a creature of mud and sludge like everyone else?
Reading Margaret Drabble’s The Needle’s Eye – not so good as The Waterfall – beginning to be turned off by her towers of verbiage. My own life is so much more interesting. Good phone con- versations with Toss – I am beginning to trust him. When I told him what I do for a living he was totally unfazed. “I knew you couldn’t get that body walking!” Tomorrow we explore Annapolis.
Party Castle 12:05 am 2 July 79 Wrote D an angry farewell poem.
“HOW DID YOU MEET?”
You saw me naked I saw you too close- up. You hovered, teaching Between the green glimpses. You drank vodka, I drank wormwood. You cut mountains down to size; I’d no idea that one could take such charge of space. Now I’m a toad-dweller, Nostrils pierced by thorns I Fall face-first into every hole; You were the king the ghost pines saluted. How you dove and danced! Speeding through your love-drunk universe, you Infected me with your own whiteness Dizziness, till all my blood drained out. You challenged God; I was the echo following after. Yet here I am after all this time And nothing promised remains of you.
Or, “Good luck with Sleeping Beauty’s castle!” That’s what he gets for messing with my heart. Can’t show anyone – most certainly not him – and it isn’t really finished – and I don’t think it ever will be. But thank God for diaries. Diaries can be told anything. Reading Secrets in the Family – it is so superb I am going to buy copies for all my sisters. Looking forward to discussing it with Toss. I’m beginning to miss him now – he’s so deep and interesting to be around – so alive on many more levels than anyone else – challenging all my levels. Falling in love – happy, crazy.
Thurs 11:05 – Plush Palace – 5 July 79
Back at The Plush – its catch as catch can in my
present situation. I am alienating managers left and right. But I am happy crazy and who cares?
Because on the third of July Toss asked me to
marry him and I said yes! Here’s how it happened. On Monday night we ate white clam linguini and crenshaw melon while listening to Keith Jarrett’s Koln Concert – then – came together in delicious, soul-freeing sex; two perfectly matched combatants recognizing each other not just from childhood and youth but school and dreams. He was eager to learn how I could best be pleased – so I surrendered to the inevitable. Fireworks!
He left me sleeping there in the AM – I heard thumping downstairs but I know he has roommates so didn’t think anything of it – when he came back for lunch he discovered the door broken in and my purse missing. Keys, wallet, everything. I had to call into work – had to call a locksmith to give me keys to my car.
Toss doesn’t know what else they stole because he doesn’t know what else is supposed to be in this house – called his roommates. They came, police came. So we spent a day of intense babbling and the worst kinds of petty annoyances – but none of it mattered because he was there. In fact, I welcomed it; it was an extra opportunity to be together.
At one point I said, you know, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. He said, if I believed that, I’d ask you to marry me. I said, if you did I’d say yes. So he said, “Do you want to get married?” I said, “I think so,” and there it was! He said I’m the only woman he has ever wanted to marry much less asked. We even chose the children’s names – there are going to be two of them – a boy and a girl of course; one named after Reed and one a combination of our addresses! Had to call Aunt Frederica to give her the good news because she’s the one who had to give the hospital permission to stitch me up ten years ago after our first unfortunate night together! (She was drunk of course.) Toss asked me to come back to Kentucky for his last year of law school. I “shouldn’t miss this part of his life.” Dogs too, natch – we are a package deal.
He has a house he’s rehabbing that has so many rooms it is known as the Hilton. When I said I would come that was more important to him than our engagement even. He says I can file f or divorce in Kentucky’s understanding Commonwealth. He ordered a case of Moet Chandon, saying now we have to drive up the coast and tell everybody. I am a little scared to tell my parents – this suddenness might only seem another strike against me. We told Avril and Maureen – they just stared – obviously thinking we both have lost our minds – it will take them awhile to believe in it. I told Avril about Kentucky – she says she can handle the house; she can always rent out my room to a college student if she feels pinched. I want to leave some money with her – at least $1000 – had the brilliant idea to sell my car. Wouldn’t want to be impoverished in Kentucky and I don’t want to be on “retainer” from T.
Last night I read Toss The Duel and his eyes filled with tears! He said the only flaw he sees in this arrangement is that one of us must surely predecease the other! Could it really happen? Could we grow old together? Could it be that I will never make love to another person? Wrote a short note to Bruce, telling him I will definitely be needing a divorce, sooner, rather than later. Now I am trying to write a short note to D; but honestly, what is there to say? Summing up our relationship seems only to dismiss it. He has already fallen far, far back into the past. Toss is my future.
The Duel
Europe without you Was a funeral feast. I recall the procession of your letters Far better than The stream of luckless suitors Trying to distract me. Virgins aren’t distractible. Your seductive missives stalked me. Your fatal ploy was that nude photo Adam lonely in his garden.
I came right home. I well recall the ceremonies Of that night! Your shyness My perfume Our ignorance Wild and hard A riderless horse. I did cry out as the candles burned. I swear there were some moments when We actually saw each other. But if this magic sword cuts both ways Why was I the only bleeder? They peeled me off And dropped me down a mile Of antiseptic hallway – A princess in a bucket. It could have ended there But at your school I haunted you A chilly-breasted demon. My daytime incarnation seemed mature: I fooled everyone; We chatted as you prepared the skin. I bit down hard and Tasted only Suture wire. You wrote and broke off Our association. Years groaned by Like convicts chained We served our terms with no time off For bad behavior. Lust had luster, Excrement was ecstasy.
The castaways the whirlwind Flung upon the sand Were calm, polite We knew our way around. But That look you gave me! Our unborn children shivered In their sausage skins Fully aware Their time had come. The tale was done The frog-mask Shivered off We saw: The you of you The me of me – Masks Unmirrored Scars Unscored Virgins not but Innocence Restored.
Party Castle 8:20 PM Fri May 18 - 1979
Fasting all day so feel much better. Two more sets. I am
the only dancer willing to dance to Baker Street so they keep playing it for me and it is a tiring song. However all that stretching is good for my muscles probably. Reading A Time to Keep Silence. Secaire has got me on a religious kick.
Genevieve’s Apt. off the Park – NYC – Sun 20 May 79
It’s me laughing and joking and eating a whole box of Entemann’s cookies – and it’s not me. Family. The constant ache of having so little of myself accepted. It’s like being with people like Usher, really – they want such a little piece of you. The worst part is, you get so used to the pain you can’t imagine life without it. Thank God I am usually content to be alone.
Went to the Whitney – gave me some ideas to recast Memory – unfortunately not ones people will like. I want to make it even more choppy and episodic– rather than “telling the story –“ which is what everyone seems to want. But that’s the only way I can get excited about it – I would like reading it to be like visiting an art gallery.
Queen’s Chapel Rd – Tues 22 May 79 That trip helped. I feel better, more focused. My new agent submitted Memory to Putnam who loved it but said they had just published a book with incest theme! Goddamn it all to hell. But their reaction cheered me up – they didn’t say anything about choppy, episodic, incomprehensible motives, etc. So maybe I’m a real novelist and not just a bad poet hungry for money. Making plans for The Lives of the Dancers – a poem for each one. Fun. More fun than novelizing with such a hideous plot – can’t seem to get my people out of the airport.
Write a haiku BECAUSE THEY’RE EASY. Relief.
Harness UP – ON WEARING A BRA
Two kinds of clothes – Comfortable and un: Two viewpoints: Supportive and –
Fasting again today. So horribly fat right before my period it would not surprise me to go into labor onstage. Apparently no one else has noticed I have lost my waist. Have agreed to see Devon in Boston next month. I am going off birth control so we will see what happens. I feel sure I can get him into bed. But never telling him he is a father? Can I pull it off? I will try. Getting past block in my novel by having different characters tell different parts of the story.
I give up on Pamela Hansford Johnson. Holiday Friend is The Perfectionists all over again– but not as good.
Party Castle 12:35 AM – Fri 25 May 79
Funny how it all comes together sometimes. Dancing
tonight has been ecstasy – is it the fasting? I am cutting my schedule at the Plush Palace – the audience here is so much better. They are really quiet and intense. Probably because it’s so close to the FBI. They get the same relaxation from watching us that you get from a tank of tropical fish. Except of course with a sexual frisson that reminds you you’re alive. Read Laura Hobson’s The Tenth Month – pretty shocked by a doctor who would prescribe Nembutal to a pregnant woman. But that’s the way they were back in the Dark Ages.
Now I’m on Highsmith’s Edith’s Diary – which is fabulous – the review in New York Times was downright immoral. Books should not be reviewed by the stylistically tone deaf. Reviewer should be open to many styles – I don’t think that’s too much to ask. The idiot. Went on stage glittering with body jewelry – big stones. Big tips.
Queen’s Chapel Rd – 28 May 79 – Memorial Day
Very staid and old-lady weekend working on the
house. We have a wonderful big backyard with gas grill – A. and I “broke it in” yesterday for shish kebab. Last week’s trip seems months ago already.
Thought about getting pregnant by poor D all day. Am I using him? Is it wrong? Nah. I am giving him a chance to be more than he is – and he doesn’t need to know if he can’t handle it. I haven’t even told Avril about this – and I won’t unless it actually works. With my irritating body I might not be able to get pregnant just because I want to.
A and I saw Peter Sellers in The Prisoner of Zenda – just awful. Sun went back to the Unitarian Church – unfortunately it was a downer. The worst memories of childhood surfaced as we were lectured on current events as if we were a class of high school students. I would rather hear about personal fascism than international fascism – that is the real spiritual problem. Bullying a captive audience seems eminently fascist to me. We recovered at Ms. K’s Toll House – such a fun place. Spent the afternoon trying to write a poem about how beauty and finiteness are the same thing – when we love someone’s beauty it’s their mortality we are in love with. Not laying a glove on it.
Saw Alien in the eve – the treat of our lives – what a rollercoaster ride! We both adored it. I’m now officially giving up on reviewers – the Washington Post said it wasn’t as good as Star Wars. What is wrong with people!!! Apparently reviewers have to pass some sort of idiocy test.
