10:45 AM Sat 29 May 78
Woke up this morning muttering about betrayal and
failure. Seems my life separates into two phases: pre and post ex-husband Bruce. Pre-Bruce I was such an innocent – I think “goober” is the descriptive expression. Schools should not let these pathetic characters out – but we were so eager to roam free. There is no savagery to which people will not descend to protect their egos. On top of all this, we have to battle M & D who, of all people, SHOULD be in our corner. They’re pissed we’re not more successfully infantilized. Determine NOT to do this to my kids. Reading Hodgson’s Carnacki The Ghost Hunter (1900) heartbreakingly dull. And it could have been so good – a combination of Gerard Manley Hopkins and Sherlock Holmes is just what the doctor ordered.
3 PM Tues 30 May 78
Struggled through 2 bad pages on Demon that will
have to be rewritten, then finished Sylvia Townsend Warner’s tragic At the Stroke of Midnight. This beautiful short story almost finished me. Yesterday Italian food made me & Avril logy – we tried going dancing. Horrible place, bad band. (Tramps). Predatory males (who spoke bad English) very difficult to get rid of. Saw Greek Tycoon instead – worse even than we’d been led to believe. Came home and read two bad detective stories by “good” writers. Guilt-inducing cash from M & D – makes me feel inadequate but I need it. Means I can buy new vac clnr AND summer dresses. Call Peter like a dutiful child – this whole affair is tinged with doom. Thank God he is “busy” with his Secret Married Woman (who turns out to Someone Big in the Democratic Committee)! His parents and my parents should just date each other. Dogs need walking and I need to check on vandalism at abandoned house.
2 PM Sat June 2 – 78
Trouble opening latest letter from Devon – I had
the weirdest premonition it would a marriage proposal! It was indeed very loving – he has hit a summit of boredom and restlessness for which I am doubtless not the cure. Praised my novel for its “mystical sense of altered consciousness.” Wow. I like that better than “brilliant satire”. A & I went to Dillards concert at Cellar Door – they are so charming. Reminiscences of seeing Bruce play there. First act was Scarlet Ribera and Black Rose Band – liked her even better. Some attractive men, but casual sex seems to raise more problems than it solves. A & I agree that after the “healing” comes the “strengthening” period. Coltsville Community College asks me to teach seminar on gothic novel – of course I said yes. Poor misbegotten bastards. But at least I like watching the birds stuffing themselves at my feeder.
Plush Palace Mon 5 June 78
Perfect day – interesting stirrings inside – feel I am on
the edge of some sort of breakthrough. Yesterday fresh sweet corn and turkey salad at A’s, then we watched B Stanwyck’s Double Indemnity on TV. Classic Chandler. “Aren’t you going 75 in a 30 mph zone?” After that I dressed up in my satin 3-piece suit to see Helmut Berger at the Kennedy Center. (Sigh). What a honey that man is. Then sent Bruce a letter with the Unwelcome News that I am “estopped” from filing for divorce in the state of Maryland because he made me sign a “no contest” paper and then dropped his suit! Paralysis!
I know he was hoping to get out of this without paying (his last girlfriend proffered enough cash to get us this far then predictably abandoned him as soon as his True Colors became apparent.) Maybe I can establish residence in Virginia and start all over again. Had an eye appt in Bethesda so went to that library where I’ve never been and got a TON of interesting books. Treasuring Patricia Beers’ Reader, I Married Him.
Plush Palace Mon 12 June 78 – 7:00 PM
Horrible experience last night at the Garland Dinner
Theatre – we were seated with some couple where the male was obviously severely mentally ill –she fed him 1,000 pills throughout dinner to keep him from exploding. We could have “complained” and demanded to be seated elsewhere but it just seemed so cruel. Avril & I used every bit of our mother’s otherwise completely pernicious training and tried to act as if nothing was happening.
I’m trying to muster up the discipline to unplug my phone till six – I’m getting too involved in A’s job hunt. She told me to Butt Out. She’s right – I should just write. What the hell am I thinking being somebody’s “mother”? We have too much of a mother already – for both of us. Martin Green’s Children of the Sun a survey rather than the illumination I’d hoped for. Now I need a real Brian Howard bio.
Fri – Day One – 16 June 78
Phone awoke me at one am – no one there. Got back
to sleep by sketching out plot for novel where woman hires P I to find out who on list of names has been sending hang-up calls. Major Names of a Lifetime. Yesterday excellent day – haven’t known such joy since April. Sunbathing reading Ada Leverson & Her Circle – delicious. (Unfortunately she was a bit of an idiot.) Cleaned entire house yesterday so when I got back from dancing it was immaculate. (The dogs – who had been outside in the yard – messed it up again immediately.) Read Jane Rule’s excellent Lesbian Images at work. She’s dumb about Colette and Bowen but I agree with her that loneliness and bad experiences are the enemy, not homosexuality. But I don’t think I’m up for a lesbian experience – women too emotionally demanding. They do too much work (men do too little). Hideously unsatisfactory choice – like having to choose between a ton of salt or none. Better to go without. Peter called to say we “ought to get together”.
Seemed very halfhearted to me. Bet he wants to tell his mother he’d made an effort. I doubt we can surmount this fundamental lack of attraction (we both prefer blondes) but Mom thinks just the opposite. Marry people you’re NOT attracted to so you won’t be “swept away” by “hormones” and you can make “reasoned decisions”! Is that pitiable or what? Avril says she’s LYING because EVERYBODY lies about sex. Suggested Mom handed Dad her wet underpants on their very first date. (At the ballet? I don’t see it.) Mom has also said the worse you are at sex the more likely you are to get a proposal. Does this make sense to you? Ryder’s marriage (under these exact principles) lasted 2 yrs and he wanted to be anywhere but home.
Plush Palace – 22 June 78 – 3 PM
Second double this week. I hate them but I need
$80 for typewriter, $300 to pay back A, $100 to quiet the utilities people, $200 Burnside Inn and at least $200 “Mad Money”. You know, in case I go mad. It could happen, especially the way things are going. Need extra cash for Vacation, which I approach as if it were a Sacrament. Secaire gets written NEVER under this regime. Oh well. There’s always poetry.
SYLVIA PLATH: The Festering Weight
I know you deceived me With the bald-headed lady My true kin; My mother renounced Your swollen giblets in my name. See? I bleed tulips. It’s happened twice before; I seed the earth With children, little miracles. I give them their inheritance – a Carriage full of baby dung Flung Down the coal hole To remind me of you. Pearly maggots bee–like Suck my lip to Scent the fault that clings to me: Heredity. This enemy’s face shifts cleverly; First male, then jew, then blurred and unfamiliar, genitalia like narcissi. I reserve the right to reject This choiceless life. See? My body’s scarred by Your refusals. The blackbird sings out Blackly.
Yesterday cleaned house, walked dogs, cooked fish
stew. Avril & I read family letters, then went out to see A Different Story. Both liked it enormously.
Sat. 6 May 78 – 1:30 PM
Cleaned & waxed kitchen and bathroom floors, sitting
with newly creamed hands and cup of coffee in recliner. Muse time. Emerge blinking like a ground hog into a new and spring-like world. A year ago, I was a rat in a cage. It’s critical never to let the “merchants of neurosis” trick me into limiting myself.
Tues. 9 May Plush Palace – 9:15 PM
Mom spent the last two nights at my place – sleeping
in my bed since guest room has no bed. Me on sofa – doesn’t matter since I can’t sleep anyway when she’s around. Up at 7 to make breakfast get Mom to airport for 10 o’clock plane thank God. Avril came over with blueberry muffins and gazpacho to discuss the visit. Everything Mom said felt like an attack. (She did give me $100 but I spent – and lost – more than that on her visit.) Avril says the island has been worse for Mom because she’s never confronted with a life that would contradict her narrow-minded theories, so it’s all: “Why can’t people get smart and live exactly the way I do?” She tries to make her personal tastes “emotional law” – and if you don’t agree with her – or God forbid, want to explore something different you’re “the sick one”. Rough stuff. We took her to our favorite Ellicott City restaurant – she wanted Avril to “explain” Mason and me to “explain” my clothes. She said my clothes trigger “weirdos” following us – it was completely in her imagination! She cries. No one decent will “have” me, she wails! I say, what if I don’t want to be “had”? I’d ask her about her life but she isn’t honest – she doesn’t know Dad has already told us that her ideology is untrue. She insists when you find Mr. Right everything’s peachy, but Dad says she was uncomfortable and unwilling about sex at first – didn’t care for it. They had to “work hard”. I say we have more experience of pain than Mom ever had – Avril says she “refuses to learn.” Creepy. Turns what pain she does have back on others somehow.
The best revenge? Write a poem:
THE RIGHT PART OF TOWN
We run through life She thinks Dancing lightly on high heels Past disemboweled sofas Skirting Drunks & drains. Taut veins serve as Toque of manners High & proud, worn For company. This house displays Her purpose; New red brick Virgin stickers swearing She’s the first. Processed air admits her Grudgingly: “You look like one of us.” Mentally she sweeps up sun; Plans daisies, cashmere Overnight guests The roar from the street soon turns This air to poison – She counts to ten And breaks a nail in locking up. She sees it won’t do after all Too close to stink & squalor; Doormen, dogs, police locks; Balconies with lightning rods. She’ll choose new paths this time Avoid electronics that have lost Their parts, Flexing knees As always; she Summons a cab; closer – Closer to her death; That suitor never accused Of gentlemanly behavior.
Can’t wait to resume my privacy and my routine,
reading book about Forster (The Cave & The Mountain) in my own bed. I think realizing your mother’s limitations is part of maturity, and I’ve been slow because I’m unwilling to adopt Genevieve’s methods – “Don’t give her anything – tell her what she wants to hear.” I thought better of her than that but I struck out. Since their definition of success is so narrow, I don’t see how I can ever satisfy them.
Plush Palace – 11:30 PM – Wed 10 May 78
Wonderful day – up at nine to play Frisbee with dogs.
Eddy asked me to come in tonight and although A and I planned a movie I accepted – that’s my new policy – say yes to everything except doubles or driving all the way to Springfield. A & I had late lunch together at Ponderosa – she’s says she’ll study all night. We’ll do laundry together tomorrow and have drinks Sunday on some sundrenched terrace. J. came in tonight depressing the hell out of me. I had nothing to say to him – it would be like using a 12 gauge on a mouse. Please, just go away and live your life and don’t bother me.
