(DIGGER nods and dances. The trees begin to “humanize”; open eyes, swell up and trail their leaves invitingly.)
Ever since childhood this forest has loved us! They’re here and We’re here – it’s Perfect happiness.
(She spins. DIGGER barks joyously. Brings PERSEY a stick, which she throws)
PERSEY I hope there ARE wolves! Wolves dancing with trees When darkness is falling. Soon we’ll Cuddle at home Dry our fur by the firelight.
TREE SPIRITS (Murmuring) PERSEY! PERSEY!
(DIGGER returns stick adoringly, PERSEY scratches behind his ear with it – he shakes all over with pleasure)
PERSEY Who’s my little baby! Who’s my furry darling!
(DIGGER rolls in ecstatic abandon while she rubs his tummy)
Parties are boring Let Roy get his rage out Between naughty man buddy And Bad Buddy’s Fifth Wife! Hard to be civil To people so nasty.
(Spins DIGGER does a smug dance)
We escaped.
(DIGGER growls obligingly)
You’re right, Digger! Some people deserve NIPPING. If I was a wolf…
(DIGGER snaps his jaws encouragingly, she imitates him, growling) I’d eat them all up!
PERSEY (Hostile muttering) What Roy loves about Jarod – is all in his head. A little boy playing and Seeking “lost brother”. That Jarod’s conniving – Deceptive and mean.
(She dances and the trees dance with her – DIGGER barks.)
PERSEY No jealousy, Digger! You love trees just as I do.
(DIGGER tries to pee on a TREE but it threatens him)
Trees can’t lose themselves. My soul craves wilderness Lost in the woods!
(A TREE taps DIGGER’s head with a skeleton bone; DIGGER accepts it, mouths it, puzzles over it and lays it at PERSEY’s feet. Dancing, she doesn’t even notice as the trees help DIGGER assemble a skeleton.)
Roy is too generous – Gives Jarod too much credit, That’s the whole problem! Jarod’s a taker! Taking and breaking. If I only have patience
Soon Roy will see too. See the magic of forests On Midsummer’s Eve. Trees dance just for us!
(The TREE reaches for her suggestively. The WOLVES howl. DIGGER pricks up his ears.)
I was a tree spirit before I was born.
(She waltzes with a TREE. DIGGER, alarmed, drops a skull, which rolls at her feet, and he barks aggressively at the TREE, which backs away.)
PERSEY What’s this?
(She picks up the skull, stumbles over the skeleton.)
Oh, my God!
(Slowly the trees transform themselves into BoyGirls, the Victims, the Abandoned & Secretly Buried. It is terrifying.)
Oh, My God, Roy was right! This place is a graveyard! Oh Digger, I’m so scared!
(feeling her pockets desperately)
Who hikes without cellphones?
(DIGGER shrugs helplessly. The trees reach for PERSEY & DIGGER, who clings to her – they flee offstage. Meanwhile a new house opens up stage left – PERSEY’s own.)
Act 1, Scene 1 (THE SCENE: A house on the right edge of a large forest; a wild party is in progress. Raucous music, biker iconography, party guests hang out windows.)
( Enter ROY & PERSEY step out of a car stage left – she is carrying a hugely glittering wrapped package. DIGGER – the Dog leans after them out the window, panting in doggy fashion.)
PERSEY (Hanging back unwillingly as ROY pulls her forward) I can’t relish parties; I hate Noise and senseless jiving. I love silence, long for wilderness to Settle my unquiet soul.
ROY (Panting in anticipation of the party) My wilderness is inside; Sometimes darlin’ you gotta Play fast, stay loose – Forget the day, lose the night It’s gonna come out We’re gonna Gotta eat the world. (We can see the party guests at right lift JAROD up, tossing him)
PARTY GUESTS (Sing Off Key) For He’s a jolly good Cocksman! For he’s a jolly good Cocksman! Which nobody can deny!
ROY (Happily joins in) Yeah, buddy! You’ll get What’s coming – Trust your best bro Who knows all the secrets: Where the bodies are buried; Bros forever. (PERSEY pulls away)
PERSEY I thought I was your bestie.
