Tag: Memoir

20 Aug 76 – 11 AM

                   I start The Mass at St Secaire for the thousandth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

will sell.

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

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

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

delicious thing. Waves of ecstasy bulging, rolling and crashing 

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

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

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

a fledgling – flight pattern undetermined.

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

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

Diaries

I don’t remember anything –

I’m an amnesiac so

I write everything down

Stuffed in my closet

Beneath discarded ball gowns

utterly useless but

too beautiful to throw away.

Recollect & treasure 

Acts of writing

An up and over downtime scrawl;

Recall a surgeon

Cutting flesh

 Tugging, swearing, splitting ,sweating

 peeling waste from want.

Fierce liftoff –

Airborne I’m granted

Hawk’s-eye vision

Backwards , forwards

Past & future.

Too much dig is spoilage-

Freedom mined 

Invaluable.

  Club Shalimar, Mon 23 Aug 76

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dad said tell them I had a basement filled with gold bullion.

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

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

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

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

Rick is helping him feel better. 

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

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

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

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

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

probably wouldn’t dance.  

                   The fact that something feels natural and pleasurable 

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

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

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

and I definitely don’t want to dance forever. 

                   Sometimes I think the whole problem is that he’s 

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

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

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

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

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

 I’ll find something special or interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

house. My guess is total strangers up and down Wisconsin 

Avenue have been hearing his heartrending saga of the misery of 

dating an exotic dancer.

                   11:00 AM – Tues 24 Aug 76

                   Lying in the same bed where R and I made love five 

hours ago – just finished Tyler’s Clockwinder. Puzzled by the 

lack of passion in her strange, sad, minor novels.  Tonight R is 

picking me up and taking me “someplace” – I have my eye on 

a little restaurant – where we can talk it out. I hope he’s paying 

because I have exactly $177 to live on till Sept 7 and $125 of 

that is rent. I’m trying to look at the future calmly – I love him, 

he loves me – who knows what may happen?

                   2:40 PM Was feeling so much better I was going 

to work on sending out poems until I looked around at this place. 

A and I desperately need Maeve to live here to help out with 

expenses and she is not the tidiest person.  A says she never 

cleaned her other place after the party and it smells like a 

dead body.  I cleaned and now I feel better but not in the mood 

for literature – more in the mood to take my dishpan hands to 

the mall. However I won’t because it would just result in 

expenditures.

                   3:40 PM  Obviously R doesn’t really respect me. 

Otherwise he wouldn’t manipulate me like this. I don’t think 

he cares about me being a writer at all.  He would actually 

like it better if he could introduce me to people as “my girlfriend 

the insurance agent.” That makes sense in his little world. I 

could break up with him but I’d have to find another place to

 work anyway – he’s ruined Shalimar for me.  One can understand 

and deplore and get mad, but the alternative is loneliness. All I want 

is to go out and have fun, have someone to play and smooch with. 

Finding and then cultivating such a person is incredibly exhausting – 

and aren’t 99% of them only going to have the same (or worse) 

reactions he’s having anyway?

                   10:40 AM Thurs 26 Aug –76 – Club Shalimar

                   Yesterday morning Maeve and I lingering over coffee 

and chat – no one wanting to return to their life – and the phone 

rang. It was editor Ruby Jenkins at Pyramid wanting to make an 

offer on my book. She says it has a lot of wit and depth and is 

really extraordinary and if they don’t take it someone else will.  

That’s two editors on my side. Asked all about me – so I told what I was 

doing, schools, what I’d had published – that Harcourt just turned down Find Courtney.  

                  She’d called my parents in Maine because she couldn’t 

get in touch with my agent but left a message.  I just put the 

phone down and screamed for 20 solid minutes. Then went to 

Shalimar and quit – gave them a week’s notice. 

                   Didn’t  tell them about book – Carmen guessed about 

Ryder – narrowed her eyes into slits and tried to tell me a 

lot of terrible stuff about him, about how he always pursued 

dancers – although she admits, after me, not any more. She 

said if I ever need the job again, they’d give it to me.  That 

was nice. Randy the bouncer had tears in his eyes because 

he says I’m so amusing and no one else can make him laugh. 

                   R’s “celebration” was to take me to Garfinckel’s at 

the Montgomery Mall to buy me underwear. He takes it 

strangely personally that I don’t wear a bra or underpants 

half the time.  This could have been a fun, even erotic experience

but he was so weird I almost had a nervous breakdown – so 

bizarrely controlling like he doesn’t know what presents are.  

The missionary purchasing fig leaves for the natives!  Felt 

offensively “managed”.

                   If he had bought me lingerie and given it to me 

that would have been one thing.  I could take them back if I 

didn’t like them.  This was if he were my parent or something – 

I really can’t explain why it was so insulting. I finally allowed him buy me 

a pink silk robe, which I refused to try on – of course it will fit. 

Duh. 