Plush Palace – Midnight – Fri 12 May 78
I love Friday nights. They’re always exciting. Gay girl
in tonight approaching the dancers (without success) you’d think that would happen more often. If she went a bit slower she might get lucky. Unfortunately, she just asks us if we are gay. How can we know without any experience? With the right kind of situation I think we’d admit we’re all at least a little bit gay. Avril came over to the house at noon – we had white wine, macaroni salad with ham and croissants. Eddy called me in 3 sets early – $265 extra. Irresistible – means I can go to NYC. Carol tells us about her sexually sadistic husband – handcuffs and everything! She orders pancakes for dinner to “cheer up” even though maple syrup gives her hives! Jerrilee tells how hard it was to leave her husband. He held a gun to her baby’s head. Kristi found a new “wonderful” guy but gave him herpes and now she fears he’s “done” with her. What a waste since now they both have herpes! They’re perfect for each other! This is all a lot more interesting than Ann Bridge’s Emergency in the Pyrenees. (Even Mrs. Radcliffe was more fun that that). Who should come in tonight but Peter’s brother Julian! Thought he was in San Francisco. Apparently I’m one of the Eight Wonders of DC – can’t pass through without getting a gander. Kissed me in a brotherly way. We had a nice reminisce about childhood till Eddy sent me back to dressing room. He saw one set – when I came out again he was gone.
11 PM Mon 15 May 78
Sun night got blind drunk on my day off through sheer
frustration and exhaustion; then couldn’t sleep. Intermittent nightmares that someone was trying to break into my car and throw acid in my face. Decided to kiss the novel off and let it go – just get an opinion. Concentrate on something else. Weather depressing – no sunbathing – four day monsoon! Trying grumpily to live without booze. I can see myself becoming Lida.
2 AM Mon 22 May 78 Exhaustion follows mania. Yesterday couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to read the NY Times, but refusing to go to bed dragged out my notebooks to arrange beside my desk. Horrible old valentines, photos of Ryder, dreadful wailing screeds fall out. I have so many drafts of Flycatcher it’s ridiculous. Purging isn’t easy – I totally understand hoarding. How can you be certain you’ll never need something again? Must get to bed – tomorrow meet A at College Park Library to see Dear Detective and listen to Couperain.
Fri. Plush Palace – 26 May 78 – 7:20 PM
Dancing badly. Reduced to eating saltines (bad girl!)
Feel I can see the end of all this and it’s a cold cold chill. Apparently nothing pleasurable lasts forever – as soon as it’s a “job” it’s over. Poor me! What’s the next incarnation? Tending art gallery on windswept rainy isle? Living drunken and obese in a trailer on the edge of the estate?
HORROR STORY
With age lubricity Darkens into sweat; We face each other Across the cooling dinner, Night by night Stiff as andirons Masterpieces best seen by candlelight To hide the cracks, Well-meant improvements by Another’s hand. A well-matched pair. Gardens edged perennially with stone Are called unkillable; One fountain singing This tune only. What oracle? It didn’t look this way Going forward Backward is a different view.
I could have sworn that we’d last longer. I think I caught it from my mother, Who played a role in Wuthering Heights; The crone who preaches doom In guise of cheer. I requested light enough To read my tarot; instead recycling Murky tea brewed From your used bathwater. These leaves are dark and do not speak. I shiver with cold and you With anger; a well-matched pair, a Brace of disappointments. There’s still too much We can’t admit.
Lovely “date” with Avril. We went to Sea Fair
(corner Calvert & Conn) for drinks, scallops, mussels at the outside café. She says Shoulders is a total washout. Looks like Mom succeeded all too well in convincing us romantic love is the most important thing in life – I say let’s blame her. A having horrible insomnia troubles so before movie we bought six classical records to soothe and stun. I really hesitate to go out with Peter – why cultivate new people when they’re so likely to turn out just as awful as the old people? I like him now but… he’s on his best behavior. Really feeling shy and buried in myself. Instead of new man, start a new novel. Something crazy. A tried Barbara Ellen (exercise studio) but was put off by their insulting sales techniques. It’s like being chained to a TV listening to a half hour of ring around the collar commercials. Too bad. I say she’s got to stop telling prospective employers she has “no experience”. She worked for hotline, courier service, horrible fake gyno, etc. We need to construct a resume out of this – we are too damn honest. Better to project even a witless confidence. I don’t want to have to tell people about myself, either.
Dear Detective was superb! Followed it up with gold rush sundae and coffee at Swensen’s. Trying to get into bestsellers – reading Velda Johnson’s ghastly Etruscan Smile. Would rather read theology (and Secaire shows it. Alas.) My novel is terrible. It stinks. It needs to be rewritten from the bottom UP. Plot beyond help.
10:30 PM – Plush Palace – Mon night 10 April 78
Two more sets. I’ll live. Finished study of Mary McCarthy
by Doris Grumbach. Much prefer that to actually having to read McCarthy who reminds me of Aldous Huxley – Is it possible to be too contemporary? Trends of modern writing a little too sketchy for me. No book should feel like flipping through a magazine. Sensory overload sans enlightenment. As for Angus Wilson – we are parting forever. I read all but two stories in Such Darling Dodos – back on the shelf he goes.
Wonderful day – up before 7, read New York Times, sent out poems – magnificent walk with dogs – explored abandoned house. Haunted by novel – so went back and got six pages – one good new idea. Called publisher – ordered ten more books. Little self-promotion. While working got call from the Plush Palace – would I come in two sets early for Glory, who is sick? Love to. Just feeling bankrupted by the drycleaners. I was justified too because first set got a big tip. ($300)! Peter called – said he would have loved to go to the Raitt concert with me but had to go to Vermont. He certainly talks differently when his girlfriend/housekeeper/telephone answerer person is not around. He hinted that his love life is impossibly complex and he doesn’t want his parents to know. I’m guessing that she is married.
He promised to get in touch when he gets back. I’m in the ladies room because the air-conditioning in dressing room not working – it is suffocating in there. Yesterday evening thoroughly enjoyable – steaks wine and hot fudge sundaes at A’s then watched Richard Brooks Happy Ending which really was a bomb. Trying to read Anthony Powell’s Venusberg but feeling nothing yet. Tried Sarton’s Miss Pickthorn – a hash of all her other stuff – very slight. Avril not home for past four hours – out on date with Jordan. Can’t wait to hear how it went.
11:45 PM – Thurs 13 Apr 78
Safe & warm in my gilt-canopied bed, happy in spite
of my cold. A & I got “El Diablo” inspected today – $70 – But at least she can take it to the MVA tomorrow and have it put in her name. That great feeling of “starting out fresh”. In spite of dribbles & wheezes, blissful dog walk followed by deep-dish pizza & wine at Armand’s. No painful memories. Cherry blossoms are out.
Saw Coming Home with Jon Voigt & Jane Fonda. Good, if somewhat earnest. Bruce Dern acted like he was in a different movie. Rough part deserves a hero’s commendation. I stare at the casually interdependent couples – it’s been a year since I could lay a hand on another’s thigh with that proprietary air. Poor A dissolved in tears towards the end – too reminiscent of the “endless pain” of vets like Bruce and Mason. I’d be more sympathetic if they didn’t take it out on others. What they learned apparently is how to “stage a war”. The people we love inflict the worst damage. A’s at the stage where she’s still haunted by Mason but feels it’s “boring” to talk about him so she bottles it up. I tell her get a diary. Hope to finish Powell’s Agents & Patients tonight – but it is a little dull.
Plush Palace –Fri 14 Apr 78 – 3:50 PM
Only 3 more sets, with 4 dancers. Still, made
enough tips for groceries. Buy wild birdseed for the birds cavorting outside my desk’s bay window. Daringly went on without stockings – such a savings if we didn’t have to buy them but Eddie told me No Cigar. Too bad – they’re hot in summer. Alvera says Yvonne’s back at Mother Joe’s. I thought she wouldn’t be able to eat enough shit to stay in her music clerk job. We goddesses areso spoiled by our pedestal. Called A in the afternoon to see how she was doing – Shoulders was there flexing his muscles at her and she is over the moon. Trying to be glad for her but in spite of his obvious beauty I’m afraid he is a bit of a shit. (See testimony past burnees plus eviction notices.)
I feel I must disappear deeper into solitude and see what’s down there. Gift (new version of Courtney) coming along interestingly but slowly. I’m afraid it has no plot other than my own life, when what it needs is a couple of murders. (Same thing my life has always required.) Poems easier instead:
MAN – FISH
My husband caught a walleye; I caught A day-old baby Trolling my Dalkon shield On idle spinnerets I hooked him He bore the wounds of other fishermen. Through holes in his side I saw His heart still beating Shielded by a membrane tough As duck’s egg. I said I think I can save him My husband said too small And threw him back.
Tried to read Phyllis Bottome but she’s a fatal cross between a didact and a pleaser; sort of like a barky little dog. Most unpleasant. And that casual anti-Semitism pretty shocking.
Plush Palace – Sat 5:50 PM 15 Apr 78
Halfway through novel – can’t figure out if I’m
satisfied or not. All my discoveries so agonizingly slow. Can’t afford fuckups – then I’ll have to go through it all AGAIN. Slept late, breakfast at A’s. We did laundry together, then played gin. I was the first one here thank God (means I’m the first to leave). Got my schedule – 4 nights in a row, 2 days off. Good. Congratulate myself on my intellectual freedom as I wrap black lace around my throat, recalling all the put-downs suffered as the “architect’s helpmeet”.
Reread Alvarez’ description of Plath’s suicide – I don’t agree her death was some “by-product.” Her mother raised her to be murdered by other people – Nazis or husbands. There had to be a “bloodletting” – Mrs. Plath’s ulcer – Sylvia’s “suicides”. If you don’t “accept” martyrdom someone will have to die in your place. Kid yourself it’s” freedom” just because you choose time & place. It bothers me terribly that they shared a bedroom during Sylvia’s formative years. Death would seem inevitable just to get some privacy & distance. Poor Sylvia offered those magnificent poems to Alvarez and he backed away terrified because Art is terrifying. $30 for lost contact that came out when a necklace scraped my eyeball while I was hanging upside down. Teach me to wear contacts onstage. Who needs to see the audience anyway?
7:15 PM Sun 16 Apr 78
Spent the day in bed eating oranges, coffee, peanut
butter. A’s spending the night at Shoulders’ new place – then tomorrow we’re going to the new Cassavetes film and I’m excited. Jervaze in for last set to invite me to his going away party. I slept nine hours. Horrifying Who Made the Lamb – author really lost control of this one but I bet she would say she was just “reporting”. Books do Furnish a Room much better than Powell’s previous – has a sense of direction. “Trapnel himself always insisted that a novel is what its writer is”. I would agree. Style follows taste, I think. Realize Dad and I don’t mean the same thing by the word “intellectual”. He means a person who knows specific things, (education) I mean a person who thinks a certain way (style). Twain never meet. I am not respectful of an artificially acquired patina of “points of view”. Wrote the infirmary scene – just what I wanted to say. Maybe I need to give up sex and even male companionship – just can’t afford them.