The “cure” was completed when I crawled into bed with Bloomsbury Portraits. Fabulous people. These are the ones my father refers to as the “sexual degenerates.” I adore their interior decorating. Sex lives not so much. Going to ask Maureen to make me a dining room mural.
By sheer good luck I don’t work till Wed. So I get a
real rest. That feeling of pressure negatively impacts my work. Slept twelve whole hours – which means I may be up half the night – but I don’t mind if it’s productive. I especially like walking the dogs in the middle of the night so I can ignore the leash law. They are so good about voice command.
2pm 30 May 79
To my surprise novel goes well. Finished first bloodletting scene. Reading Flannery O’Connor’s The Habit of Being – love it. Dreading work tonight – not ready to get back.
1:15 AM 31 May 79 Hard night. Feel like I have had some protective coating scraped off my eyes and I can see everybody’s pain. Everyone is in pain. Not pleasant.
Plush Palace Fri night 1 June 79 7:50 PM Had to stop at dance store to buy fishnet Danskins on my way to work. (Kristi darns hers but I’m too lazy). Horrible traffic jam coming and going – then they were out of the ones with the seams which are the only kind that properly shape the buttocks. So I bought a black pair. They only look good close-up. So I arrived in an automatic bad mood – put on my black costume with the little mirrors. I’ll go to the Maryland Danskin’s tomorrow. Feel better after a couple of bourbons. I can see how dancers get into the booze not to mention the bute. I am trying to do too much. Working, fasting, writing the Great American Novel (it’s turning into the Great Canadian Novel) – something’s got to give.
Two bagels, two bourbons, then I’m cutting myself off. Zachary coming in tonight. I feel I’ve had it with the purely recreational sex (with quarrelsome underpinnings) that is all he has to offer. At least I have a good excuse to turn him down till June 22 – I’m booked solid. Idly reading George Weinberg’s Self-Creation. Ho hum.
Working with Kristi tonight. She has the most perfect body I have ever seen but is totally neurotic about it. She can’t appreciate it herself. I speak to her in monosyllables because I don’t want to get sucked into her game of “How can we improve me” that she lays on other dancers. She’s a “yes, but”, never pleased with anything. Fatima came in hawking her used makeup. She is so bizarre. Claims she needs to sell everything for an “important medical operation.” Won’t say what it is – she probably just wants to ruin her breasts as is the fashion lately. Maggie’s breasts are hard as stone. She’s destroyed her own body. The air is heavy with female paranoia. Specific personal worries degenerate at a moment’s notice into far-flung government conspiracies. Nervous about upcoming visit with D – at least twice a day I decide not to go. If he knows me better than I think he may guess what I’m up to.
8:30 PM Sat 2 June 79 Rescued today – got four nights work instead of a possible six. Thank God. Bought wonderful music on the way to work at discount store – all Tchaikovsky’s orchestral music and Purcell’s Fairy Queen. Therapeutic listening after boogy-oogy-oogy.
My parents finished Memory – want to know who Oz is based on. Uh oh. That rattled me. Should I tell? Decided not to and feel like a coward. But they wouldn’t believe me any way and that would be way too painful. They translate any vulnerability or sharing into “no wonder you’re so sick”.
D’s most recent letter suggested canceling our date – he’s about to be ordained and must “purify”. He wants to escape from his past – which I’m a part of. Get it? He knows me so well he psychically intuited where I’m at, or more likely he inhaled a whiff of neediness and we can’t have that. He must be the needy one.
Zachary and I went out to breakfast after work last night. For an “artist” (I use this term very loosely) he has less intuition than a stone. His compliments are so over the top I am filled with disgust but he doesn’t appear to notice. Had a horrible insight I now can’t get rid of. I am his Devon – the Great White Whale. Horrors! Will he now try to get pregnant by me? Thank God, the sexes AREN’T the same.
Feeling a little slowed up by O’Connor’s prejudices in Habit. She seems too content to be a creature of her era. Tried to read Caroline Gordon because of friendship with F – but not my cup of cappuccino. She is Edith Wharton strained painfully through Somerset Maugham. Instead I am branching into a self-help jag – brought a book tonight called The Gift of Grief. Is this a gift anybody wants?
Avril and I trying Silver Spring Unitarians tomorrow.
Party Castle Tues 5 June 79 – 12:35 AM Devon ordained Sunday. I blew up under all the pressure yesterday – sobbed and sobbed. Avril said she would go out, get a part time job and just give me the money. I am so jealous of her for being a full-time student I guess. What an idiot. I apologized. I am experimenting with giving up writing. Why force myself to do it? I just won’t do it – enjoy life and job at least for awhile – till I have to write. We’ll see when that is. Trying to read bio of HP Lovecraft. There’s an object lesson wrapped around a cautionary tale.
Thurs 7 June 79 2:40 PM Foolishly agreed to go to the Belmont Stakes with Don, my patent lawyer who is now a regular at the Castle. (He has forgiven me for my hair.) Now I want to back out. He says we can have separate rooms, he’ll pay for everything, etc – he is going up with a whole party of people. I can’t believe I am going to get into this whole ordeal of having to get to know someone again. What would he do if I said absolutely nothing about myself? He doesn’t even know I’m a writer, for example. And if I go to Belmont, can’t see Devon. It’s all too stupid – have to think of an excuse to get out of this. If I ruin him as a big tipper what a dope I am. I guess this means I have gone through the whole dating thing and emerged out the other side. Ready for the next stage – whatever that is. Invited again to present at the Writer’s Conference at Coltsville. Shall I tell them I’ve given up on writing?
Castle – 11 PM – Thurs. 15 June 79 Don came in wearing tennis whites (purple in the black light) complete with racket like a Noel Coward character. I told him I was emotionally involved with someone else and just couldn’t go. He just sort of nodded and left without getting a drink – or tipping me – so he probably came in only to see me. Relief. Freedom beats money any day. I secretly hope he never comes in again. I will live without the tips. I applied for a MasterCard – hoping that will give me a backup way to manage emergencies. Dramatic scene with Jordana tonight – she came in sobbing – her boyfriend wants her to marry him and go to Florida and she doesn’t know what to do.
I said what I always say, take the risk. So she quit. Managers are furious with me.
Queens Chapel Rd – Sun 17 June 79
Exhausting weekend at seminar. I was supposed to
give a reading from Blood Memory. I was a nervous wreck beforehand, sweating, had to switch my breathing to manual – the works. It went fine. There was so much silence and building tension – then at the end, the release was cathartic. Bravos. That was the good part of the conference. The classes were the bad part.
Students disappointed that I’ve had only one book published and I’m still poor – they feel I might not be a “real” writer and I don’t blame them. Lamely told them about switching agents. I could have used some more stage presence or at least some bald-faced lies. My lack of confidence was broadcast far and wide. Having my period. Damn.
Starlight – Sat night – 23 June 79
What a week! I have discussed it with Avril in depth
but I still don’t understand it – I’ll just write it out and see what happens. Got a letter from Toss Sheffield of all people – my blood-mate from high school – a wonderful letter. He read my poem in the Alumni Directory and noted I was “divorced”. (Of course, technically I’m still just separated because of Bruce’s malfeasance.) Toss is working with Ralph Nader on Three Mile Island in DC all summer and wants to see me. The rest of the time he is a prizewinning journalist studying law in Kentucky. Woo hoo!
Timing could not be better – my restlessness desperately seeks somebody new – someone I don’t have to explain my childhood, schooling and family to. The Boy Next Door! At the very least I could use him as a cat o’nine tails on Devon (which he royally deserves). Last Wed night Devon showed up in the middle of the night on his way out to California. More push me – pull you. Very unsatisfying night as we finger each other gingerly like priceless objects pre-smashed, badly glued and inexpertly set. He invited me out to Calif. in Sept. Long wait, big ticket, which is the story of Any Girlfriend of Devon’s Life. Might be able to manage if I get that MasterCard. On the other hand said our parents were “hoping we’d get together” which is major turnoff.
GiGi came in again. She obviously misses us. Said she saw Buck the other day and he spoke of me fondly. There’s a load off my mind. Leave ‘em sighing, that’s my motto. Toss Sheffield put the phone number of the house where he’s staying in his letter – I’ll call him tonight around ten. Wait till he finds out what I do for a living. Or I might not tell him. It all depends on him.
He said he missed me at our tenth reunion – only went because he thought I’d be there! I didn’t go because I didn’t want to “explain my life” – and if I tell him, there’s a possibility everyone might know. Can I handle that much exposure?
Struggling to read Joan Didion’s Slouching Toward Bethlehem but she is pretty depressing. Read Millheiser’s The Mirror. Absolutely stank. What was Putnam thinking of to choose that novel over mine? Shows there’s a factor here I don’t understand. Wish I was a multizillionaire with my own publishing co.
Castle 26 June – Tues – 10:30 PM
How to describe my ecstatic dinner with Toss? He
opened himself up to me like a book. “Take. Read”. He loves the universe but in a healthy way – vibrates to it and wants to be overwhelmed, then empowered by it. Just like me! He explores the DC area with the zest of one “learning” a foreign country – touchingly amazed that one eats the whole of a fried crab – “Even the eyebrows!”
We discussed everything – politics, theology, my marriage – his parents’ divorce – his horrifyingly determined Catholic virgin of a high-maintenance girlfriend – he chose her because she reminds him of his grandmother. And he admits it!
This is all scary but I feel I must ride with it. He is so intelligent – such a relief to talk to someone who knows the difference between a prodigal and a prodigy and can tell a scherzo from a schizo. He showed up for dinner at Queens Chapel Road, driving an immaculate yellow Rabbit. I was frightened to so much as look out the window – I said to Avril – “Tell me what he’s like.” She said, He’s exactly the same.