ROY You’ll always be my main squeeze, Porkchop. (Enter Hostess STORMEE in barely-there dress, rushing out to take their gift)
STORMEE Don’t tease if You can’t perform.
ROY Sorry we’re late – Persey’s a party pooper Taking forever To make herself beautiful.
PERSEY You made me try on every dress!
ROY And ain’t you edible?
PERSEY What I put on, you remove.
ROY No one can resist you, sugar.
STORMEE Let her go if She wants to be alone. Persey hates our games.
ROY Poor Persey Always wandering –
PERSEY I’m never lost and I Adore solitude.
ROY (snarling) With that damn dog. (DIGGER barks enthusiastically from car – PERSEY kisses her fingers to him)
PERSEY We are explorers. (ROY puts his hands all over her)
ROY I could undress you right now.
PERSEY (backing him off) Group gropes aren’t for me.
ROY (Bragging) Guess I’m tagged by A one-man woman!
PERSEY Since high school… (ROY & PERSEY embrace.)
STORMEE (Pulling on ROY) Now you’re here The games begin – Cops and robbers Rapist and victims Monsters and mobsters. You decide.
PARTY GUESTS (Calling) Multiple nightmares Replenish youth to Scarify death – We’re off the leash, so Plunder our fantasy.
ROY Long as I’m boss.
STORMEE But on Jarod’s birthday – You only ride shotgun.
PERSEY Enjoy yourself darling; but don’t Let them change you.
ROY Who can love wilderness (Hands all over her) Without becoming wild?
(ROY & PERSEY kiss)
STORMEE (Shakes the gift package) Is this still alive? Toys disappoint but Playmates never.
ROY It’s rechargeable. (STORMEE laughs loudly, dismisses PERSEY; Challenging, insulting)
STORMEE Go home, little girl – While you own your skin.
PERSEY (Turns to go; waves bye-bye)
You take the car I love to walk home.
ROY Not in that dress!
PERSEY Digger protects me. (Takes one last kiss)
ROY Light demands darkness so you get home fast.
(They pull apart. ROY turns to his gang)
ROY (Calling) Hey, buddy!
JAROD (Passing DIGGER who snarls and snaps at him, tries to get out of the car) It’s a wild night shaping and No holds barred.
ROY Nothing but the best for the fixer Who covers my back. (They embrace, STORMEE who puts the package on her head forms a conga line with the PARTY GUESTS – they dance sinuously)
PARTY GUESTS Kick dirt in death’s face! Birthday’s our free pass We begin every year.
ROY Meaner and crazier –
JAROD Freer and brazener –
ROY Doin’ death down!
(ROY hands box to JAROD opens the box; a huge sex doll inflates and springs out, shimmering wildly. Laughter.)
JAROD Guy with the most toys Rules the lost boys!
PERSEY (Backing away) Happy Birthday, Jarod.
JAROD (Dancing) You only wander to Find what you lost. Don’t be exclusive – Keeping elusive –
STORMEE Sucks to be you, fraidy-cat.
JAROD (Grabs Stormee) Girls who are squealin’ Are always appealin’ –
ROY (Grabs Stormee too) Saying No when they really mean Yes.
STORMEE I’ll even die twice!
PERSEY (Lets DIGGER out) Goodbye to your fun. (She pulls DIGGER away from JAROD)
ROY You stay out of those woods, Persey! Terror stalks pretty girls!
JAROD There’s wolves in those woods and Forests of corpses.
STORMEE Wolves who need bad girls, Spirits of mad girls –
ROY Killers and bandits Monsters and mad men –
JAROD Scary and bad men – Roaming the woods!
PERSEY (Playing with DIGGER who bounds wildly) But I’ve got a protector A hero, a savior –
STORMEE A flea-ridden dirt-bag! (DIGGER tries to hump STORMEE’s leg – PERSEY drags him away)
ROY You got your phone, hon? (Showing his phone – he’s instantly distracted by the screen – JAROD redirects him)
PERSEY You are my heart, Roy. I’ll stay in touch.