Plush Palace – 6:45 PM Fri 21 Apr 78
Wonderful walk along Powder Mill Road thinking
about the mystique of money. I eternally fight a rearguard action. M & D call at noon – Genevieve had little girl – Belinda. Avril delivers my new lens – bounce notice in mail – I tear my hair in a frenzy. I get to dance 2 sets for GiGi – $200 – she tells me about her night of sin with Louie. And she wants another one. Life’s a soap opera. Management says there’s going to be a drug raid with dressing room search warrant. Panic among the girls – but not me. Check out the customers with a more intense interest. Are narcs here? Everyone planning to leave town except me. I offer to work tomorrow night. Reading an interesting study of Iris Murdoch novels – the Disciplined Heart. Too much coffee – I’m switching to tomato juice.
Sat night – 22 Apr 78 8:30 PM
My whole body hurts from dancing 5 nights in a row.
It’s not good for tips, either. Poor May Sarton is trying to exorcise Eliz Bowen. Good luck with that! Elizabeth so contemptuous of “schoolgirl crushes”! Real love in EB’s world seems strangely synonymous with corruption & loss. Old fashioned view and more male really – “ejaculate” and die. We women get children, poems & novels out of it. Avril stood up for dinner by Shoulders. Uh oh. Beginning of the end. Apparently saying “yes” is fatally unsexy. She & I will be eating her pot roast tomorrow – fine with me. Fatima came down early but Lori refused to go up, pointing to her watch! Much excitement & hissing.
7:45 PM – Mon. 24 Apr 78
Good Gift scene – Miss Pruitt vs. Viv. Now I need a
boathouse picnic. Every time you get to the mountaintop there’s just more mountain. Then you’re supposed to “prune” at the end – if you have any energy left. Trying to read A Literature of Their Own but Showalter too hard on poor old Woolf. Women have always owned literature, it’s the publishers, editors and critics we apparently can’t have. 60,000 words on Gift tells me it’s time to celebrate. No novel could EVER be this hard again. I demand a party.
Strange letter from Devon – he is involved with some “Jewish woman” and it isn’t going well. She seems “inaccessibly foreign” and he is “losing faith” in his “ability to pick a friend.” Is this a plea for help? He specifically asked where I would be this summer. Said he loved me. Took his glamour pic out of the bin where it has lain and put it up, then went out with A and bought a bikini. She and Shoulders are so mired in excuses, lies and expectations no new relationship seems possible. Intensive sunbathing season starts tomorrow.
1PM Thu May 4 -78
Comparing lovers. “It’s Devon in the stretch with
Jervaze fatally winded and Bruce fallen by the wayside”. Write poem:
The sideways smile
I heard you singing and remembered things that you’ve forgotten I see you clearly Fish in a hailstone. See your hands Long for a man I always thought And your upper lip too short Like a lion’s in fact You have an animal presence Placing no trust in words Placing no trust in love Acting like you’d never met me As you roll your joints with private letters that I sent islands undiscovered and worlds unreachable. You were the joke I didn’t get; I recall your sideways smile blowing smoke between us refusing to forgive the essential fragility that Marks us humans; Fated as you were always to surrender to the scornful cries of your Invisible bystanders.
Finished Gift last week. Letting it “perk”. It already feels “swallowed up” by the past. Avril read it, disappointed by the ending. Wants murder at the very least. But is that real life? I think I agree with her that it should be. People should kill themselves when you are done with them. Sadly, in reality they’re all whimper and no bang. How to fix?
When I’m not engaged on some important work my “real life” ceases. Car to its “first service” Mon – involved ferrying each other around and jockeying with one car. Why don’t M & D appreciate this? It’s like they want us to be ashamed of needing other people to survive. Mom staying in NYC with the new baby but then coming here Sat. to inspect our dissolute lives. Uh oh. I won’t have any trouble getting time off but I hate to. Can’t work when she is here. Living two weeks off one paycheck can be done. But I will feel obligated to battle Mom for financial freedom.
Finished Glendinning’s Bowen. A life rich and strange but hardly enviable. I’m being pestered by old “college friend” but I am officially “not home”. She sneaks around the house, sniffing.
Tues, midnight, 9 Feb 78
What a day. Lost a contact just before bed, which put
me in a hideous temper. 1 ½ hrs sleep, drove A to Laundromat, did laundry, bought cosmetics, picked her up, did lunch and visited broker. Just like the other rich girls except for the Laundromat part. Then to MVA, got MD license renewed, new address, not too horrible photo. Avril flunked her test must retake Wed. Back to house managed 2 more hrs of sleep. Woke up feeling cheerful and streaked hair with L’Oreal. Still have a rotten cough. The trouble with being sick is you can’t imagine yourself well. Intimations of mortality. Ate lasagna with A, then off to work. J dropped in second set, said his car was fixed, seemed cheerful, said his sister-in-law (whom I suspect of being The Pirate Queen) is reading my book “to figure out what kind of person I am” (uh oh). He left during my 3rd set without saying goodbye. Should I drop in on him? Tempting. He also asked to read Demon. Hmmmm. A of course thinks I should clamor for “boundaries” “rights”, “clarity” and “definitions.” I am embarrassed even to tell HER that this is all completely hopeless. I’d have to set him on my knee and move his mouth. I’d end up defining every term and he would immediately forget anyway. Anyway, in my experience, the less “clarity”, the better the sex. Once things have been completely defined you no longer want to touch each other. Missing Devon of all people. He must be sick of Gwynne by now. Where will he find another like me? But it’s always a bad sign when I plunge into “default” mode. So, I dropped in on Ryder to take him by surprise. He was there and it was worth it. Gave me a gorgeous massage. I gave him my cold. We are at the wrong points in our life trajectories to connect in any meaningful way. Picked up Holt’s Lord of the Far Island which one of the other girls is reading. Unbelievably crappy. Why do people prefer this stuff to mine? Oh well. Feeling better – night almost over.
Sun. 12 Feb 78 – 10:20 PM Psychic tremors driving home. But when I walked in the door everything was fine. It’s so comforting to be surrounded with one’s own stuff – it seems to assumes a personality – like a separate self. A reassuring stand-in – someone who “goes on” for you when you’re tired. Very busy weekend – A moving into her own place – sorting, packing, cleaning, buying. Moving. Hard physical labor since we are doing it all. “Mother Truckers.” Rushed on to work with my arms aching – J. showed up. His body seemed solider, less fragile. I gave him a comforter for his birthday – he seemed to like it – we went to his place to watch Harper – side by side like an old couple on the couch. I’ve decided he reminds me most of some wild animal. He always wakes up like a deer finding itself in a cage. He seems to be just now comprehending that I’m there. He insisted on pleasuring me so I just accept it. Said his body “hurt”. I wish I could convince him that caffeine, junk food and alcohol are his enemies, but he is too stubborn to believe it. I fear a return of that kidney thing that felled him before. I’m afraid our relationship belongs to the bar and his apartment, however. Can’t get him to go anywhere with me; he is “tired” and he works enough that it’s a believable excuse. He’s so beautiful you’d think he’d be more of an exhibitionist but it’s just the opposite. Three days off. I need it. But on the whole I am pleased with my life.
1:45 PM MON 13 Feb 78
Lovely dog walk. My desk collapsed under piles of
books, so I bought new furniture – unpainted. Cleaned, redecorated spare room (A’s old room.) Looks good. Decided just thinking about J is channeling my energies away from writing. We have a “sexual friendship”, so there. That’s Hugh Hefner’s “highest good” so presumably some people would be happy with it. But J has no influence on my life-plan. R called. We had a decent conversation.
5:45 PM Snow pouring down – four more inches
expected so I decided not to go out. Last night was the first night I’ve actually been unable to rouse J – so I just left – went home dirty and sleepless to a couple of short-changed dogs. Now it turns out he’s in the hospital undergoing tests because of “passing blood”. Medieval sounding. Does he have those big black knobs under his armpits? Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. The sister in law phoned with this info, also gave the brother’s number where J will go after tests.
9PM Plush Palace – Wed 15 Feb 78
J quite drunk when he came in this evening – said
he’s turning in his notice and returning to the South. (I wondered if they fired him but didn’t say it.) I was so upset I walked into the men’s room by mistake! (No one in there.) He did say “or I could live with you.” This does not sound good to me. My monogamous soul does not aspire to a lifetime playing nursie.
10PM – Plush Palace – Thurs 16 Feb 78
3 sets done – I’m exhausted and my legs hurt but I’ll survive. Spent the afternoon with Chloe and Dennis Parks at WPFW, taping
a vibrant show on paperback publishing. Really enjoyed myself. A came over for dinner and helped me paint my new study furniture. Got a frightening letter from the IRS – I phoned – turned out that they think I owe them an extra $56! They can have it. Electric bill $76. Disappointed by Noel Coward’s Future Indefinite, seeking escape instead in Mona Farnsworth’s Dark Wood. I deserve escapism after all I’ve been through.
11:40PM – Plush Palace – Fri 17 Feb 78 Just finished Rosenberg’s bio of Dorothy Richardson. She seems just like me – then when I get to the end of her life – poverty & anguish! Oh dear!
4:00 PM Mon 21 Feb 78 Lying in bed – hair set – an hour to go before work. Spent all day tidying study – including file drawers – if I was to die this minute I would give everyone the impression of being a hardworking artist and an astute businesswoman. Maybe I shouldn’t wreck it by ever going in there again. Gregory’s book about Dorothy Richardson – lots left out. Putting myself to sleep with Homage to Daniel Shays – I must have a lready read this because all the essays seem so familiar. Very unpleasant Vidal attack on Anais Nin.
Plush Palace – 7:45 PM
Lots of comforts in this job. Inhale the pleasure
of a messy dressing room, so full of life & hope. I was sitting down taking out my curlers when GiGi asked me to do her last set – her knee hurts – so I put on a gold G- string and did one set without makeup. That paid my electric bill right there. Settle down with Anne Tyler. Comfortable.
10:30PM – Plush Palace – Thurs 23 Feb 78
Avril came to work with me – I’m having a great night.
She met a guy here she likes who asked for her number – he seems nice, but he must have the problems intrinsic to all who haunt this place – alcoholic or druggy – or just unmotivated in some fatal, fatal way. Paz’s been telling me her new honey’s too “big” for her – makes her bleed. That can’t be right. This triggered an avalanche of gynecological horror stories that ended up with all who are interested examining Fatima’s hanging “meatus” left over from a “botched childbirth”. She has trouble tucking it into her G-string! I declined inspection. Missing an opportunity other writers would have jumped at? Will I need to describe this someday?