And he was. Gorgeous poet’s face (Rupert Brooke) long blonde hair – wrestler’s body – maybe a little too thin. (He’s had a rough hardworking year of self-denial following Bad Relationship.) He wore a white cotton sweater and what looked to be the same corduroy pants he wore throughout high school. I wore tight white capris and my pink gauze blouse. He noticed my body immediately – how hard and slender – asked if I was a runner. I told him my doctor says I have a runner’s heart – but no, I’m a walker. I like taking my time to see all there is to see.
We had swordfish prepared on my new gas grill. We responded to each other in exactly the same way we did right before he left for college – his eyes feasting all over me – so humbling and overwhelming to realize someone loved me so deeply at such a painful period of my life. We marked each other in every meaning of the verb. I feel chastened and grateful to have such an effect on another person. We have so many similarities – both listened to Miss Goggins as children! We can each quote whole skits, tossing back bourbon in brandy snifters. As soon as I was drunk enough I declaimed my poem about how we spent Class Day in the treehouse.
He didn’t remember the frickin’ treehouse! The memories of people who don’t keep diaries are appallingly patchy. I showed him the trunk under my bed – decorated with flowers and my childish handwriting – and gave him the diary that described those nights! He was open mouthed; he stared at me as if I were a witch. Who knew diaries can come in so handily to resurrect the dead? He told me I am a fabulous writer and should never give up. That the purpose of existence is to find what you were born to do and do it. No one else in my life talks like this!
There was no lingering hostility over our unfortunate parting – our fundamentally dishonest Dear John – Dear Jane letters. No game playing – none of that. I can’t even recall who touched who first – my guess is we lunged at each other – it must have been mutual. Well, if I’m a witch, he’s a knight in shining armor.
Only he can rescue me from this hellish situation I’ve fallen in with Devon – with all of them. That he could make love to me that way and not want to see me till Sept has been playing tricks with my mind. Devon uses me to flagellate himself and I can be so much more than that.
It’s definitely fun to talk to someone who has exactly the same background as me – someone who reads and gets all my references. I was beginning to feel like an exotic (about to become extinct) rarity. He wants to date me solidly the whole time he’s here – (he leaves in Sept – that mystic date). Fri we’re going out – and probably Sun and the fourth of July. He says he’s never gotten over me, never loved anyone else the way he loved me. He wants me to come to his family’s place in the Berkshires in August – where I last went at 18 years old – why not say yes? I turn down work joyously while the managers gnash their teeth. It’s only money.
3:30 PM – Dumbarton Oaks – Sat 14 Apr 79
Enjoying a day of full sun. Beautiful carved stone bench
– azaleas in full bloom – peace. Woke up determined to finish taxes – offices closed! When can people go if they work all week? Beats me. But it would take more than a late filing to bother me – feel blissful. Approaching Plath from the question of her reputation. Determined to write and to learn to see movies alone. Last night awful sets with Zach – I don’t like his new band. He couldn’t seem to play guitar and sang off-key. Promises of a future have taken his present away. My heart went out to him – ordered a bottle of champagne to cheer him up. Late dinner – I ordered catfish in a spirit of adventure (not good) he ordered what he always has – chicken & fries. He told me about the times he’s been mugged and his belief in magic – I didn’t believe any of it. He was full of insecurities about Usher – I decided to act like we have a relationship to make it easier to get rid of Z later on. He “retaliated” by describing his affair with his friend’s 48 yr old divorced mother back on the coast. Sure, sure. Asked to come home with me. I said no.
Plush Palace – Mon 23Apr 11PM
God Malcolm Muggeridge is unpleasant (Jesus
Rediscovered) and not even Christian. Makes Waugh look like the author of Sermon on the Mount. Trying to figure out how I would address God: what would I say? Beautiful note from Devon saying, “I love you dearly”. Sweet. The silenter I am the more he adores me. Sent a copy of my Plath essay to Usher – we’ll see what he says. Agent passed along a very flattering rejection on Memory – I am “too much” of a poet! Since I have just concluded (with Usher’s help) that I am no poet at all this cheered me up enormously. Airborne today – dancing really well. It’s the fasting. Feel a shimmering force field all around me.
Starlight – 12:45 AM – Thurs 25 Apr 79
Dragging myself around this AM – my own fault for indulging
in Irish coffee and caramel ice cream last night. 2nd anniversary party at the radio station and I thought, That might be fun! It was a disaster. I took Avril and we were immediately cornered by the club bore. (I had to give him a fake phone no just to get rid of him.) Plus they charged us for our drinks! Rod was there – tight and prim – fearful I would attack him about his nonexistent dance story – I put him at his ease. Left after an hour and Avril and I “drowned our disappointment” in the usual way (it felt good at the time.) Ross & Tom should be required reading for egomaniacs.
Plush Palace 9 PM Mon 30 Apr 79
Had my hair cut today and dyed platinum blonde – like the
color not the cut. I wanted it all off – she asked to “try something” and if I didn’t like it she would “fix it for free”. Of course, I don’t like it but I didn’t have the time to stay and have it re-done. I think it’s almost too much trouble to go back – get somebody else to fix it. Everyone likes color however; I needed a boost. But it’s not what I pictured – looks like a medieval “bowl” cut to me. Fistfight! Guy dragged out of the club in handcuffs. Joselle says too bad; he was such a good tipper. Feel too old tonight – I obviously need a vacation but the only one I can take is in my own mind. I love the house but it always needs something. I was perched on the edge of celibacy but Jervaze showed up last night. Fabulous sex! Turned out to be worth it! 2 Hrs (I counted!) Oh, bliss. Reading very bad romantic suspense – A Relative Stranger. It’s a serious problem that I hate everything popular.
2:30 PM Wed May 2 79
Perfect day at home. Worked on poems listening to Mozart.
Got my “medieval bowl” changed to “little boy” haircut – it’s wonderful! Do nothing to my hair anymore! Don’t have to wash it, brush it or even look at it! Of course, I have to deal with all the sobbing men at the clubs. Turns out long hair is a powerful masculine fetish. I consider pretending I’m a different person – but I have the same old costumes. New stage name? Wonder if “Colette” is taken. Guess I didn’t plan this very well. Yesterday overeating so today it’s a fast – only coffee. Phone keeps ringing I refuse to answer. It’s probably Paz begging me to come in and sub for some dancer who had an onstage breakdown. Reading Wagenknecht’s “psychograph” of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Interesting.
Sun 6 May 79 -1:50 PM
Avril and I drove to St Michaels yesterday – such a pleasure
– I remember sailing into that port. It’s so beautiful I fantasize about buying a house and “retiring” there. I tell A, you get the country house, I’ll have the town house we can go back and forth. She says she does not want to live with her sister FOREVER! Why not when I’m so perfect? Delicious lunch of soft-shelled crabs and homemade coconut cream pie. Didn’t get to work till 6:40 and I was the only dancer till 9 PM! Apparently previous dancer unconscious in dressing room and ambulance was called. Sorry I missed it. Eddy gave me extra $$ but told me I can’t wear my black jade rosary on stage (too many complaints). Too bad – it looks so good with white collar and cuffs. He says the place has been sold again and we will be getting new management. Hope it’s not Tony.
Plush Palace – 10:10 PM – Mon May 7 – 79
Would like to break my 2 day fasting record but I got up
at 5:30 AM this morning and was just too hungry. Cucumber sandwiches with lots of pepper on whole wheat bread…mmmmm. Here’s my latest plan – rewrite Secaire and Blood Memory – get pregnant Sept 1 1980, have baby May 81! Father as yet unknown. Crazy, huh? Reading The Restless Journey of James Agee.
Tues 8 May 79 – 4:45 PM
Great day’s work on Secaire. Not “done” but better.
Completely new scene showing why Hank and Nilssa are attracted to each other. 10 P!!! Celebrated by going out to buy new notebooks. Sniff the paper hungrily. New lighting at the Palace very bad – guess who came in to audition? Brandy! I told manager she was lying about her age so he wouldn’t hire her. Nobody wants to work with her. She’s a grenade with the pin removed. Interesting book by Louis Cassells about the differences between religious faiths. So far I like Unitarianism best but want to expose my kids to as many different ones as possible and let them choose. Joselle keeps asking me if she’s going to be in my book. (I’m afraid she thinks I cut my hair for her.) I start instead a poem beginning “the chaste warrior sleeps only with his prey…” Bad! Sad.
3PM Thurs 10 May 79 – Plush Palace
New manager Jasper comes in. Seems nice. I curtsy
very low. Yesterday fasted till evening – wrote 7 pages – walked dogs then Avril & I saw Truffaut’s Love on the Run and went out to dinner. White pizza with plenty of garlic. Usher is reading at a NJ college – invites me to go with him. Hmm. Needing a pair of hot pink pants to visit this college in.
9:30 PM Fri night 11 May 1979
No hot pink pants. Did find a nice pair of aqua polished
cotton jeans and matching high-heeled shoes. Usher phoned and we commiserated about publishing. Avril and I went to see the movie, A Little Romance. Very good. Long walk with dogs, further exploring our new neighborhood. People keep their lawns very tidy around here. Since I refuse to do ovens, windows or lawns, house-pride like this could present a problem. Must hire out. I’m bored with my job, but it pays the bills so well I don’t think I can make changes till July. But who knows what lies just over the horizon? Reinventing oneself could be the greatest pleasure there is.
Plush Palace – Sat night 12 May 1979
Another exhausting goodbye with Jervaze. I wore see-through
chiffon bell-bottoms and flowered Qiana shirt – gratified to see they had their effect. He said he will always feel the same about me, always be jealous of the person I marry. I must say I now wish he would just go away. Which he’s supposed to do – off to Alabama. Again. I am not, shall we say, invited to this on-again, off again wedding. Awww. Feeling emotionally drained – only 30 short hours till I see Usher and I want to be witty and “on.” As opposed to slack-jawed and twitching.