                   We should have been celebrating.  Not only can I 

quit dancing but they’ve put him on the eleven pm news and 

now we could have mornings together. But at the Japanese 

steakhouse he really acted wooden headed. I think it’s some 

sort of a gender problem – men understand that their self-respect 

is tied up with autonomy but they seem to think the opposite 

must be true about women. I’m trying too hard not to despise 

him. Anything I could say sounds hurtful. 

                   At the very same time he’s trying to “tether” me he’s

 trying to free himself. He said, what if I want to take another girl 

out? And I said, well you can but you have to tell me about it

 before hand. He said, I know how I’d feel if you said that to me. 

                  I told him he probably doesn’t have to worry – I can’t imagine 

wanting another man. Now he’s “scared” I’m going to become 

a famous writer!   So we went back to my place and made love

 for three hours and it was very satisfying. He was all over me 

and it felt like the last time in some critical way.  

                   To me he seems less like a man getting out of a 

marriage than some kind of shipwreck victim who has never 

seen or imagined our society and is becoming increasingly 

excited about the sexually liberated possibilities.   How can 

we avoid breaking up over this?  Can’t I just get a fat check

 from  my book and be a young writer about town? I sincerely 

hope that’s the way it will go. Reading Rose, my years in 

Service about Lady Astor’s maid.

                   Sat 28 Aug 76 Shalimar

                   Ryder tried to pressure me not to go to work by 

saying “we shouldn’t be seeing each other if you’re dancing”.  I remind him 

we have a dinner party coming up and a vacation in Maine!  

Why the hysteria? Reading Henri Peyre’s The Failures of 

Criticism. Last set. 

                   3PM Mon 30 Aug 76

                   Wakened by air-conditioner going on – Ryder 

climbing in bed with me fully clothed so there would be “no sex”

 – of course that didn’t work. He is very upset about my sense 

of physical freedom – said wouldn’t “let” me be painted in the 

nude by Andrew Wyeth!  I pointed out that his wife was his 

ideal woman – totally restrained and untrained and ignorant 

and unavailable in every way he wanted – and he hated it.  

Can’t understand why he has to be such a jackass when all 

his dreams are coming true.

                   3 Sept 76

                   Just back from the worst vacation of my life. Both 

Avril and I took completely unacceptable men to our parents’ island – 

alas, my man was the most unacceptable –   doing nothing but 

fighting and sulking. He finally said such unforgiveable things I had

 to drive him to the ferry and push him off into space. His last 

words were “I love you.”  Day late and a dollar short. The worst

 things he said were that I dress like a slut, anyone looking at 

me would instantly assume I was a prostitute. This was said to me

 while I was wearing my gorgeous emerald scarf tied around my 

breasts and my long denim skirt and Nefertiti necklace and looking

 like a goddess for parents’ dinner party. 

                   He said if I don’t start wearing a bra my breasts will 

be “ruined” and he doesn’t want to wake up age 35 married to 

only a “mind”. (The mind is in fact quite unimportant in his world.)

 His wife, he assured me, always dressed most tastefully – 

nobody desiring her ever.  Didn’t cross his mind that the fact 

that she was dead-on-arrival in the sack and her inability to 

enjoy and celebrate her own body could be in any way connected. 

               He told me my poems are awful and self-indulgent and I 

live entirely in my own head.  I was finally forced to tell him

 that what with his long hair, leisure suits, stacked heels and 

man-purse most people just assume he’s gay. 

                   But who cares what “most people” think – and 

would we even ever know?  He really got on my bad side seemingly 

justifying rape – women “ask for it” with their clothing, male 

self control not an issue. I said if a crazy girl escaped from an 

institution and ran down the street naked would men be “ justified” 

raping her? He said yes so obviously it was over between 

us from that moment. The truth, of course, is that he was 

overwhelmingly jealous from the second he arrived on the island

 – possibly earlier – by the fact that I am a separate human being,  

who has ever existed out of his sight.

                   17 Sept 76

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

R leaving messages on my answering machine every day, 

trying to make me jealous with “don’t call back tonight I won’t

 be in”.  Finally decided I owe it to him to tell him where I’m

 working – I know he thinks I returned to dancing – the 

scum. Sent him a card saying we should meet for dinner

 in a couple of months. Appt. with Georgetown Employment 

Agency 10;30 AM tomorrow.

                   12;25 PM

                    Ryder came by to pick up his jackets. He said, 

“You’re the most valuable person in the world to me.” Trying not

 to goad him into pyrotechnics, so, showed nothing. He was calm, 

played with the dog, kissed me on the cheek and said, “I love you” 

and left.  He is worthy of a hefty Freudian tome all to himself. I want to send him a copy of The Intimate Enemy but he wouldn’t 

(couldn’t) read it. He’s totally about not wanting what he has, 

having what he doesn’t want, wanting something else and 

hating himself into the bargain. I pity anyone involved with him – 

mainly I pity me – still fixated on his worthlessness apparently. 

                 Washing the dishes in floods of tears. I bragged to him that I didn’t want to change him – that isn’t true.  I don’t feel I have the right to change people while he wants to specify every detail about me.  