Sun. 26 Feb 78 – 9:45 PM
J actually showed for dinner last night – while I was
stuffing the baked potatoes – we had a wonderful evening, played Clue, very good sex. Said his sister read my “gothic” but called it Too Victorian. Disguised praise? I decide to think so. He asked me to visit him in Alabama. I’m sure there’s a novel in that but do I want to be the one to write it? Then of course he had to leave early. I called A – had kind of a psychic flash – a feeling of trepidation about the human condition – she said she had been sobbing all night. Are we going no place? I asked her. Is it all an illusion? She said she feels she once had a home and family but somehow lost them and can’t adjust. She has a life others would envy – young college student with her own apartment in DC – but she wants back something she never had. “Neva vu” ex-husband Bruce and I used to call it. The unrecognized familiar. I am reading – very appropriately – The Troubled Helpmate. Misogyny in literature.
Mon midnight 6 Feb 78
Fri night J was in the bar getting slowly snockered. Very
proud to take me home. We had our most passionate sex session yet – 5 hours! Of course he couldn’t come. We finally quit because I was exhausted. He told me the sexiest thing I do is play with my breasts when we make love! I only do it because he doesn’t! The big lug. He asked me what I would do if I accidentally got pregnant. (He knows about IUD.) I said have the baby. Of course I didn’t tell him that I might not inform him of the fact – depends on him and the state of our relationship.
Which raises the important question: do I want an alcoholic baby? Wouldn’t you be watching it throughout childhood to see if it favored rum candy? He said he hoped we’d get married because a child needs a father. I think this might be the way an Alabamian proposes. Surprising how totally un-good it felt. I almost got as depressed as he is. Jervaze, who has the beauty of an angel-god, is no better than a drifter. Even I am shocked by my own taste. His life is guaranteed to go from bad to worse because of his fatal Hamlet-like inability to take charge. Clearly he needs to be the full time project of some managing woman. This is bringing out all my masculine characteristics, some of which, frankly, I was hoping never to see again. I am also bothered by the fact that he can’t have serious conversations. I would say he absolutely does not know me at all, and appears satisfied with that. I probably also don’t know him, although I am beginning to face the fact that there may be nothing to know.
The drama of my own existence is important to me. There’s a full cast of characters and A LOT OF PLOT SURPRISES and he hasn’t even opened the book. It’s frustrating because it makes everything less meaningful. I feel I’m in a bind, though, because he’s definitely the best of the bunch in all the bars I’ve danced. Most attendees are married men looking for fun and excitement. They are the dancers’ favorite because they’re established, generous and sometimes they actually leave their wives. This happened with R although he always insisted (and I believed) it wasn’t me, it was him. (And her, presumably). The best you can do is “catch them on the cusp” of divorce. The “singles” men come in three kinds – total losers who can’t manage a relationship and that’s what they’re doing in a bar like this, guys who need you to quit the minute you start dating them because “no girlfriend of mine” blah blah blah. (More R). The third is guys who are fine with you dancing – in fact they want to be your manager. Several dancers have fallen for these guys and often they marry them. He buys their costumes, drives them to and fro, bargains with the club owner and even looks after the kids. The good ones don’t just drain her money, date the competition or beat her up. (Those are rare. But exist. I’ve met them.) Only now she can’t ever quit! Take Lida for example. Lida’s in her 40’s and can’t be seen in the light of day. Although she has a perfect body, she is real scary close up – gets the worst clubs and shifts – here she is strictly a fill-in. One dancer and her boyfriend live in a van, going from club to club. He sits in the bar for every set and that has to be OK with the management. This would seem to mean my parents are right that I can’t meet nice men because of my job, and although I don’t want to go all apocalyptic, it is hard to see how this can get better. I could meet someone through my writing if I were a different kind of person but I just can’t seem to change. (I’m getting happier and happier Being Me.) Probably my best bet is to go back to college – I’ve been wanting to – take a class here and there (a lot of dancers do this) and date guys without letting them know what I do for work until I know them really well. Money is the problem there. More capital expense. I make good money and I should be able to afford it, however it doesn’t combine well with my plans to take time off and travel. I would have to work constantly which so far I have been too spoiled to do. A light schedule keeps dancing fresh for me – it’s also good for my writing. So I should probably compromise and take one class – something nice and cheap like adult ed at the community college. I’ll think about it.
Sat night J was all withdrawn again. I don’t think he wants me to coax out of him what the problem is; I think when he is in that mood he really just wants me to go away. So I do. A says I’m being an idiot – that he is clearly in love with me – in her definition, I’ve “arrived”. I could get him to move in with me, structure his time and tell him what to do. Maybe that’s what he wants but it certainly isn’t what I want. He seems so depressed about his family — and it is too late to lie to them about what I do because his brother (whom I’ve still never met) “already knows”. Could I change my name and get away with being someone else entirely? Tell me again why should I go to those lengths?
He would just appall my parents. This would confirm every bad thing about me they’ve ever said (and they’ve said a lot). It’s really one of those tragic Victorian love stories (The Tenant of Wildfell Hall) except that we’re not from different classes – so maybe its more SCI fi because we’re from different PLANETS. I’m beginning to think he’s actually “cast off” by his family
that’s his deep dark secret. His alcoholic behavior “ruined” him in his hometown somehow. (He did graduate high school. He says.) He’s the horrible albatross from the Coleridge poem (or he’s trying to shift it off onto me.) Under the apparently inexorable rules of sexual attraction, once again he’s a weird mirror image of me. But instead of being a drunk (which my parents would prefer) I’m a poet. Probably in the South it all comes to the same thing. In the North it’s almost the same. Here we’ve got actual mental illness thrown into the mix.)
Can’t say my advice which is he ought to write them off . He totally buys into their rejection and who knows, maybe it will save him in the end. “Dump your family” was my advice to my husband, so possibly it’s me who has the problem.
Mom and Dad asked if J was an intellectual and I said, “Well, he’s reading my book.” I didn’t tell them he’s been reading it for the past two months with no end in sight. I don’t dare even comment on it anymore. It snowed about 20 hours – that’s another thing I like about J – he lives right next to the club. It’s hard on my dogs – but so would my death on the roads be.
R. Called today – 3rd time in a month. He acted very loving and considerate – I don’t believe it for a minute. Now he’s worried about my health – wants to bring me homemade chicken soup, etc. I don’t rise to these flies any more and it feels so good. Any desire I may have had to see the flesh ripped from his bones with red-hot razorblades has ebbed. I take that as progress. I look forward to seeing him again because I think it would be great to feel nothing.
11:30 AM Tues. 7 Feb 1978 Mom and Dad called – there’s another apt available on the island. What once seemed so attractive is now an obvious ploy to make me over in their image. This is the same island Mom referred to when she said, “Eyeshadow is not appropriate here.” (She gets to decide how people should dress for parties.) When I mentioned this to Genevieve, she said, “Well it’s not.” Way to back me up sister. So the question really is, would I be ready to sacrifice eye shadow for a sinkhole of safety?
Could I end up wearing shawls and baking bread without any ability to save myself? If I can ever afford a “get-away” (and my royalties say no) I think it should be on the Chesapeake. And if I want to afford that I should try to “get the market” to work for me, i.e. be F. Scott Fitzgerald instead of Sylvia Plath. Both died young but she died younger.
But hey, I want to be myself and I can live on so little. I ought to be able to pull this off. On the other hand, if Dad’s fish recover from their anal calcification and his latest aquafarm project takes off, maybe we’ll make millions. Still, he won’t let me have the stock certificates so possibly it’s all blather.
Worked listlessly on Demon. Cold, strange little book, and NOT what my new editor wants me to write, but I find the protagonist interesting. Maybe someone else will. It’s working out to top off at 30,000 words or the worst length ever. Unfortunately I like it this way. Introduce subplot? Submit it with other short stories? Can’t decide. Erin is exactly the same length. Between the two of them aren’t they a book? Unfortunately, they are too similar which I guess ruins it for the reader who has to be taken by surprise.
R called hearing I had sniffles (from his spy?) but didn’t come by. Said he didn’t get sick at all. Favored by God, I guess. He always acts like I am just about to dump him totally. Maybe I already have. We are as formal as people who have never even met.
Reading Waugh’s diaries and thinking a lot about my own life. I try thinking about my writing as if it were acting: “do what the part demands, try what other actors have done.” But it doesn’t work. It is the pure eccentricity of uniqueness that the universe demands and nothing less. You’re either part of the pursuit of ultimate meaning or you’re “against” it. What a pity, too, the universe is not “the world”.
MOON-SOULED
The moon & my soul have Too much in common; Retreating to Eclipses Abandoning natives Screaming in panic: “Come back, come back We never notice When you’re here yet Who can bear this darkness Now that you have gone?”
11Am Tues 17 Jan 78 Reading Evelyn Waugh’s diaries over my third cup of coffee with open mouthed amazement. It seems almost a work of fiction. Try to imagine these whines and wails ever appearing in print! Imposserous Bert Lahr would say. Thank God for The Victorian High Colonic: a pre-mortem bonfire. Highly recommended, my dear.
7:30 PM No word from J so I assume he is really coming to eat dinner here. The evening’s menu: sherry and smoked oysters, cheese and crackers, burgundy and manicotti stuffed with crab. French bread, banana nutbread and coffee for dessert, if we make it that far without attacking each other. Need to watch the drinking – had two glasses of sherry while cooking and am definitely feeling it.
2:15 AM Wed 19 Jan
J gone – he had to – no clothes here. I let him go
fairly gracefully – after hours of sex without anyone coming I was happy to be alone. He’s definitely an alcoholic. He gets away with it by never seeming drunk (only once in awhile. His “tell” is he wants to talk about Alabama.) But he’s also never not drinking. He seems too young but it definitely explains the physical problem.
11Am
A came home from a bad date. Glad her classes start
tomorrow – Limbo an unpleasant place to live. Need to walk dogs now – going to AFI theatre tonight to see Next Stop, Greenwich Village. Time keeps chewing us up and spitting us out.
1 PM Thurs 20 Jan 78
Excellent morning lying in bed reading Byron. It would
be lovely to be rich – it would not be lovely to be Byron.
HAVING SEX WITH LORD BYRON or “Or, if you can’t have love, you can always have relatives”
Lord Byron took his lady on the sofa Before the wedding dinner; He considered sex a “hostile act” and Liked to get it over with. Afterwards both parties sued for rape. “Poor me”, quoth his lordship, “Nobody’s been so ravished since the Trojan War.” Some truth there was; the stampede Of countesses was considerable. This poet who fell upon chambermaids Like a “thunderbolt” Confounded all by falling in love with Foolish Gussie, his half-sister. Ain’t that the way; Perhaps the wealthy Overwhelmed by choice, cherish That forced card.