Queen’s Chapel – 4:30 PM Sun May 13 -79 Dragged Avril to Unitarian church. There was a woman minister. I found the service satisfying enough and the church (River Road) very beautiful. They seem to have a lot going on – discussion groups, plays, theology class. I could be interested if I had the time. Unfortunately everyone seems old. Could I overcome my misanthropy to go alone? Remains to be seen. The church has a bookstore – I bought an interesting book on female contemplatives. I’m contemplating a future as a single parent. Feel a faint hormonal stirring. (Avril says it’s the house.) Who’s the lucky guy? Jervaze would have been perfect if it wasn’t for that alcoholic gene. And I don’t think I could hide a baby from Devon for the rest of his life. Usher probably has some impressive genes along with the vast millions to which he constantly alludes. On the other hand, the kid he does have sounds defective. Need to get clear about his marital status.
Queen’s Chapel – 9:30 PM May 15 -79 Bad visit to NJ with Usher. Thank God it wasn’t an overnight. First he showed up in a Mercedes he described as “the color of Lena Horne’s skin”. UGH! Next – brace yourself – he wanted to hide me from his audience!! Dumped me at an antique bookstore (that part wasn’t a total waste – bought the diaries of Cynthia Asquith) then took me out to an apologetic dinner. I was so annoyed I commanded everything to be set on fire – fondue, oysters, and 2 desserts. (He chose a very good wine. It was the least he could do.) He didn’t want to talk about his reading – said if I had attended there would have been “too many questions”. And as artists, aren’t we SCARED TO DEATH of questions? Aren’t we?
Castle – Wed 1:15 AM 16 May – 79 Unspeakably rotten dinner at the Cosmo Club with Usher. Forget him and his majestic New England genes. He is simply “collecting” me as his latest oddity. He has “so many” “warm, women artist” friends but no dancer yet (he’s way overdosed on poets) and he drifts from one “presence” to another, sucking wattage like some radioactive swamp monster. He and his wife have an “understanding” which probably means she has no idea where the hell he ever is and nobody’s had sex in eons. Can’t I do better than this? In spite of the fact that I’m a degraded person who doesn’t know where her next sexual or emotional meal is coming from I think I must insist on a note from wifey before taking this matter further. According to his poetry he associates sexuality with evil – not that I’m physically attracted to him, it’s just so piquant to be with a man who gets a fresh barber’s shave right before seeing you. (It’s been awhile). I don’t think he listened to a thing I said, just gazed at me rapturously. I tried getting him interested in helping me write a screenplay for Faulkner’s Mosquitoes – to me a completely ignored, obviously filmable work. He dismisses, “It’s been done.” Well it may have been “treated” BY SOMEBODY but the point is, it hasn’t been treated by us and it hasn’t been filmed and it would be WONDERFUL. Couldn’t ignite him. He really doesn’t want to talk about writing with me – I guess he has other people for that. I was so happy when our “date” ended I could have wept for joy. On the other hand I am sorry to see these millions slip away. My children could have used them, not to mention all my fantasies of early retirement busted. Looks like I have no one to depend on but myself. Enjoying Monica Dickens’ enchanting The Moon was Low. But had to buy a Quaalude from Maureen to get to sleep. Finished V. Sackville-West’s The Devil at Westease. I can’t figure out why she wrote it. She speaks entirely in lost codes. I really dragged myself in to work today. That’s how you know you’re working too much. Letter from Devon – he’s off to California to “find himself.” What he really wants is any way to figure out how to be a minister in a state of sexual abandon and he instinctively knows if the answer is anywhere, it is in California. On the other hand, will this really turn out to be what he wants? Not if I know him. The only good news about him is that his genes are impeccable. Plus, I’m very depressed about my writing. Spreading myself too thin – thinking about one project while working on another. My St Secaire book is starting to get ridiculous, but I want to follow up this “satanic rites” thing to see where it goes. Why did I come up with it? What does it mean? Who knows? Cheap and derivative everyone would probably say at this point. Yet it holds some interest for me. Love and sex as hostage-taking. The question is, who’s the hostage and who’s the keeper? Could it be hours of research, prose and bitching produce only a single poem? Lucky if so.
The Chaste Warrior Sleeps Only With His Prey
My sutures hurt; I’m Completely unavailable, You laced my body like a jerkin Unsheathing your ambition; Cut my breakfast with a corkscrew Your secret spine Doubled up and put away.
I’m fasting now Bracing for the worst I can’t eat anything that doesn’t Look right at me And want to know the truth; who’s for real? And What’s the state of play?
I know it’s a mess.
Also miserable about money and my body. Buying the house was a great idea – I love it – however, there are constant expenses I can’t ignore that keep me chained to this goddam stage and dressing room. My mortgage calls for my monthly payment to increase next year – I could worry about that if I wanted to. And then I always respond to depression and worry with a desire to eat which of course threatens my job. (Sigh.) Tips down (maybe I should buy a wig.) And my face is all broken out so I have to use heavy makeup – and my skin doesn’t like that.
Tues 28 Mar 78 Extraordinary spiritual experience. A haunting. Someone standing behind me in the empty house. I turned and no one was there but power only increased. At first I was afraid – then felt a melting richness of love – coming at me, into me from outside of me. I realized it was Jesus. Relief. Confidence. Of course afterwards I question it all over the place. How could I be so certain? Maybe just an ordinary haunting by a peculiarly loving ghost? Maybe a thing in my head? But I do have that memory of certainty and bliss to cling to. Very powerful. It’s out there – somewhere.
Starlight Thu 14 Mar 79 – 10:00 PM Started out as a very bad night – trying to dance myself exhausted – then some guy tipped me a $50 and I ate an orange and now I feel better. (Feeling so unbearably fat I bought diet pills. Then “dinner” of cashews and wine.) Finished Prayerbook for a Skeptic – I liked it. Fortunately, I brought along a ton of reading. Had to dump Joyce Carol Oates’ Do With Me What you Will when I became disgusted with zombie heroine. NOT as good as The Hungry Ghosts (but reminiscent of McCarthy’s Groves of Academe.) I’m in the mood for something different. Not, however, C.S. Lewis’ The Four Loves which is deeply annoying. Women are “unqualified” to be “true friends”. Isn’t that the “know your place” argument?
Maybe what I need is Thos Merton’s, Seeds of Contemplation. How to switch the physical into the spiritual – that’s what I can’t figure out. Sexual longings intense – my body on fire. No wonder monks beat themselves. Peace and concentration in the dressing room – we are all doing doubles. Yvonne is fine. She is more than a match for Stockley – saw through him without a problem. She just acts interested in all men regardless. On principle. She says if you want to choose, you’ll have to compare offers. So sensible. Tomorrow a day of cleaning & working in my study.
Sun. 18 Mar 1:50 PM. Terrible nightmare about Usher Glayne. His face melted showing the skull underneath – two hideous holes of darkness. The world is fierce, cruel, we are all hobbled. Wake to astonishingly gorgeous day. Worked on expanding short story Erin – cleaning away deadwood – it’s only going to be 30,000 words but the hell with it. Can’t “produce” to “compete”. Want to find the intrinsic shape buried within. The secret meaning. Letting it speak for itself makes me happy.
Adoring Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. (Wish I had written it.) Then it’s off to the library á la bicyclette for more theology books. Obviously, I should worry more about Success and the fact that I’m dirt poor. But I have arranged my life so carefully to do exactly what I want. Seems a shame to ruin it now.
12:30 PM Mon 19 Mar 78 It’s a problem that I don’t like Usher’s poetry. At least he talks about sperm and chastity so presumably is not yet dead from the waist down. He’s successful and I am not, so criticism from me sounds like sour grapes. I call to thank him for the books; a woman who is probably his wife answers. Should I be embarrassed? We are NOT having A Thing. Out in the yard with dogs trying to read Teilhard de Chardin. Hot sun.
Café Rabelais, Wed 21 Mar 79 3:25 PM Pleasant 3 hr lunch with Usher discussing literature – he had to run away leaving me with my coffee. Tried to get me to pretend to date his friend who is wheelchair bound. I have a feeling this was the whole point of the lunch. I want to talk about literature, he wants to give me away to his friends. I said No. But couldn’t I just make nice? I said no. I’m not that kind of nice. I took revenge by asking if he lives with his wife. He said “sort of”. Their child is “a problem”. No one can write within a mile of this child. (Poor wife. Luckily her life doesn’t matter!) Usher seemed taken aback by my questions so maybe I won’t hear from him again. Good lunch, though. Very cuisine minceur – lots of different dishes and you don’t feel full afterwards. (Rabelais would have been very disappointed.) I top off my coffee with a glass of blond chartreuse. At the Phillips, I saw a Goya that made me want to burst into tears. Note to self: reorganize Courtney entirely around paintings. But which artist would be perfect to express my anti-heroine?
4:20 PM Thurs 22 Mar 79 Today a model for what all days should be. I’ve passed unscathed through the financial hysteria of closing, even have money in the bank. Sparkling weather; spring is definitely here. A day of sunbathing – the first are always the worst – skin a white blubbery mass. Reading Kroll’s book on Plath – gives one furiously to think. She wants to find everything in the poems themselves – and of course – that’s exactly where it all is. Plath controlled by potency symbols.
I am sick of Devon’s letters – he must “shield his eyes” against my radiance”. Come on. I can’t believe he doesn’t want exactly the life he’s got. Always hard for me to believe that one can reject the sprinkles, the cherries, the walnuts on the sundae. My family always lectured me for being attention-seeking and voracious – so it makes me shy to advance myself into anyone’s purview. Plath seemed prepared to be loved for her accomplishments rather than her being – a scary compromise.
Although I do recognize that I am trying to experience my own “wholeness” through the eyes of another with all the danger that implies. Trying to kick my sugar cravings.
11:30 AM Fri 23 Mar 79
More sunbathing – my own skin smells
intoxicating to me. Like pool water, like beach sand, childhood. Dixie – “God’s lioness” stretches out beside me, wind ruffling her fur. I write a poem about dogs.
Sticks
Peter’s dog Went on fetching sticks Long after it was dead. We’d find them on the stoop Arranged In patterns Pete would sigh and say That’s poor old Monk all right Still missing people games Heaven won’t allow
Add it to my ghost story book.