The worst is I know how he would exult in his power over me. 

Still wearing his black coral diver’s cross as a charm. When R 

says dismissively “Be free” he means “Be alone”.

                   Sun. 12 Sept 76 – 12:05 PM 

                   Yesterday turned down job at art gallery that would 

have been wonderful but paid dirt.  They say I “might” get 

commissions on sales. Have a feeling Mom and Dad would 

push for it – it was very upscale – just didn’t feel right to me.

                   FINALLY letter from agent; Pyramid offering $2500 

advance, 6% to 150,000 copies, 8% thereafter, a few minor revisions. 

Always less than you think but not as bad as the gallery – I say 

hells yes. Still have to find job; something that lets me write.

                   I called Ryder with info, left message. Have to go 

to NY to sign contract so job hunt suspended for now.

                   Mon 13 Sept 76

                   Avril and Mike met me and Ryder at The Royal 

Warrant for drinks to celebrate my book. I wore long sexy 

purple lace-up dress – nothing he’d object to however. 

(Royal Warrant because their drinks are huge.) Wore 

sandals with kitten heels and I was still  taller than him.  

I wonder if that’s what this is about. I invited him home after 

and he accepted.  He concentrated on making me come. Said

 he can’t consider dating a girl who doesn’t wear a bra. I said I 

might wear one in my first pregnancy. Gave him my copy of 

Intimate Enemy  when he left. Reading Brownmiller’s excellent 

Against our Will.

                   11:45 AM 14 Sept 76 – Tues. Boiling hot.

                   I need a full-time psychiatric nurse, vicious guard dog 

and a secretary. Phone ringing off the hook. Agent called 

reversing charges.  Ryder wants to celebrate his salary bump. 

How can two people who despise each other as much as we do 

want to have sex all the time?  Beats me. Ryder’s latest charge is 

that I wrote a novel for money.  Get it?  I’m a prostitute!  Then he 

marches off to his yessir, nosir job whistling. You can’t win with him. 

Cheered myself up reading old diaries about my marriage.  At least it’s not as bad as that.  I used to lock myself in the bathroom to howl.  

Reading Simenon’s Venice Train.  He is too mannered.

                   Ryder forced me to look at his island pictures – I am the 

ugliest beautiful woman in the world.  He tries to use this against me 

but of course we were fighting the whole time.  No one can be lovely under such conditions. Does “love” entail not just “sacrifice” but loss of identity?  Went out and bought a pair of six inch heels. When I am with Ryder, I love him but when I’m away, the cloud lifts.  

Attempting to seduce Devon by sending him a copy of the poem Cedarwood Chest.

Cedarwood Chest

Grandpa died young that’s why

Grandma never opened

The Cedarwood chest

Till my twelve years unlocked

The scent of dreams preserved

Like mullet in red wine.

Never used the wilting nightgowns

Featherstitched sheets

Between whose coffee-colored creases

Bay leaves crumbled

(Like my reserve when you laid hands

Upon it) how it

Comes back that mossy sad 

Perfume! I want to lay

You away in darkness and tissue but

I can’t

I must use you and risk

Your wearing out

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

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

train to make it work!

                   7:45 AM Mon 20 Sept 76

                   R’s latest accusation is that I fell in love first!!  So weird. 

Reminiscent of Bruce.  Some version of gaslighting? It’s a definite 

power grab. He said he was “embarrassed” by my emotional intensity! 

I have a feeling he’s trying to cobble together a story he can tell other 

people. As for me, I’m trying to figure out what really happened. Used 

to think R’s lack of experience wouldn’t affect us but I can see it really 

has. Got my hair cut; of course I think it’s too short. Dreading what 

Genevieve will say.

                   10:40 AM Wed 22 Sept. 76

                   Woke up after horrible nightmare in which Jacqueline 

Susann showed me her cancer to have R drive me to the station.  

We’re in a financial nightmare – A’s rent check bounced twice so

 expenses going up. R says I have to start an exercise plan – 

since I can’t dance.   He’s hilarious!

                   Lunch with Ruby and my agent.  Agent (Ruth) was euphoric.   

Starting to feel the book was written by a stranger. I tried so hard to

 make it English and Victorian – I NEVER want to do that again. 

Can’t say THAT, obviously, especially after Ruby remarked I was 

“so good looking we should make it a series.”  Devlyn’s best gothic 

they’ve ever read! They both drank heavily while disagreeing with 

virtually everything I had to say about poetry and literature. Their 

recommendation: write a love story. Pity we don’t know what love is, 

isn’t it?  I MIGHT be able to manage a sex story. Oh well. Genevieve 

full of secret divorce-and-getting-together-with-hush-hush-sweetie 

plans.  Don’t tell her husband Kent anything. He asks me what’s going on – 

I play dumb but not too well.  He must know something’s up.  

Awkward! Walk to library and back thinking about St. Secaire. 

How make that a love story?  Everyone’s a predator or an idiot.