Another deeply rooted legacy of R’s is that I now expect others to constantly lie (to themselves, above all) about their motivations. You can only judge by what they actually do which throws all planning into the crapper and means you’re stuck with a lot of confused, open mouthed standing around waiting for disaster. I don’t make promises either – I just don’t say anything – which fact apparently caused me to assume I’d really enjoy a relationship with a totally nonverbal type like J. Turns out: noooooooo. I torture myself about what he must be thinking and feeling which – let’s face it – may not be much. Wish my royalties would arrive – I’ve spent them over in my mind a thousand different ways. Can’t do anything about island property, travel, car, or self-publicity without them. Capital expenditures, all. I am making dinner for A at four thirty to hear all about her first day of classes – then I go to work. Love driving down the highway with the other “night shifters” – I always think I can pick them out. Our special sense of purpose makes us different.
Sunday 24 Jan 78 7:30 PM
Read Popcorn Venus, saw Julia, so alternately
depressed and cheered by turns. Thinking a lot about “impure relationships”. How innocent to assume those are the ones with certain kinds of sex in them. In actuality, it is more the hostage taking mentality that is to be feared. Can one just “Glance in” so to speak and then hustle the hell out? I’ve been so scared off, I am having a non-relationship. When Jervaze is not in my bed, it’s as if he never existed. Would I surprised if I found out he had some secret life? Hell no, I’d be encouraged. I think the truth is he watches football alone, gets drunk, sleeps and works – that’s all he does. I liked Julia because I am interested in the question of what repressed sexuality does to relationships – does it change them? Seems it would have to. Well, you can fool some of the people… Starting to re-think Courtney. Worst novel ever written? If so, what can I do about it? Is it too late? Tell it from the cat’s point of view – something radical like that. Write it in blank verse like Spoon River Anthology. Jervaze is mystified that I read by choice. A says “Don’t you get it? He’s a mud puppy.” What can I say? I’m such a sucker for male beauty.
Mon. 23 Jan 78
Enraptured by biography of John O’Hara. Starts brilliantly,
describing his study at the time of his death – framed awards, Cape Cod lighters, bound diaries. Everything just “perfect” the way poor F. Scott always dreamed. The novels were steppingstones to the study, not the other way around! I am feeling alienated from my study at the moment. Have decided that my typewriter table – a board atop a wine rack – is all wrong. A and I went to Hechinger’s and studied several “office systems”. Plastic cubes $70 even for a looksee. I’ve set my heart on satinwood so I guess next stop antique stores. What would an antique typing table look like? A dressing table is the right height? Sans mirror? Wouldn’t want to look at oneself while working! First step to madness!
When I work without interruption, time vanishes. Maybe it’s like riding without spurs: you become the horse (one’s deepest self). J. showed up Sun night. We drank sherry, played cards. He is getting to like sherry, which I’m afraid, is my fault. Someone needs to go on the wagon and I don’t want it to be me. Heard via the rumor mill that R broke his leg skiing! Ha ha! Did he get insurance for that? Maybe he wasn’t kidding and he was trying to kill himself. I just don’t understand people like that. He approaches everything as “it’s you or me” so the mountain let him have it although frankly I’m surprised it wasn’t someone else’s leg that got broken. Maybe he killed the other guy. Sent him a card – he’s “recuperating” at his parents’ house on a steady diet of Italian food.
Thurs 26 Jan 78
J came in the Plush Palace last night and I talked to him
until Eddy got restive. Turns out he has horrendous financial problems, including hospital bills for a kidney complaint. Probably will have to sell his car even though it is a part of him like his cowboy hat. I was feeling carefree and immortal and suggested he move in with me – he’s thinking about it. Now of course I’m aghast. What if I gave him A’s room and he started bringing girls home? I could listen to them making love for hours and hours and hours – no one ever coming. Would I be jealous or would I feel sorry for her? See, this relationship is complex – I am wanting to run like hell or place an ad for “Needed: Goal oriented individual – good at sex – not too inflexible.“ Hopeless. They have to get stiff and then hang loose at just the right times – “Impeccable timing”? A tall order, I know. Today I had trip to the dentist and letter from Mom – trip to the dentist was easier. (He told me I have a “runner’s heart”. Did not tell him I was a dancer. Said I was a walker. True – since 10 mos old.) Mom says that if I really loved her I’d get a decent job. She a nd Dad offered to give me money so I don’t have to dance. Respectful endowment of course would be great. Unfortunately, they only mean, “till I get over my sickness.”
Happy to turn ‘em down flat. Mom keeps saying a feminist wouldn’t allow men to look at her in a sexual way. This is my mother of the “Marilyn Monroe dress” (still hers and Dad’s favorite.) My mother who has always turned heads and received accolades as a major beauty, with drunken men pawing her in European restaurants, dazed Arab men following her down the beach, stoned college professors slobbering over her at parties. All “her fault” apparently!! It’s a critical component of hers and Dad’s relationship that he “captured” such a “prize”. But all this must remain unsaid or “someone” will boo-hoo. Who would bother to deny the roles of biology and acculturation? I’d like to live off my writing – but it is rapidly becoming apparent that to do that you have to write to “their” taste. And they have such bad taste! Plus, I find I covet anonymity. In spite of my profession of “being stared at”, I feel like I am the observer. It’s a heady sense of power. This is theatre, after all. They may think they sit in darkness, but I can still see them.
Off to visit R and his broken leg. Took him cookies and magazines – cookies I did NOT bake myself. I wondered if I would end up telling him about J – flirted with the idea – he would be scared to death if he ever caught sight of that beautiful, beautiful man. That’s what J is best at. But I would be doing it to hurt him and since he has always accused me of doing everything to hurt him (being born on an island, going to a prep school, losing my virginity to someone else, writing) it seems as if actually doing it I would be “giving in” to his worldview. I must remain a refusenik. In the end he never asked me about myself; but talked incessantly about him. Trying to impress me, like on a first date.
Looking back on it I think he’s just trying to stoke any hots I may still have for him. He’s never bought into his own “friendship bullshit”; he doesn’t even believe it about same sex friends. The universe is fundamentally competitive and we’re all crabs in a barrel trying to step on each other’s heads to get a better view. Eat or be eaten, baby! He made allusions to the fact that “you” only value things you work hard for … or things you’ve lost. Ha ha – zinger! A grenade lobbed at me. The visit left me feeling uncomfortable – frustrated – vaguely “one down” but unable to put my finger on it. From the way his sisters treated me I have a horrible feeling he tells people I was the love of his life but wouldn’t give up my selfishly immoral lifestyle. That’s what he would do, the bastard, act like he was the victimized one. I hope his leg heals crooked.
Probably a good thing I didn’t mention Jervaze – he looks so good but he’s totally non-nutritious and collapses like a creampuff on scrutiny. We’d have to live in Alabama – he’s made that very clear. I can’t even imagine him having a conversation with another person in front of me. He has no family pictures. I’d drop in on him at work just to catch a glimpse of him interacting with humans but it’s the Pentagon !!! They wouldn’t let me in. He’s only a repairman, too, so he probably has a completely fictitious personality there.
Still working on Waugh’s diaries. Hard to avoid the conclusion that he became Catholic in order to avoid giving up his pride. Just another elegantly exclusive men’s club. Anything to get out of “becoming human”. You know. The way Jesus did. Almost midnight – last costume change of the evening. Pink and black lace, pink gladioli in my hair. Black tassels, the works. Gentleman Jim – now a magnate with a string of clubs – was in earlier – I was dancing my absolute best – wild applause – the crowd was chanting my name.
But when I went to find him to ask him for a raise he was gone. Next time. This is the time of the evening Zombiehood sets in. J comes in earlier and earlier – he asks me to come over, I don’t have to bring it up. Made me promise to wake him. I told him I would be “merciless” with him. He wanted to know “how merciless”. He is pretty cute. He wasn’t wearing my ring – said he took it off at work because it was bothering him. Uh oh! I can imagine. What an idiot I was to give it to him. Tips have been good – I think I’ll buy a steak on my way over. He doesn’t eat well at all. I am so hungry I have been stealing saltines from the kitchen.
No excitement here. Neither Gina nor Mary pregnant as they thought. Both have flu. The new girl, Maggie, has been telling me she’s got $35,000 in parking tickets. She is one of those see-through thin girls who can’t dance at all – but has a great sense of humor. She injects bute directly into her knees, as if she were a racehorse.
Mon 30 Jan 78
J and I were supposed to go out Sat night – I had the day
shift and he said he’d pick me up. I waited 20 mins before going to his apt. There he was with a little blond beard on his chin – lying on the sofa very depressed. Told me to go to the concert without him. By myself? Wouldn’t that be fun! I was aghast – tried arguing with him – he said he wasn’t leaving the apt. So I said I’d stay with him. Went out and bought fish and chips and beer. We watched Sahara, then Saturday Night Live. Pitiable. Made love in the shower. In the AM he refused to come out to breakfast with me, and I really had to go home to the dogs. He gave me a good hug when I left but do I want to drag this inert man through all the stages of intimacy?
Called him today, he was very blue. Homesick as always. Takes alcohol for depression! Can’t figure out whether to go over there or leave him alone. I really need a better invitation – my choice is to stay away. I don’t think he’s actually SUICIDAL although if he stopped drinking, he might be. And how could I tell? He still has his car so he’s either asking too much for it or he’s doing nothing about his problems. I bet the latter’s the case. Reading The Letters of Charles Dickens in conjunction with the Life. Decorated A’s old room with Dad’s old charts – looks pretty good.
Dancing well – I can’t give a bad set. Remembering what Devon said about skiing – the body does the right thing – if you “get out“ of its way. J came in – in a much better mood. (Some new “magic” elixir, no doubt.) He must have called to get my schedule because I didn’t tell him. Asked him if he wanted me to “drop by” after work – he said it was “up to me”. I think the traditional male female role thing may be reversed in our case. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of those pretty guys who’s always been pursued and as a result he feels like a “thing”. Never developed a self, so to speak. This is what comes of being so hung up on beauty. But when I look at the assemblage of clowns, predators and weirdos soliciting for my hand my heart fails me.
TWO LOVERS CONTEMPLATE THE SEAWRACK
He lost her Spoke too soon As men are wont Affinity flew overhead Danced with gulls A jazz-mad snowflake. His words Freighted by their inner logic Fell to earth and lay Prey to busy bristle-footed worms Who tidily dismantle Subject, verb & predicate; Sucked out the sense and left The elegiac bones to rot Amid kelp-wigged rock & glass-rope sponge Cheek by jowl with Long dead fishermen’s wives Punished now for ill-set dough and Worse-set hair Mouths agape in imitation of The badly sutured wounds of childbirth. Secrets told; corpses left to nourish Nature’s counting-house One season only; sharing space With shattered petrels Feathers spewed like pillow-stuffing Frenzied passade of love-struck boys – Strewn among the shavings of these once great ships Built by hearts & backs of men Who loved their daughters far too well Losing them to sailors Crueler than the great sea-god himself; He who stirs our sleep these nights With grief-crazed cries of loons Casting on the waters for their Far-flung children Lost forever now As we are lost as He lost her.