Unexpected tear sheets in the mail from Usher
– his reviews of Plath. He says he didn’t think it “professional” to disclose that he knew her – that seems unprofessional to me. Makes his comments seem underhanded: pale. He says diplomatically about my poetry that I’m a “rare being.” Hmmm.
11:40 AM Mon 26 Mar 79
Ezra Pound’s last years (Nigel Stock) make very
depressing reading. I wish “survivors” seemed more enviable, considering the alternative is Death at the Height of Glory. The good news about a long life is, you can accumulate quite a body of work – the bad news is your instrument is increasingly deranged. Dreadful schedule this week – 5 shifts including one double. Present of $2500 “house gift” from Dad means I don’t need to accept but I would have to quit and I’m not ready. These are the best places to dance with the best managers – I don’t want to get thrown into some of the compromising situations I’ve heard tell of. Plus they just let me up and leave for vacation whenever I want. Can’t play that hole card too often. Spent all day wandering the mazes of literature – look at Lillian Hellman – surely she’s getting very bizarre. She’s a “history fixer” and no one wants artists doing that.
3:20 PM Tues 27 Mar 79
A bad day doesn’t make a bad week thank God.
Got drunk with Maureen last night, (too much sherry in our tea) but with careful diet and lots of sleep I bounce back. Anne Lindbergh’s Flower & Nettle a great improvement on previous volumes. Tantalized by Rosamond Lehmann, who ought to be my next project. I AM HAVING ALL MY HAIR CUT OFF MAY 1!!!
Starlight 8:30 PM Thurs 29 Mar 79 Joselle plies me with Chablis – I succumb to get her to spill her secrets – but her secret seems to be she’s thinking of turning lesbian and her gaze on me seems somewhat fixed. Or am I imagining things? Two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I’m a goner. God knows I long for the flesh – those “brown motherly furrows” as Plath calls them are in need of plowing. Would I have to exclaim over her body the way men exclaim over me? It just doesn’t sound fun. If only she were less female. More boyish. Order a cheeseburger to snap myself back to reality. This is a dangerous world to be hungry in.
Reading Randall Jarrell’s Third Book of Criticism. I enjoy him enormously.
11PM – Shank of the evening. I am dancing superbly but tips very bad. The approach of tax time or are they simply seeing too much of me? The latter, no doubt. Went to the health club today but I won’t renew when my experimental month is up. I was seduced by their sauna and masseur but need something closer to home.
Starlight 2:30 PM Sat 31 Mar 79
Hot day – sun behind clouds – the sky is violet
and the air intense – looks like rain, but I’m overflowing with joy and luck and good fortune. Just ate an enormous chef’s salad and two cups of coffee. All I needed for returned confidence was one big tipper and a non-suicidal letter from Devon. (He’s been depressed, is all.) Obviously it will never work out between us. We would be in competition each trying to get the other to play caretaker. I need too damn much care. It would be madness. Discuss this over vod & tons with Avril. Invited back to Mulberry Island, but also got a card to the Bullets opening (which I prefer.) Reading The World, the Flesh and Father Smith. Dancing very well – what a pity I’m “sculpting in snow”. Feeling in tune opens a clear lens to the soul.
9PM Tues 3 Apr 79
Buying spree with A. Bought a pile of silk shirts and
a satin whipcord coat & skirt (black). Immortal piece I should still be wearing thirty years from now. We had a lovely lunch at Third Edition – reminiscing about our lovers’ bodies – what we treasure most – I vote for the flock of milky-white scars above Devon’s buttocks. Aaah. Intimations of glorious, irreproducible mortality. I am also irate at not hearing from Usher and even more irate at myself for being irate. He is obviously a no go so what’s wrong with me? I think I may be like those explorers expiring for lack of vitamin C. Need to force myself to eat raw blubber just to save my life. It’s a wonder anyone survives. Reading 3rd vol David Garnett’s autobiog – what an unlikeable human being. Car pooped out on us will cost $250 to fix.
Starlight 9:15 PM Wed 4 Apr 79
I hate wasted days. Drove all the way to White Flint
Mall to pick up my rhinestone glasses – a pin broke on them – and all the way back. Grrr. Not liking Robt Frost’s letters and Christina Stead’s House of Nations is even harder to get into. But things looking up on diet front. Fewer binges. 5 days of rain, and a power mogul in the audience who keeps instructing me on how to please him. I curtsy down to the floor very gracefully and pretend I don’t speak English.
Starlight 8:25 PM Sun 8 Apr 79
Burst of freedom rescues me from inertia. My best
moments are intense enjoyment of the present: must write and examine everything. Revel in my own growth – including comprehension that Usher Glayne can’t be my crutch. Lost 4 lbs eating apples and feel good – refuse to take a guy’s tip because he licked his lips at me. Yuck. Jervaze came into the bar last night, dragging his shame-filled self across the floor. I couldn’t resist suggesting he come home with me – he was so excited – love poured out of him like a dizzying force. I browsed greedily on his beautiful body. It was like plugging into an electric current. He moaned, “You’re so good to me” but when my orgasm came it was just a little pop – uncorking a bottle of stale champagne. So goodbye to all that. Masturbation is really a lot less trouble.
Out to China Syndrome movie tomorrow with Avril. John Middleton Murray is a blubberer. Usher sent me a poem entitled “I dream of starting off with you” which was obviously not written for me. Took her name out and slammed my name in. What could go wrong? What a pity we leave choice up to men when they so clearly have no idea what they are doing.
1:45 PM Wed Nov 9 –78
I’m in need of a “carte d’identite” so I can look at it
and figure out who I am. Read the first draft of The Speechless and the accompanying comments of my college writing teacher. She bollixed it up. Her deconstructive destruction seems purposeful – I don’t believe she didn’t know how good it was. Can I save it? I know I should work on one thing at a time but apparently my mind doesn’t operate that way. In the mail a letter from a publisher offering to read my poetry – for $50.00. Took me longer after that to sink to the necessary depth to get some writing done. And it still probably wasn’t any good.
Thurs night – Plush Palace – Nov 9 - 78
Working tonight with Roulette and Jerry – wonderfully
hilarious old hands. We laugh until we fall over. “How Deep Is Your Love “ is throbbing through the walls, Maureen’s got me in a costume-trading whirl and Roulette is so heavily into the Jack Daniels she is showing everyone pictures of her dog. (A Doberman. Who looks exactly like every other Doberman I have ever seen.) Suddenly I’ve acquired a whole new dancing wardrobe. But will it make me a new person? That’s what I want to know. With a view to listening to Marc Kramer for once in my life because he’s rich and I’m not. Avril and I went house-hunting. The trigger was a wonderful broken down old house in College Park (complete with white pillars) so I called to ask the price. Real estate agent sucked me effortlessly in, entering into our quest with gusto. I am almost 28 years old and although I don’t make much money – apparently I make enough. The house was hopeless. It needs $50,000 on the roof alone. But the agent has plenty others to show us. Bizarro letter from Ryder. He said “after that visit I thought you’d never trust me again” and “I bow down to you.” Which visit? The one where I allowed him to give me a massage? I refuse to inquire further because that’s exactly what he wants me to do. He is just needled that I have so obviously given up on him. Why am I attracted to these weirdos? I know the problem between us is that I want a mutual relationship and he wants a pack animal. I want to be with the person I love and “love” makes him want to run away (because it makes him feel “out of control”). But where is the fun in telling him this? He couldn’t use the maze clue even if I gave it to him. So I write a short note telling him I’m busy with Zach and Buck. That should fix his jealous wagon. I didn’t tell him about the hours of sexual bliss Buck and I shared last night! Buck is warming up nicely – invited me to his parents’ house for the weekend – they will be away. Unfortunately, he snores horribly – sounds like he’s strangling. A by-product of motorcycle racing. Needs that cartilage cleared out with a vacuum hose. Trying to read Rumer Godden’s Breath of Air. Boring and unctuous. Put it down for Dear Scott/Dear Max, which is of course delightful.
Mon 13 Nov 78
Busted, wasted day. Avril called to borrow $90 so she can
pick up el Diablo from Courtesy Motors – fortunately I had it so we went to bank, then car dealer. Then I tried to get an oil change but they don’t do Fiats. Took long enough to tell me they don’t have the right wrenches. Real estate agent phoned to say I qualify for special FHA loan. I had to call my landlord because apparently I don’t have heat. Avril is having lots of trouble with Brady who is alternately aggressive and suicidal. I think he is more trouble than he’s worth but admit he has very pretty, very long, long thighs. He and Buck went to high school then trade school together – Buck exhibits a grisly picture of them at their prom with their dates. B’s date is his soon to be ex-wife. Buck was also B’s best man but I was spared those photos. Zachary asked me out next Fri night but I’d rather be with Buck – but if he doesn’t ask me in time I’ll tell him I’m ”going out with the girls.” That’s what he tells me he does; “goin’ out with the guys” – so presumably this is an OK excuse. If he says what girls I’m in a bit of a pickle. But I’m a writer – I‘ll invent some. It can’t be anyone he knows. Fortunately he has no idea what a hermit I really am. Still stuck in the childhood of my novel. Can’t wait for them to grow up. Re-read Le Ble en Herbe which helped a lot. (Aaaahhhhh… Colette!) Off to Crown Books with A – then White Flint Mall for Christmas shopping – had coffee at The Perfect Cup. Nice outing. I bought wonderful rhinestone cat’s eye glasses. Saw Bergman’s Autumn Sonata – moving.
Mon 27 Nov 78 - 1:35 PM
Time to write in this neglected diary while waiting to have
my snow tires mounted. This threatens to blow my entire day. They also had to replace a fuse that apparently blew in the middle of a rainstorm so that my wipers stopped working. Visit with Mom and Dad very touchy. (They are staying with Peter’s mother Rita and everyone’s slightly angry I’m not dating him and I can’t narc on his Secret Relationship.) Mom casually accepted an invitation for all of us to go out to dinner on a night I was going out with Zachary, so I said I would have to invite him and got a tirade on my thought- lessness. Then I pointed out she was the thoughtless one assuming I didn’t have any plans. She apologized, I apologized. It blew over. Then Avril had the nerve to ask Rita if she could smoke – Mom exploded just as if it were her house. (Rita said No. She’s trying to quit.) M & D piled on me – I’m insane to contemplate buying a house – even if the mortgage would only cost what rent already costs. Their real objection is that I might “choose wrong” – somehow encumber myself with a property that will make me even less attractive (if that were EVEN possible) to A Decent Man. Not even dragging in Marc Kramer’s sacred name as Advisor helped at all. Dad did come see a few houses with us. (We’ve seen 16 so far.) He had to admit it isn’t a bad deal as long as I can get that FHA loan. Zachary behaved very well around M and D – the “Official Boyfriend” – but of course he owed me. Fortunately the evening was over before they could find out too much about him (or he offered them drugs) so his cover wasn’t blown. Conversation at dinner very boring. Psychology 101. “Why don’t people say what they want?” “Why don’t people try to get what they want?” “Why do people lose interest in what they say they want?” (Rita’s going through her third divorce.) Since no one seems the least bit interested in the complexities of achieving Actual Gratification by attempting to mesh one’s constantly evolving desires with those of someone else I can only shake my head sagely and flee at the first opportunity. Mom and Dad actually tackled these questions and struggled with them like a pair of marriage counselors. The truth is Rita’s ex has found somebody else and she shouldn’t be so surprised – they were both married when she hove onto his horizon. Got a very stoned phone call from Zachary last night – he was over at Rod’s and “something” was making him horny. (I’ll bet I can guess.) Fortunately, I managed to convince him he was in no state to drive – leaving him prey to Rod, probably. Well, we all have to take our chances in this life. Saturday night with Buck unsatisfying – he claimed his non-breathing nose is preventing him from going down on me. I let him know his account is in arrears and he will have to do something about it sooner or later. He chose later and fell immediately asleep. So I left. I’m not sure I will ever get to Stage 2 with this guy. He made a point of tracking me down at Avril’s apt, calling to apologize. A and I saw 3 more unacceptable houses – but the real estate agent says there are plenty more. Fun to be in a buyer’s market for a change.
Sat 7 pm Plush Palace – 2 Dec 78
Just recovering from some tremendous bout of food
poisoning – must have gotten it from the Sleazy Restaurant Around the Corner – but all I had there was a takeout salad. Still, it could have been the dressing. No fever. I was throwing up all Wednesday. I called A to drop by after class but she was so worried she came right over. I finally was able to keep down some chicken soup. Then we went to Bethesda in the eve to see Zach’s Gordon Lightfoot impersonation – I had a little wine to make me feel better. (Free drinks always taste best.) Finally finished the childhood section but I don’t feel good about it. Novels don’t want you to do anything in life but write them all the time. I am only at p. 133.
I am already exhausted and needing a vacation. Cheered myself up by wrapping Christmas gifts – baroque music and Victorian gift-wrap did it for me. I especially love those chubby Victorian cherubs who couldn’t become airborne without at least two brawny stagehands hauling on a mighty hawser. Reading My Mother/Myself in between boogie-oogie-oogying. Dinner party with A, Buck, and A’s old boyfriend who happened to be in town. We ate stuffed Cornish game hen, played Clue and went dancing at the Bastille.
Thurs night – Plush Palace – 11:30 PM – 7 Dec 78
Manic night – a dancer literally dragged off the stage by
the police because her roommate is accusing her of stealing $3300 of furniture. Thank God she came back so I only had to dance one extra set. Wed night we found a house! It has 5 bedrooms, 3 bath perfect in every way except that that it’s packed into a neighborhood of like houses so there are absolutely no vistas. But the price is right. We made an offer but they accepted another offer – ours is the “backup contract.” So, we still might get it.
Thurs am 1:07 14 Dec 78
Finished the novel in an insane burst of speed – 10
pages a day for four days. Now I have to calm down and see what I’ve got. I still feel pretty good about it – but probably reading it will depress me. And Devon will probably never speak to me again since he is in it. His Christmas card says I am a genius and he is in awe of me. Hey, it could be true. My publisher’s statement arrived. $50. $50. There goes that Feb vacation. Pretty sure I need a new agent. What did “stooping to genre” achieve exactly? I didn’t get a living wage. I didn’t get a publisher, agent or editor receptive to my work. It’s like I’m starting over – again. On an up note: looks like we might get the house! It is SO perfect. Fenced in yard and everything.
Mon 18 Dec 78 – Plush Palace 6:30 PM
Horrible day. Everything that can go wrong has.
Mailing off mss wildly expensive. Drove Avril around because the Gremlin is in the shop again. Reading Bodyguard of Lies – history having its usual soothing effect. (Everything much worse for everybody else.) It looks like I will have to work two jobs in Jan to pay for this house. Maureen the costume designer wants to rent a room in our house – that would help. She wouldn’t be a problem – getting a masters in textiles at U. of M so not the usual flaky personality that finds itself onstage. Concluded I really have to break up with Z. It won’t be hard – just stop seeing him. One good thing did happen – I was lying in bed at 1:30 AM nodding off over Bodyguard – phone rang. I almost didn’t answer it – how could it be anything good – but I thought it might be Avril with some emergency. It was Jervaze! He’s coming back. He’s been offered “crew leader” position in his old job at the Pentagon with a $5,000 bump. He wants to celebrate by taking me out – we can go to Clyde’s where we partied for his birthday last year. I hung up feeling good – until I thought this will give me a reason to give up Buck. There’s no way Jervaze won’t find out about him. Ugh. Confrontations. Unless I can keep J out of club? Doesn’t seem possible that he is off the sauce. Must make sure he gets a place of his own – he will be living with his brother to start with. He sounded sober, I’ll say that for him.
Plush Palace Tues night 19 Dec 78 - 7:30 PM
Wiped out my savings account to pay bills – well,
that’s what it’s for. We got the Queens Chapel house! Target date for the move is March 1. Avril and Maureen very excited. (It really is huge. 5 beds, 3 bathrooms, divideable into 3 suites. Perfect. Huge kitchen, dining room and fenced in yard.) I contemplate writing a book of poems called The Lives of Dancers. Trouble is, I’d have to tone it down to make it believable. Got one poem already – Impure Women.
IMPURE WOMEN
Between my breath and your breath Beneath the phallic philanthropic statues on The volcanic dragstrip of my city The wounded in the scorched earth policy Of love Muster, linger, await Embodiment. Pills to make their hearts race faster have Stopped their faces dead as clocks That witnessed crimes unspeakable To mothers versed in tabloid gore. Who will bring them Absolution now that I am gone? In the fresh wounds of a Seconal summer The stopped children meet And kiss.
Is it the approach of Christmas that’s bringing all the old boyfriends back to me like elephants to a boneyard? Ryder called. Marc Kramer refers to me his “dream girl” and can’t get me out of his mind and we’ve been out what – three times? Buck gave me my present at the club – he looked adorable – bath goodies. Don-the-Patent-Lawyer who’s been hanging around the club lately asked me out for New Year’s eve. I had to refuse because Merrill and husband will be in town but I told him to try later. He seems interesting – like to get to know him better. Mature. Always trolling for someone presentable to take Home to Mom.
Thurs Aug 10 -78 – 5:30 PM
Feeling happy and serene – it’s been the loveliest visit.
Many bike rides and explorations. Lovely dinner last night at the cottage – Devon asking Dad a lot of questions – then we lay in each other’s arms at the Barnacle and he said Time to Discuss Our Relationship. Said “some French girl” dumped him because he’s so incompetent with condoms; he’s so relieved not to have that with me. I said, “Maybe we should be exclusive.” He said, ‘Could you manage that? I said gratefully, ‘Certainly”, He said, “Thank you for being honest” stripped off my clothes and made mad, passionate love to me – all orifices massaged, nipples chewed, armpits sucked – the works. It was really something – probably the most passionate satisfying sex I’ve ever had. He told me our coming together in Plympton after I left my husband was The Most Significant Event in his LIFE.
But does he see me as a Minister’s Wife? No one can. Me included. The Problem of which we do not speak. Drive him to the ferry today, after that a sail to Brimstone Island.
Shadowe Island - The Cottage – Sat 12 Aug 78
Mom giggling about how sweet and pure Devon is. She
is certain I’ve been dumped. If she only knew. If I in am suddenly in an Exclusive Relationship with this human will o’ the wisp wouldn’t it be the worst thing for me? Am I like a Terrible Man who will now say anything to get sex? Five good pages on novel. Working in omniscient third person – a violently new departure. A few vague worried sensations that I am “telling” too much about characters but the Victorians used to get away with this on a regular basis. How I envy them. There I’ve said it, I envy Mrs. Henry Wood. One thing left out of Gardner’s On Moral Fiction is how rarely we see the book the author wanted – instead we see the draft the
publisher agreed to buy & PROMOTE. Or am I cynical? On the whole I am appreciating Gardner’s ideas – but more than ready to get back to V Woolf’s letters & diary. That is ecstasy – the “unstructured real.” Far prefer them to her novels.
Nice long phone talk with Devon. Feeling freed since he described to me his definition of a future wife; she is not me. In fact, she will be a very unlucky girl who gets – by his deliberate plan – the least of him. It is comical that I, something of a contemporary expert on all things Victorian, should even locate such a profoundly divided, deeply Victorian male; product of such hideous religious and sexual mangling one would think barely possible in this enlightened century. “Wife” seems to encompass for him some whole new scary dimension that has nothing to do with sex. What mysteries people are! Bruce wanted a fount of approval and cash. Ryder wanted a mule. Jervaze wanted a mommy who will bed him down with a bottle of Southern Comfort and then drive him to the hospital. I can’t even figure out What Rod wants. But Devon seems to want someone whose holiness will “cancel out” his “bad behavior”. All I know is I don’t want to be any of those people.
But what DO I want? I’m embarrassed to admit it out loud. I want the spiritual and physical closeness – the “soulmate connection” – to just keep on intensifying until we switch bodies (and I get to live two lives). Castaneda says it can be done. (Good subject for novel.)