Wrote a difficult letter to Devon in which I answered
(long overdue) his about Gwynne and frankly (but with masterful subtlety) went all out to make him jealous of J. Cheap of me, but I have to have some fun. He started it: we are reduced to bragging about our dance cards. I don’t think you can truly have a “passionate” relationship with a guy who doesn’t want exclusivity because of then of necessity you’re required to hold
something back. Dad called, says he’s sending me more stock “for tax reasons” (I.e. it’s really mine and they’re making him.) Then said in a very depressed way, “I suppose you want to sell it.” I wanted to surprise him by saying NO but that would leave me feeling manipulated so I said it depends on my royalty statement (which it does.) Due in 3 weeks.
Monday 8 Jan 78 – 6 PM
Twenty-four hours ago I was sitting in my red dress over
a glass of port, waiting for Jervaze to arrive. Anxiety level high. Somewhere – I think from Mom – I got the impression that my needs are so automatically repellent to any sane individual that they must be hidden. Therefore, I have to carefully think my way through to any honest approach – and then it isn’t really honest any more. But I can’t just be impulsive. Prepared myself for disappointment – that he would be late or perhaps not show – because there is something weird about him. Some deep dark secret perhaps? But he was right on time. This time I took him to my nearest neighborhood restaurant
where the waiter put on quite a show with Irish coffee till flaming liquor rolled down his sleeves! Jervaze came inside my house without hesitation – I fretting about how to best establish physical contact while he sprawled comfortably on the couch. I turned off the overhead light and lit candles – took off my jacket – he rubbed his face against my breasts acting calm, respectful and not neurotic. Must be my experience with R that makes me fearful of being “shamed” every second. Jervaze kissed and kissed my face so long – tears automatically filled my eyes. But he did not get upset. Got up like a perfect gentleman “when it was time to leave” and I managed to resist attacking him. I did one very strange thing that is causing me anxiety now. We showed each other our class rings – he always wears his. I slid mine on his little finger and left it there. He wore it home. Uh oh. 11:30 AM Wed 11 Jan 78 Experiencing sharp attacks of fear all day long at “being in a relationship”. What the hell was I doing giving him my ring? See, I agree that everything’s my fault! Story of my life! Currently enjoying two quiet hours while A is at the gynecologist. It will be great when she gets her own place. Plenty of private time and space to panic in. Today I got a phone call from R and a letter from Devon. So, I was able to line my relationships up, so to speak, contrast and compare. Even lumped together they are not one full relationship! R’s “gamesmanship” is down from its zenith, but, owing to my total nonparticipation, also at its most exposed. Lengthy chat about our vacations, and then he spent probably a half hour telling me his “insurance setup”. Why? So I can tell everyone where to find the will and the important papers when he runs into a tree on his next ski trip! I should be worried about him dying apparently!!! I let him talk, I didn’t cut him off and I asked no questions, largely because this makes him the craziest and he deserves it. I know he’s comforting himself now that I still care about his finances if not about him. Devon thanked me for the glamorpic (described me as “so lovely” and said he feels like he’s talking to me when he writes his letter) and then launched into a long description of his and Gwynne’s relationship. They have an “understanding” which seems to involve “being there for each other” without “demands”. “Why won’t he admit he’s gay?” howls Avril when I read this to her. But I don’t think sex is even that simple for him. His approach is much more diffuse – a constantly vibrating choice between “being sexual” and “not being sexual”. He and I had such good sex, but if it all has to happen in a sort of coma, if there can’t be any planning or god forbid, discussion then the hell with it. As for Jervaze, he showed up for the last three hours of my first night back at The Plush Palace from the Starlight. He was wearing my ring. I asked him if my work bothered him. He said, no, he was cool with it, but was glad I asked. Whereupon we went back to his place and made love for 3 hours. Whoo-hoo! I’m not kidding! The first test – home design – alas he failed. His furnishings are truly HORRIFIC Spanish Mediterranean dreck. His shower curtain consists of festoons of blue chiffon – it is INCONCEIVABLE that a male could purchase such a thing. Guess I am not asking the right questions. Old girlfriend? Mom? Sister-in-law? Some woman raised exclusively on pirate films had a hand in here somewhere. As to the sex – that test he passed. He’s a prizewinner there. Everything takes forever and that doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. Is he some kind of reptile, living in a time zone utterly different from us mammals? It took him 20 minutes to get my pants off working steadily. I got enough comments about the beauty of my body to satisfy my ego for life. He went down on me without a flicker – so much for all those rumors about Southern men – and when he goes down he stays down. On the other hand – he never did come. Calms fears of premature ejaculation but raises other ones. His uncircumcised penis stayed stiff for 3 hours. This is a first for me, and I don’t know whether I like it. I really can’t give myself permission to come under these circumstances yet clearly I will have to – I’ll just have to say, “forget you – let’s concentrate on me.” That could work. But as I say, it would certainly be different. When I left, he gave me his key.
7:45 Pm – Plush Palace – Thurs 12 Jan 78 Called Jervaze and suggested we do something tonight – he acted enthusiastic. I said, “Should I be calling you? Wouldn’t want to call too much,” and he said, “Call all the time.” R–induced horrors dropping away one by one. It’s snowing – I’ll go straight to Jervaze’s. (He’s close to club.)
4PM Friday, Jan 13-78
I think Jervaze may really be an angel; one of Milton’s
sexed up angels who took a wrong turn to our planet by mistake. Some anxiety is relieved. We never did get to go anywhere – stayed in bed. Bliss. But if this doesn’t work I will damn well marry Devon whether he likes it or not – I can’t take much more of this.
I’m at my desk hammering out letters – trying to answer one from the island realtor. The studio apt has “no cooking facilities”. I don’t care but the realtor does, she has a house on the pond for $175 “long lease” she wants me to take. Says it has a Franklin stove and I could “bike to town.” I admit I’m interested. Jervaze has offered to come to the island with me in March – I really shudder at the thought of introducing him to my parents, how to tactfully say, Please don’t ask him about Ideas and only offer him one drink. Last night I let myself into his apt, took a shower, tried to use his sparkingly hazardous blow dryer, gave that up, crawled in bed with him. I had lots of Ryder-induced fears that he wouldn’t be there, in bed with another girl, etc. But no. There he was, nude, gorgeous, asleep – and when he woke up, happy to see me.
5:25 PM Plush Palace – Sat 14 Jan 78 Snakes dropping into paradise one by one. First, although Jervaze is incredibly easygoing – it is impossible to get him to state a preference about a movie or a restaurant, for example – (had to drag him to Eastwood’s Every Which Way But Loose) I can tell he is nervous about introducing me to his brother and sister in law. Should I just suggest we lie about what I do for a living? I guess that wouldn’t really solve anything. Sartre is so right. Hell IS other people. Then there’s my mother – the latest demon fondling my ear. Once a woman has made herself vulnerable to a man, she’s through. Uncommitted sex brings out the worst in men, blah blah blah. Because it’s “too perfect” from his point of view. I am “causing him moral hazard”. Yes, I tell the voice, and it would be perfect from MY POINT OF VIEW TOO IF YOU WOULD JUST SHUT UP. WE ONLY STARTED DATING A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO. But one can’t shut out THAT voice so easily. Mystified by Willard Gaylin’s irritating Caring. He acts like mutual dependence or interdependence is some “failure” of personal autonomy.
Powder Mill Road – 11 PM Sunday 15 Jan 78 Jervaze “dropped by” this afternoon. Since it’s such a long way from his place to mine I was astonished. Is it that I can no longer believe a man will climb mountains for me? Or is it just my sensitivities to Jervaze’s strangely inchoate “disabilities” warning me and sending up red flags? We had a nice talk – he seemed faintly down – then he had to leave because he needs to get up extra early tomorrow. I was in too good a mood to work on my novel, bought clothes instead. 3 pairs of pants, sweater coat, five pairs undies, one gauchos. All clothes size 7. Packaged MSS when I came home so as not to feel too unproductive.
Coleridge poem taken by Virginia community college screed. No money. (Natch.)
DEEPER INTO COLERIDGE
“Music is beneath me” wrote the fat man, angering his wife by stealing her broom for walking scattering the straw. He loved to pack a nightcap and declaim upon the moors. “I would have married a servant girl could I but be sure of her affection.” But be sure! Some men are never fated to be sure. Amidst politicking, pregnancies and penny-pinching, he found the time to fall in love with the Wrong Woman. No wonder he took opium to distract him from the faceless fiend that follows after most of us but specially him who knew so well to court it. In his mildewed study he sits alone clutching his bad heart and writing “Ours is not a logical age”
9:30 AM – 22 Dec 77
Very dissatisfied with my life right now – trying to avoid
making out of sheer boredom some kind of major financial mistake – like buying a house and filling it with furniture. Now that Avril has been accepted as a “permanent student” at U of MD don’t see why we shouldn’t share a berth somewhere. One of our dancers is a student there and she says student housing is very expensive. Why couldn’t I rent out rooms? But then what would happen to the three months of traveling I was promising myself ? Wanted to spend March skiing in the White Mountains. I need something more solid than Romance, that’s for sure. Jervaze cancelled our last date so now I’m freaking. It is vital that he makes the next move but my feminist soul revolts. Four months of celibacy appears to be my limit.
Sitting in the bay window drinking a third cup of coffee and watching a calico cat stalk the yard. Avril and I have been living rather high lately, buying clothes for Christmas. Last night saw the movie Telefon -very exciting but with an unbelievable ending – then watched Baryshnikov’s delightful Nutcracker on TV. Avril says she’s finally starting to forget old What’s His Face.
I’m trying to get her interested in the religious and meditation books that have been such a help to me. She’s not that kind of a reader, alas. No word from R. My latest “daymare” is that he will just show up at the club. Should I talk to Randy? A says Ryder’s asked her about it. I made her promise to say “We don’t think you should have that information” even if he already knows. I try comforting myself with my knowledge of his vanity – he wouldn’t want other men to see Randy throw him out as an “unsuccessful suitor”.
(Angry exes show up at club routinely and aren’t allowed in no matter how they behave or how much money they have. They get On The Bad List.) Let’s hope the sensitivity of his ”face” protects both of us. But he probably would send a stooge – it is just like him – to spy out the land. Fortunately I look good and this classy place has the Shalimar beat so no disgrace. Jervaze and I are trying to keep people at the club from knowing that we date. But it’s impossible to really disguise favorites what with the tripping, drinks, flowers and etc even if we aren’t allowed to sit with the customers. Stooge could probably figure it out. Maybe R would “give up” at the sight of him. Search me.