QUILTING
The scraps The scraps The bad acts Bleed like madras Over everything Piecing penalties Placating the portionless Fabric cut to fit the frame or The other way about? This will all have to be redone Till it makes some kind of sense. Make the pieces smaller – ever Smaller – in my Empire of Loneliness.
Devon flat out admitted he is afraid of me –says I
have too much power over him. I was too aggressive with him this time and I think my “free agency” is where the trouble lies. It “wakes him up” too much to the existence of another person and reminds him this isn’t all happening in his head! I am too impatient to wait for him to get ready to have an actual relationship. In the past, the better he got to know all his girlfriends – and the more certain he became of them, the less he wanted them. We are dancing on a knife-edge with our pleasure now. Psychologically he rules out “sexual fire” in long-term relationships. Everyone but me (and Dad) seems to think sexual fire must burn out. I look forward to getting back – change in seasons, change in clothes – working, writing, even running around town with Rod is starting to look fun. Cold day – sun hidden by clouds.
Burnside Inn – 10PM Sunday 13 Aug 78 Told my dad I took the room here because my typewriter needs electricity – really of course I wanted privacy with Devon and then we ended up at the Barnacle! But a public inn (with a handy bar) requires a lot of discipline. More than I have. I am recovering from a scandalous night – too tired to take a bath I fell asleep in my clothes after cocktails with Marc Kramer who tried first wooing me with his completely unfettered, unapologetic interest in money by showing me his new house then just flat out tried to get me drunk. (I did get drunk but not enough to make him seem desirable. He is very hairy.) However, “investment banker” would be a good job to give to my character Cloud if he ever grows up. If I can ever get him out of prep school. No more hanging around the bar for me – I plan sit here in my room every afternoon writing between three and six. Seems to be all my social schedule will allow. Feel myself getting fat and should cut back on food – tall order. I just need to go home and DANCE. Stupid diary! One love problem after another. Well I can always go back to poor Woolf… her talk of mushrooms, chair covers, butterflies…
Mon 14 Aug 12 midnight -78
Very unsatisfied with everything I’ve ever written. The
difficulty is I need to bring all my writing up to my current level of philosophical maturity (such as it is.) But it keeps increasing exponentially! Never be embarrassed to start over.
Dinner scene in Paradise Road (newly retitled) feels shaky. Too many characters for me to handle. Maybe wedding next? Trying to invest my characters with what I’ve just learned from Devon. Would choosing “the right person” come first (my Mom’s theory) and then the love follows afterward? More convenient for everyone, certainly. Almost rolled a poor pimply little fisherman down at the docks this afternoon because I am such a sucker for gorgeous naked (hairless) shoulders. And the friendly, friendly innkeeper – but don’t get me started, he has a “wife” or “wife substitute”. Mom’s been very cruel to me lately. At dinner last night I discovered she RODE THE FERRY with poor shell-shocked Devon (explains his “freeing’ phone call) whom she apparently grilled the whole ride. She sniffed – “He’ll never marry you.”
Too proud to tell her I just reached that conclusion myself and it doesn’t elevate him in my estimation (the way it obviously does in hers!) I could say I actually know Devon better now than he knows himself (he talks in his sleep), and I can positively state that his stated intentions never bear ANY relationship to his actions. And it’s not a good thing.
He also told he could never become a minister (because his mother wanted it too badly!) and yet here we all are. He keeps making rules and I keep watching him break them. Plus, I’ve been taking responsibility for “making” him do things he doesn’t “want” to for years. It’s a spiritual game of Chinese checkers he insists on “losing”. I guess it’s just a matter of time before he starts holding it against me.
SUICIDE STREET This is the street of suicides. I orchestrated masterpieces in that house Third-from-left – Getting my effects too cheaply I see now Unmindful of material That lay so close to hand New tenants slick the lawn that moats that Windowed grave. They repair The chrysalis I shattered Getting out.
10:20 AM Wed 16 Aug 78
I am so excited by the “newness” of my novel – starting to
feel confident; like I can make these people do anything. Can’t wait to go home and spread all the versions out – play Max Perkins to my own Tom Wolfe. Might be able to patch something together. Still my tone needs emergency assistance, which dictates a massive overhaul. All this omniscience is just too painfully reminiscent of somebody like Balzac – “In the forbiddingly cold winter of 1863” or worse, Dragnet? Must read Speedboat to see how far one can go. Should I throw everything out and start over again or leave it a 500 p hegira?
Rod sends me a letter every day. He is smart, witty and culturally aware. His handwriting is perfect. Unfortunately, this does not feel as good as it should. I have rejected him as a potential husband (or father) because he is so totally lacking in Projection & Charisma. Unlike Devon I plan to marry a person I can also have soul-shattering sex with. Even Rod’s myths are sub-standard. He needs Tale of Genji and Kraft-Ebbing but all he has is Beowulf. Still, this is not the kind of thing you can tell a person you don’t want to get serious with.
According to him, Miss You by the Stones is “Our Song”. My song is Urgent, by Foreigner, and time’s a-wastin’. I can struggle with this goddam party scene or I can go out and buy toothpaste. Ferry coming in – very foggy.
Came into Burnside Inn tonight and immediately lost a lens. Searched and searched. Would this be the bill that would break the poor fragile financial camel’s back? Then I found it – stuck to my hair. A miracle.
Mom took me on a walk after dinner – apologized in her weird oblique way. For a woman who claims to have “given all for love” she really is quite calculating and cynical about it. “Why buy the cow if the milk is free?” sums up the whole of her philosophy. She wants me to marry Marc Kramer and live in wretched discontent, the equivalent, as far as I can see, to opening a dairy farm and sending out pricelists. Those are the options. Has doing too much of the emotional scutwork fatally dimmed the stars in her “love makes the world go round” eyes? “What if I’m not a market-based economy?” I inquire. Another missed bonding opportunity.
Dad showed gorgeous slides of Fox Island. Every frame a poem. Made me think I should read old diaries to see what I can get. Not that Cloud would keep diaries – not reflective that way at all. But Suni might keep them.
9:30 AM Fri 18 Aug 78
$100 honorarium from Coltsville Community College for
my presentation – I can eat for a month off of that! Dare I get my dancing down to 3 nights a week? Would be heaven.
Discussion with sisters about Mom. Here’s their advice: “Remember she’s crazy,” “Remember she’s old,” “Don’t give her any information” and “Lie.” There it is! If only she could hear them! And I’m the one with the “Bad Kid” reputation! Over dinner she lectured us on how costumes for the ballet exalt the human body. Nothing like my combination of pasties, fishnets and glitter! Hard to listen to after the contempt she has expressed for my job! Said nothing. What they really hate is that I am my own choreographer.
I was too dispirited even to point out that back when ballet was “invented”, back in the dear old Dead Degas Days, dancers were VERY “declassee” with damn near NO control over their own bodies: how to express themselves sexually much less how they were viewed. Looking back over it, my most serious depressions were all caused by attempts to conform. I’m so OVER it. Am I afraid of loneliness?
No. Stigma? Childlessness? Sexlessness? No. I confront all these fears, one by one. Hard however to keep my head high around Mom and Dad’s evident conviction that no one can ever be found to love me. They insist on giving me money because I’m so pathetic . OK, I’ll take it (I’ve taken tips from fans harboring worse thoughts) but insisted on giving them a poem in return. Read Dawn Walk out loud looking for praise –
Dawn Walk
Thunder crusts a gelid sky Is it light or is it rain feathering my nest with longing Stippling soul with flushed new growth; bursting out the steepled trees. This is my world and I release it Released for flying Stelliform Tough as spidersilk Unrecognizable Even to me who birthed it Who spent my life creating it. Released and Blown away.
They rolled their eyes.
I must be secretly determined to make them look bad! Need to get car in line for the ferry tomorrow AM at nine. Good vacation this has been. Mostly. Last letter from Rod mentions a big society wedding we are invited to. He does get invited to the best parties.
1:45 AM Horrible last dinner at the Mermaid Creek House. Am I speaking a different language from everybody else? Uncle Clive downgraded his current girlfriend right in front of her – “she’s got no skills – she’s not too bright.” I agree – there must be something seriously wrong with her to want to be around him. Genevieve wants to know how I can love men who are “weak”. This would have more significance if her second marriage wasn’t with a submissive. I defended that weak men are “doubters” and doubters are interesting.
The opposite is arrogance and how attractive is that? Marc K, for example, doubts nothing. He’s also not very interesting. It would be easy to be swept along in his wake on autopilot. Maddens me to hear Mom and G discuss Avril’s “low self-esteem.” The nerve! I think they want to pretend that life “makes sense” and is not a dangerous lottery. According to them, A has too low an opinion of herself and I have too high an opinion of myself. Hmmmm. What’s wrong with this picture?
8:45 PM Plush Palace – 24 Jun 78 – Sat
Bad mood. OD’d on junk food then lost my favorite
hairbrush and other people’s plastic versions break my hair. Growl. I can write it out. It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it. Emotional roller coaster continues. Just when I declare myself a Celibate Slave to Art a very handsome (and very blond) man comes in tonight. He works in radio, considering story about dancers; wants to interview “somebody”.
“You hit pay dirt, my friend.” I tell him but I insist on pseudonym. I was wearing my silver lamé outfit with the see-through silver sleeves so looked tiptop if I do say so myself.
His name’s Rod Avery (I’m not kidding) and although he’s newly divorced he lacks the Rip Van Winkle leer. He works for a reputable national outlet. I can work with this. Mom would just eat him up. Bought tix to an Agatha Christie play – maybe I’ll invite him instead of Avril.
Plush Palace, Sat 1 July, 9 PM
Rod and I engage in a little smoochy-smoochy hand
holding following Christie play. I make an effort not to get so drunk that I pull down his pants to view his namesake. Impatient to find out exactly where my next sexual meal is coming from. Tach it up buddy. In Dancer News, GiGi says Charlie NEVER goes down on her unless he’s absolutely plastered. I want to know, “And then what good is he?” She has to admit “not much.” Says he laps at her like she’s a melting ice cream cone.
Did like Pamela Hansford Johnson’s Helena trilogy.
(Impressions of childhood, though, painfully unreal.) Now struggling with Grahame Greene’s It’s A Battlefield. Diseased whores abound; women bear their 12th child in crowded rooms (and because he’s a Catholic that’s presumably All Right By Him) and a gay time is had by none.
Midnight Sun-Mon July 2-3 78
Taking Avril to Cellar Door for her birthday before she
flies to Mich to see Merrill. Gifts Dior dusting powder & wrap around dress. Festive occasion demands dress-up. A & I saw Grease, Rod and I saw Heaven Can Wait. Just sweet enough but it didn’t “move” Rod as much as I hoped. What if he’s one of the “pod people” with nothing inside? Jury still out.
Thurs 4:15 – 6 July 78
Missing Avril so much! Boy, did I get dependent.
It’s just SO Fun to have someone to do things with who thinks ALMOST EXACTLY the same as you do but with interestingly nourishing differences. Rod is no substitute. Still can’t figure him out. His apartment is completely stark. Bare. Not ONE THING on any of the walls. The closest I can get to understanding him is that there seems to be no feeling in his family. They don’t talk at meals. Father’s dead, mother still sends him clothes he hates and he still wears them. (They are perfectly presentable. But what would he wear if she did not dress him? We’ll never know. I’m not getting in the midst of that.)
He never suggests things to do. I suggest everything. Charlie Byrd in Annapolis (just because I love Annapolis) was OK. On the other hand, when we went to Le Bistro he ordered Piper Heidseck champagne out of the clear blue sky! Because he said now he’s “finally dating.” So that took initative. Right?
Nice letter from Devon who ‘feels veneration” for my talent. Sweet. Reading Green’s The von Richthofen Sisters.
8:30 PM Fri – 7 July 78
Driving in to work in a haze of ecstasy after Perfect Day,
heard an infuriating review of Heaven Can Wait by Penelope Gilliatt. Really the woman’s a moron. She says she would understand a movie about transmigration of souls in “wartime” but why now! Who GIVES these people a podium? How did she get this job with so little artistic sense? Bullied her way to the top, most likely. Von Richthofen Sisters turns out to be boring PhD thesis. So hard to get it right. Therefore switched to Murder of My Aunt. Amusing. (Richard Hull).
Big tipper in tonight. $138 so far! I feel like the pigeons in A’s experiments. “Intermittent reinforcement!” I have to pick up Genevieve and Brett up at the airport tomorrow for Women’s March (we all wear white.) Bringing them back to my place to eat first – I made a gorgeous salmon mousse. Invited Rod just to see if he’s cool.
Sun July 9 78 2 AM
He’s cool. Wore white, walked the whole march and
was so charming to Genevieve and Brett they were dazzled. I’m now feeling relief that I only have ten days till vacation – don’t think I can become “over involved” in that short period of time.
Adelphi Grist Mill Park – 11:15 AM Mon July 10 – 78
Sunbathing on my favorite rock. When I get hot
I’ll splash around (like the dogs are already doing). Hardly a dry spot left on this rock – but who cares – my diaries have seen worse. A year ago, the Last Act of the Romantic Psychodrama just beginning. Whew. I think I came out of it all right. I’m starting to see a possible Harold-Nicolson/ Vita Sackville-West thing developing with Rod. (He actually KNOWS WHO Harold Nicolson is!!!) Last night I almost raped him in his theatre seat but I am determined to let him make the first move. But I do need to know how long I’m going to have to wear Glamorous Lingerie every day (just in case). I am starting to run out of glamorous lingerie. But we are having a lovely time – he is witty, intelligent and aware. I “confessed” all about Devon – my longest relationship – but because he’s a “newly consecrated minister” I can see Rod’s not too worried. If he only knew!
A good development is I’m learning not to drink so much. If there isn’t sex right around the corner one must stay aware. Coffee “without dessert” so to speak. It’s good for me. I told him the whole plot of Secaire – weak points become immediately obvious. He tells me about his wife.
2 PM – Back at home to ringing phone – new croquet ball on the pitch! Marc Kramer coming into National – do I want to have dinner and discuss My Finances. Hmm. Maybe. He knows I’m too poor to invest in anything. But I say Yes.
Fri. 8:05 Starlight Club Springfield, Fri 14 July 78
I hate this club. It’s a bitch of a drive so I rarely come
here but the tips are good. Need the cash for vacation. Unfortunately, I am working with Danielle – the Brazilian lesbian who threatened to kill me. I’m hoping she won’t recall she threw boiling hot coffee at me. (Her aim is bad.) She’s usually pretty much out of it. Got $100 tip already from a guy who wonders why I don’t dance at The Gaslight downtown. Because the dancers have to waitress there! Ugh! That place is legendary. I tried to be polite but really. Anyway, Kramer was different from what I expected. We ate prime rib at The King’s Contrivance – he seemed a lot older and a lot sadder. He says whenever he hears 10 CC’s “I’m Not In Love” he thinks of me. I asked him what about finances – he said I should invest in real estate. Wants to “watch my stocks.” I was embarrassed to tell him there isn’t anything to watch what with Dad keeping such a closed fist on the shares, and me having to sell everything I get. I start to suspect Dad is CONFIDING in him about his estate planning and PRETENDING “our” investments are actually OURS. This meant we didn’t have that much to talk about and the evening ended with a damp kiss when I turned down sex. I say I’m In a Relationship. He says he’s thinking of proposing to his red headed secretary who reminds him of me. I am kind of insulted but told him to Go For It. I guess I had this built up in my mind – sort of like Chuck Kornowitz where you think it’s going to FINALLY be about SOMETHING ELSE. How my Mom would jeer! (Wore my 3-piece suit, anyway. With eyeshadow.) He says he has to come through on his way back from Oklahoma, thank God, I could say I’ll be in Maine. Looks Like It’s Over.
SUNBATHER
Poor periwinkle hides within the final spiny spiral of his shell, no stronghold that from hungry file-worms’ whippet tongues nor sun-mad amateur biologists nor ten year olds; while I more evolved, lie among the oval-jointed shells, the sheepswool sponges, camouflage my breasts as comb-jellies, hair as seaweed, fooling none yet impressing those I can’t deceive.
2:15 AM Mon 17 July 78
Another fiasco. I should leave now while I’m behind.
This has certainly been Trial and Error Week. How did poor Rod – Desirable Husband become Inevitable Discard? I’m sick to death of the Hand Kissings and the Knee Pinchings, Goddamit. There is something seriously wrong with this man. We had dinner & drinks at the Peter Pan Inn, then drove up and down Price Distillery Rd until I assaulted him. I admit it. He is under the impression that we “made love”. Trust me, one time was plenty. This is a man who does not “think” with his body. He gives nothing back, an absorptive rather than reflective surface. I was just able to prevent myself from rushing to the bathroom to masturbate. I worked hard not to let him know how just how incompetent he is, because really, there’s no hope. Some sad girl somewhere who hates sex is going to find her “dream man”. I shouldn’t have pushed it, although seriously I don’t think he will even question if it never happens again. Damn shame is all I can say. A cruel waste, when he’s so charming in every other respect. Life is brutal. Sigh. Enjoyed Pretty Baby so much I saw it twice. (Can’t pay close enough attention while Rod is talking.)
Wed 19 July 78 - 3:20 PM
Unbelievably hot. Woke up sluggish, ate last night’s
macaroni, felt worse. Ate grapefruit, felt better. Eddy called me for a double, I refused. Read Mary Kelly’s Cold Corse. Interesting. Gave me new ending for Secaire. Off to the creek to play in the naturally freezing Jacuzzi. Must buy Perrier, fruit and yogurt. Reading Jessica Mitford’s A Fine Old Conflict. Charming.
Shadowe Island – Burnside Inn – 31 July 78
The island its usual immortal, eternal self. A ragged
paradise. Avril and I came up through Boston – drove “The Freedom Trail” but couldn’t go to the Ritz Carlton bar because of the dogs. She is taking care of them down at the cottage.
Mom and Dad look great – thinner and very brown. When I checked in at the Burnside Inn Paul Morris offered me a drink and we chatted
very enjoyably. Trying not to be attracted to him. This vacation might resolve its masturbatory throbbings when Devon shows up. He is driving down from Montreal – I am as nervous as a 14 yr old. That poor sawdust doll Rod called but phone connection (thankfully) very bad. Merrill arrived with children in tow and we had magnificent lobster dinner down at the shore. Rod sent me a copy of On Moral Fiction.
Burnside Inn – 5 Aug 78
Rod called – we talked 45 mins about Moral Fiction –
I feel an enormous pleasure in his intellect. He asks me if being a poet means you enjoy life more intensely. I say YES. Maybe we can transition this into a friendship.
11:30 PM – Devon just phoned – long conversation
on power, authority and ambivalence. He is tormented by his family – can’t figure out how to escape them. He needs to move out of their town but of course they get him jobs SO HE CAN’T MOVE OUT OF THEIR TOWN. Says he’s bringing doughnuts tomorrow over on the ferry – what are my favorites. That’s easy – anything chocolate. (Mom told A that when he gets off the ferry and sees how I’m dressed he’ll turn around and get back on! She doesn’t know him very well. Kind of like Rod – they both think this “minister” thing is overly determinative. Doesn’t in the least change who he really is.)
Midnight Tues 8 Aug 78
M & D both wrong and right. Devon DID NOT flee me
at ferry but fell ecstatically into my arms. HE DID, however, painfully said he can’t express his love for me in “a fully integrated way” (because parson!) and asked me first just to caress his nude body. He didn’t think he could have sex with someone he’s not in an exclusive relationship with. But guess what? Then we had blissful, magnificent sex. I didn’t tell him this is as integrated as it gets for me and a lot more integrated than it’s been lately! (Poor Rod.)
Alysse Aallyn 