I’m at the stage with Jervaze where I hunger for some symbol of his caring, that he’s broken through the surface status and glamour of “dating a dancer” and has some deeper regard for me as a unique human being. He buys copies of my book whenever he finds them, but of course that’s status and glamour too, even though it’s just a paperback. I have forbidden him to tell anyone at the club about my book – he finds that a little weird, but I don’t see how being “a dancing author” could do me any good. The thing I most love about this job is that you don’t have to talk. Gave him a book of my poems for his birthday:
a declaration of erotic war.
23 Dec 77 12:15PM So in love I’m crazed. I’m at that stage where you can’t honestly tell if the other person is even interested, you’re in such a delirium. Jealousy of all the other dancers because he looks at them. Jervaze says he liked my poems, his favorite being Nocturne.
NOCTURNE
Reveal
Yourself to me
To my inner palate
An artist’s palette
Moth-winged hands
Fluttering
Crescent thighs surging
Urging
Union undivided
Prickly venus flytrap hairs that guard
Your anis scented anus
Fleshy mandibles
Trembling sheaves
Snouting for your smoky-salted dinner
Double-snouted cock stiffening
My mango halves
O I will baste you when its time
Angelspit,
Lovespawn
Dipin my styx of roe your
Musky caviar
Sensate wanderer you
Suck
Ubus –
I dreamed you
Open me.
I thought that might do the trick. I possess wiles
unknown to other babes. He mentioned that his brother’s going back to Alabama so he might be alone for Christmas – I invited him to New York City but I could tell from his expression he’ll never do it. He thinks Virginia is the north – calls the New Jersey Turnpike “undriveable” – a lawless war zone. (If he could hear what we say about the South!)
We exchanged presents – he gave me a bottle of Irish Mist and another one of my books (he keeps buying them for me) and I gave him a very small glamour shot in an antique frame – so he can do anything with it – hide it if he wants. Keep it in his car. He said he liked it but in the bar light he really couldn’t see. The we went to breakfast – had a wonderful conversation about ghosts and WC Fields. He believes in one but not the other. I was hoping he would kiss me – regretted the first time when “rocked out” on beer, he leaned forward to kiss me but I pulled away.
But last night would have been completely unmanageable – under yellowing lights and the stares of strangers (me in my stage makeup) or out in the pouring rain. So we said goodbye, hopped in our cars. We may not see each other for three weeks! I’ve got his address (on his business card) so I can at least send him a card from NY. Got to get up and face the day. Avril back from her final exam in ½ hour – then off to Landover Mall to see Saturday Night Fever.
24 Dec 77 - midnight – Plush Palace
The Big Day. Go home, sleep, wake up, do laundry, take
dogs for shots, buy snow tires. In a haze of infatuation – J was in for 5 hours tonight watching me dance with a sense of unmistakable pride. He asked for my phone number so he could call me on Christmas Day – I gave him all of them.
New York City Dec 25 77 – Fri night. Life is so interesting, Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Lovely intimate family talks – just what family should be doing for perspective on past and future. In two days Avril and I drive out to Michigan to see Merrill – 11 hours – tonight’s dinner in the Village then an early night. Heard of a studio apt on the island – winterized – going for $200/month. Of course I will have enough royalties for that…or won’t I? Harcourt royalty dept uncooperative, editor Lauren very cagey. But won’t the island kill my already comatose sex life? This is the longest time I’ve been away from dancing and I miss it. It’s a great substitute for sex but not a complete one alas. Physical activity vital to my peace of mind.
96th St off the Park- New York City – Dec 77
This apt is triggering horrible flashbacks to how sick I was at the beginning of last summer. Scary that a man could do this to me. Don’t ever want to get that sick again. Makes me sorry this diary exists – my trusty friend – because now misery has an actual corporeal reality. Burn these sickening wails before I die. The Victorians always did.
Well I’m raring to get back. Not only do I miss the dancing, I miss the bar. Ah, the nightlife. Always a party atmosphere but I could feel superior for not drinking (or getting high). I like our status and protections – I like getting paid for exercising, being admired and having fun. This pleasure just cannot be shared – Mom’s face crimps closed – and I am lost in the unredeemable beastliness and ugliness she feels certain it must be. The fact that I am a feminist and consider myself spiritually in tune with the universe also is incomprehensible to her. (Wives can get into big spiritual trouble too, but I am too tactful to bring that up.)
Unfortunately there is no way to defend myself except by attacking back – her “safe”, closed,
restricted world of handmaiden to Dad, feeding and burnishing him like a racehorse, talking him “up” as if she were his sports coach, does not seem to me more inherently saintly.
But to Mom self-loss is what “sainthood” is – you totally do not regard yourself in your care for someone else. The fact that you are puffing them up like a grampus, encouraging them to be completely selfish, is I guess too shockingly cruel to mention. So I’m stuck in Patient Griselda mode with undeserved imprecations heaped on my innocent head. I wonder if it would be too nasty to talk about how I am sacrificing myself for those poor lonely men who need to look upon a perfect feminine ideal while they swill beer? Guess I better not.
Mom is fond of saying that love doesn’t work unless you open your heart to the other but you can’t do it without marriage! I say Jervaze and I are “courting” which is a very different thing. I don’t think I will ever open my heart again. I think perhaps it opens by itself, naturally. One might as well tear a flower open and complain about the quality of the bloom.
Interesting being here with Brett and Genevieve and watching someone else’s marriage from the outside. Does not look too enviable. Reading “Eclipse of the Hero in Victorian Fiction.” He’s in eclipse everywhere else, too, I may add.
12:10 PM- Plush Palace – Wed 19 Oct 77
Dance night, then dance the next day kind of rough. And
days are bad when the weather’s good – no one comes in. I seem to have a lot of bills – just turned on the heat – but I’m meeting them. Making some inroads today on Thomson’s Life of Frost. Randy fired Robin – Yvonne needs $300 immediately because she just bought a piano. Well good luck getting it out of this crowd is all I can say. Paz’s “on call” because she left her husband and moved into the motel across the street. Let’s hope she shows up. Last time I saw her she was pretty depressed; said she gave him “the best four years” of her life. I have to get this all down in case I need it someday. R used to be especially pissed when I got nostalgic for dancing. But dancing is its own little world.
7:30 PM- Plush Palace – Thu 20 Oct 77
This aft I was getting ready for work phone rang, I say
hello and Ryder’s tight little voice says: (very meaningfully) Hello. I turned the radio down (Lakmé) and said casually as I could, “How are you?”
He said he should enroll in FBI school after all the trouble he’d had tracking me down.
(It couldn’t have been that hard since Mom and Dad’s house sitter has been giving my # to all and sundry.) Said he was punished now for being a non-communicative procrastinator who should fling himself off the 14th St Bridge. I told him I lived in Beltsville and danced in Virginia, refused to give further details. I didn’t let him get away with any of his garbage. He said I’d been in town since Sept 8 without contacting him. I said he’d made it pretty plain he didn’t like what I had to offer. Then why did I come back? I said, I like it here. Creep! Like he owns the world!
He said, will you eat with me? Hmmm. Something rattling
in Pandora’s box. While I hesitated he said don’t make me disguise myself as a girl scout cookie salesman (he could get away with it, too.) He said he hasn’t gone out to dinner since our last night at Alfio’s!!! (I guess the Emmys don’t count but I said nothing.) Said he’s having to give back his furniture and sleep on an air mattress because he can’t make the payments. Aww. This is the idiocy of buying furniture on time, but I still say nothing. So we’re meeting Babe’s Sun at 3:30. Seems fairly safe… Rushed to library and took out every true murder book I could find. Just in case.
2 Nov – Plush Palace – 6:05 PM.
R called this morning to “report in!’ Just to chat about his
day! No more of that, I said. I’m busy. Slam. I don’t chat and I’m not sorry it’s too late to learn. Actually feeling amazingly happy. Kiki showed me how to cut off my corn with an exacto knife. All better! Still in Vol I of Life of Frost. He was a repulsive human being, all right. Nowhere near as fun as Agatha. Precious equilibrium recovered.
8:30 PM 8 Nov 77
I gave him the full treatment, poor guy. Red Italian boots,
glittery eyeshadow, tight, tight jeans. Deliberately drove Conn Ave but no markers from the past reached out their claws. Felt strong and blissful. I was first there (of course) so could order carafe of wine and think. Thinking, I’ll just explain to him that my idea of friendship and intimacy requires a degree of truth telling that appears to freak him out.
He wore his high heels, too. His hair is blonder, longer and messier than I remembered and it suits him. Off to the Bahamas next weekend, he says for a “dive”. He wore the pinky ring I gave him (he says he can’t get it off.) But that holy glow, that shine he used to have is gone for me. I get it that he doesn’t know the pain he caused – shallow people can’t. And that’s pitiable, really. He’s not just deaf in one ear, he’s deaf in his soul.
He has a carefully worked out a “barstool rationale” for what happened to us; we became lovers before we became friends. I have no comment. Postponing sex would not have helped – and it might have made things worse dumping all the responsibility for timing on me. I think when he saw how easy it was to draw blood he couldn’t help doing it, and I was a fool and an idiot. I ordered the fruit and cheese plate but left before it arrived. Realize how much I want all this to be in the past. No future of any kind exists for us. Not even in fantasy. The future is what matters. Told him to give my regards to the folks at the Shalimar. He said he’d give me a buzz. Bet I can finish Demon by Thanksgiving. Avril coming. Lucky I have a second bedroom. Furnish it with Kliban posters, a thrift shop bureau and a mattress on the floor.
12 Nov 77 6:25 PM Plush Palace
I finally called R. (He’s been leaving me messages.)
I said if we were going to have a relationship of any kind – the friendship that he wanted – we would have to have rules (I got the idea from Nancy Mitford.) He said he was so glad I called, he’d been having the most awful day. Took my card out of his rolodex but couldn’t bring himself to destroy it and put it away in a drawer. What rules he said. I said we’d have to think. No idle calls? No talk about past? He said, “Please forgive me” but of course I can’t. I said “Forgive me.” He said there’s nothing to forgive,
Dancing suddenly OK? I said we’re done with all
that stuff. Starting over. But I’m very busy working a lot and writing a lot and he said he’s very busy working a lot. No expectations. We both said fine and I’m pretty sure he’s as relieved as I am. We’re going to Looking for Mr. Goodbar Thurs – I want to see it too. He knows how I love movies. It’s perfect weather to pick up Avril at the airport and drive to Galesville tomorrow for brunch with Mom & Dad at the marina. There’s a big white farmhouse on Old Annapolis Rd I always look at longingly.
Plush Palace 4 PM Wed 15 Dec 1977
Shaking like a leaf. Ryder called the club saying he
was called early into work tonight – change of plans. Called his work immediately – “Mr. Arlen’s desk.” Left her a message saying I got his message but do not call the club. Hope this stymies him till after Christmas but I know he is going to say we need each other’s workplace
for last minute plan changes.
I say is THIS IS NOT DATING. WE ARE NOT DATING. You can’t be trusted with my workplace #.
Then I start looking desperately for Jervaze to come in. He’s supplying me lately with that all-important fantasy vitamin of which I have been so deficient for so long. Can’t even THINK about R to the background of Disco Inferno.
Sat – 18 Dec 77 9:30 AM
Very dissatisfied with life and self and, as usual, in
complete confusion as to what to do about it. I suspect I should not be making any big investment decisions, like buying a house and furnishing it but I am sick of being such a goddam wanderer. Avril has been accepted at U of MD – my job is to finish this goddam novel. If I could finish it maybe March, April and May could be my traveling months. I thought March skiing could be nice – in Devon’s back yard.
I am in danger of making an idiot of myself over Phil Jervaze – “Adonis” as I privately call him . He seems very attracted but is not making the first move. I’ll have to bring him along somehow. Going tomorrow to Renaissance Music at the National Shrine. Should I wear my rhinestones or can I restrain myself? Avril says I’m doing a good job taking her mind off of Dipstick, (my name for Mason). Bought her $80 worth of clothes – she can pay me back when I need help with the January rent.
The Plush Palace 20 Dec 1977 – 4 PM Avril called to say that Ryder called again – trying to find out my
holiday plans from her. Says he might have to work. I am surprised to be shaking so much. I am very unhappy about this level of communication. I was actually hoping not to have to deal with him till after Christmas. Would prefer not to give him an opportunity to go into his act. I’ve learned if I call his work I get his secretary. Left the message I will be “out of town”. Favor, Alysse., The trouble is, telling a game-player you don’t play games is all part of the game to them! There is absolutely nothing I can do to step out of this thing except bore him to death. We will see each other fewer and fewer times, the emotional content will be constantly plummeting, and meanwhile, the chicks on the side he has summoned up for contrast and amusement will be clamoring for center stage. Let them have it.
And I have my own magic pill in reserve – Jervaze. That anyone can drift through life so far unironically with shoulder length platinum hair, platinum mustache and a white cowboy hat, drive a 72 Shelby and work for the Pentagon titillates my Yankee soul. But that’s what’s so much fun about the fine commonwealth of Virginia. It’s full of these people. Uh oh. I hear the rhythm of Disco Inferno, audience’s current favorite. Dust myself with body glitter and I’m up.
Sat. 13 Aug 77
7 good pages writing, then bad letter from R. asking
is our “living together” a ”condition” of “my return”? Where the hell did he get that? He just wants something to react against. He can’t imagine a relationship that isn’t controlled by implied threats. He believes in working and suffering so much then – let him work and suffer. What would annoy him most? If I don’t respond! Ha ha! Let the panic begin! Need to become more private – simply to protect myself. For all I know he’s relishing the torture he goes through.
Devon and I had a glorious date – splendid dinner (steak!) then made love all over the floor. He played with my body until he got it roaring and pulsating like an express train. The way he handled me, gripped me, held me, crushed me even – made me ask about his other girlfriends. He said no, he never gets as much “touch” as he wants. I said, “Except with me”. He said, “Except with you.” Over dinner he said matter-of-factly that we are so alike loving me has always felt “narcissistic” to him. I bet! Happy, happy, happy… Picked up The Edwardians but I can’t get into it. Keep seeing Devon’s body plying me, bending me… I know somewhere out there lies perfect happiness, waiting to astonish me.
2PM Sun 14 Aug 77
Sitting on the deck even though it’s just about to rain,
back from long bike ride watching family barbecues. Will I ever have children? I feel so exactly balanced between R and D like a ball in the air – but could fall at any moment. Finished The Edwardians – made me long to read Trollope. Vita Sackville-West’s work is like a death wish. Maybe Pevensey Library can rise to some Trollope. Downy woodpecker 2 ft away.
Finished The Dark Island! An outrageous howl of self-pity! Mom & Dad called all worried about Avril. She & Mason had to borrow money after selling $4500 worth of stock in June! Dad wants to deal financially with Mason instead of his own daughter! I was cool and stayed out of it. I don’t even want to imagine what they say to the others about me. I sent Avril a letter that said I would buy her a round trip plane ticket any time she wanted – even for just a short visit. Talk about work and suffering! I’m sure she feels stuck in every way with this guy. Down to a dinner of bouillon & smoked oysters.
Tues 16 Aug 77
D’s & my relationship “plateaus.” Each of us may have
given all we can spare. At least there’s no Mutual Punishment. Woman tried to get me into conversation at mailboxes – she’s an accountant whose boyfriend works on missiles. God they both sounded like the dullest people imaginable. Tried not to blanche.
6:00 PM Couldn’t resist $10 phone call to Avril. She’s hanging in there but doesn’t like Calif so far. She’s not going to school because Mason thinks he ought to be able to pay for it! So, so sick after using her money to live on. She’s looking for some clerk job. Still thinks this guy might be The One, even though sex is once a week and she’s not satisfied. After that I called Devon who should be back from psychomotor class but he wasn’t in.
Midnight – Could get psychotic about D not returning my call – however I refuse. Let the poor man live. He lacks time for an ACTUAL other girl (although I know there are plenty of letters & phone calls with girls he cultivates.)
10AM – Wed 17 Aug 77
Devon woke me up in the middle of the night, wondering
if I was “psychic”. He’d had a horrible day – had to take a “pregnant friend” to the clinic for abortion (not his kid.) This is a new one. Can’t imagine him lying about something so bizarre – I didn’t ask for details – just told him it was a “sudden impulse” (true). Called the bank – my money was in but only $987 (it’s never as much as you expect.) From shit comes flowers, as they say. Called Marc Kramer and left message whether I can hitch a ride to Maine with him (he goes almost every weekend). Finished Life of Waugh. Cramps.
Sat 20 Aug 77
Poor Devon! He brought pizza and a very good brandy
(too good – drinking it woke me up in the middle of the night) suggested a movie. I said I wanted to Talk. Told him all about my week; everything, novel, phone call with Avril, breaking up (mentally) with R because I “realized there’s another way”. Felt it was time to share. He asked if it had anything to do with him I said it did but he shouldn’t panic – it’s a good thing. He asked did I want to know about other girls? I said yes. Would I be jealous?
Maybe – but it wouldn’t impact on him. He talked about his friend who had the abortion – she’s ready to take him on but his feelings for her are “clinical”. (Uh oh. She’s in trouble. He could be lying to me about Who’s the Daddy or lying to himself, most like.) She’s 2 yrs older than him.
Then there’s a girl he met on the train – they’re just friends so far so he doesn’t know her well – but he’s curious. Then there’s the English girl – he definitely wants to bring her over but neither of them can afford it so far. He seems to have a sex/romance dichotomy going so I’m not jealous exactly – it would be like being jealous of someone’s fantasies. However, it doesn’t make me respect him more. And he instinctively knows that – he can’t be the daring demon lover or swaggering ski coach with me when I know too much about him. Fortunately, I suggested we bring the mattress up to the deck – we had a big, hilarious struggle through the house but it was worth it. Wonderful making love in the fresh night. He can’t believe girls like giving blow jobs – I said, do you mean you don’t like going down on me? He said, no, no, no I LOVE it you are like a flower. I said see? Depends on the person. Gave him the full treatment making him yelp like a coyote.
Cold in the AM like Maine – hard to get out of bed but he was worried someone would see us so we had to push mattress through sliding doors to dining room floor at 6 AM. Layers of secret lives! He is SO DIFFERENT from the way he seems but aren’t we all! Drove to the Idyllwild Mkt for breakfast – got lost as least six times but who cares it’s a glorious day – bought peaches, blueberries and mocha java beans. Then we went swimming – stopping after at the mailbox. Rejection of Secaire from HBJ! What a blow and in front of Devon of all people! Worst of all was editor’s comment – I had fallen between 2 stools – “straight” and “gothic.” Ugh. Lowers my opinion of myself in my own eyes. Fortunately, I didn’t cry.
Devon did his best to comfort me. He compares it to skiing which is 4,000 failures to one success. Said it’s ridiculous to consider myself a failure. I thanked him said he really cheered me up – he said it made him look forward to ministry!!! (He can’t wait to get his hands on some “troubled young women”.) He’s going to a 3 day retreat at Peterborough. Period coming on. It doesn’t faze D. Reading Harold Nicolson’s diaries which are quite a treat. I was afraid he would be all Churchillian.
2;30 PM Mon 22 Aug 77
Can’t write, so ready to return to Maine. So desperate I
watched TV (Rhoda: Apotheosis of the Career Girl). Feeling crushed about Secaire and Demon is not far behind. When your mind is divided it’s hard to go on. I always feel genre works actually have the potential for highest dramatic quality – mystery, discovery, transformation, revelation – telling the complete truth about everything but I just don’t know how to convey that. Also, I’m kind of worried that Devon will see my departure as “because” we punctured the fantasy with honesty ; ie I’m “punishing” him (that’s what Ryder would think, plus he would howl “I deserve it” then behave even worse) and of course it sort of is true . “New data” does affect everything. But I miss the dogs & worry about them. Dad has yet to figure out their gender (calls them both “boy”).
Went clothes shopping got GOREGOUS skinny jeans! Look so good. Called D but had to leave an awkward message with Random Guy (ugh I hate that.) Thank God for diaries! Best therapy possible. So much cheaper than a shrink. Diagnosis? Sheer greed. I always want everything.
9:45 AM Wed 24 Aug 77 Great conversation with D. He feels exactly the same way I do (kind of unsettling) wants to continue with me but doesn’t want anyone to find out about me, etc. I.e. ambivalent. We just want everything we can get as pleasantly as possible. Said he’d take me to the airport Fri – I asked if it was possible he could spend Thu night – he said he’s make it possible. Should be ecstasy. I’m very up for it. Tonight call M & D ugh. They always try to make me feel like a flake. I tell them life’s like sailing – since you don’t know what the waves or weather are going to be like its only sensible to make adjustments accordingly. (My father taught me that.) Pack and clean. Yuck. 7:20 PM Dull evening. Ceaseless rain & cream of wheat for dinner. On the other hand feel great – happy and serene. Have to note that so this book is NOT a constant wail of desperation & entitlement. Gross reading about Borden case. But it piques the poetry nerve.
LIZZIE BORDEN: “Not I But the Moon”
Not I but the moon Decrees each loss of blood You confided slyly, Besom-Breast! I’ll crochet a horsehair head for you and Lacework- stitch your flesh, my darling You and Scrimshaw Pate – He Who Must Know Better. Hot wax outlines a new broom’s sweep in Sacred dust: chorus of shoe-buttons popping like Potato-eyes. Oh, I shall dine on you My darlings, rolling you in Pig viands, I dredge your souls in Righteous lard. I am the sanctified enemy Of the paper cut people: My hymn shall rock The laughing house.
Alysse Aallyn 