JAROD (Sneering) Bell that cat, Roy.
STORMEE (dancing with ROY) Reality show time Put up and go time Never say “no” time –
ROY Don’t wait up!
(ROY, JAROD, STORMEE & PARTY GUESTS swallowed up by the house.)
10:00 PM – Party Castle – Wed 27 Jun 79
The inevitable panic reaction has set in – am I out of
my friggin MIND? But it’s my battle and I’m dealing with it. I hear myself saying WAY too much around him as if tempting him to find something to be disgusted by and to reject me – why can’t I just shut up and enjoy this?
Because I can’t believe he really loves the real me – we haven’t seen each other in 10 years. I plunge gratified into the dizzying sensory experiences – he is very sexual and willing to talk about it – everything he says turns me so ON. Heavenly night of ecstatic sex. Trying to go SLOW, not empty out my bag of tricks all at once. I resent my own anxieties and my fear of being vulnerable. Here at work I wrote a poem about our past – The Duel. Will I ever be able to show him?
I even like his snobbishness – he’s more elitist I guess you’d say. He assumes we’re “up there” – and it’s others job to qualify, to climb up to “our level”! That’s so refreshing after Usher Glayne’s weirdness! He just takes it for granted we’re in a class by ourselves; special people trying to do special things. And our tastes are so similar. He doesn’t plan to stay in Kentucky – wants to live in New England with its fall, its woodstoves and frozen lakes. I can barely comprehend such confidence much less contain it. Imagine being free forever from the fear that the party’s happening elsewhere. We ARE the party.
I said I felt safe with him – he said he wasn’t sure that was justified – looked at me like a beast longing to rend, but restraining itself. Wild frissons! He must be horrified by how fast things are going – I have never met a man who wouldn’t be. But he’s driving this train. Told me he’s been so celibate lately – very upfront discussing his discouraging relationship with a virginal anorexic perfectionist frightened by everything who compensates by torturing herself and all the people around her. In a flash I realized, that’s exactly what Devon is also.
Toss says he feels “stormed” by me –dizzied – by who and what I am, the summit of my “magnificence”. Wow! Such flattery very scary. How can he possibly mean it? Yet he seems so honest, so open. What will he do when he finds out I am human after all – a creature of mud and sludge like everyone else?
Reading Margaret Drabble’s The Needle’s Eye – not so good as The Waterfall – beginning to be turned off by her towers of verbiage. My own life is so much more interesting. Good phone con- versations with Toss – I am beginning to trust him. When I told him what I do for a living he was totally unfazed. “I knew you couldn’t get that body walking!” Tomorrow we explore Annapolis.
Party Castle 12:05 am 2 July 79 Wrote D an angry farewell poem.
“HOW DID YOU MEET?”
You saw me naked I saw you too close- up. You hovered, teaching Between the green glimpses. You drank vodka, I drank wormwood. You cut mountains down to size; I’d no idea that one could take such charge of space. Now I’m a toad-dweller, Nostrils pierced by thorns I Fall face-first into every hole; You were the king the ghost pines saluted. How you dove and danced! Speeding through your love-drunk universe, you Infected me with your own whiteness Dizziness, till all my blood drained out. You challenged God; I was the echo following after. Yet here I am after all this time And nothing promised remains of you.
Or, “Good luck with Sleeping Beauty’s castle!” That’s what he gets for messing with my heart. Can’t show anyone – most certainly not him – and it isn’t really finished – and I don’t think it ever will be. But thank God for diaries. Diaries can be told anything. Reading Secrets in the Family – it is so superb I am going to buy copies for all my sisters. Looking forward to discussing it with Toss. I’m beginning to miss him now – he’s so deep and interesting to be around – so alive on many more levels than anyone else – challenging all my levels. Falling in love – happy, crazy.
Thurs 11:05 – Plush Palace – 5 July 79
Back at The Plush – its catch as catch can in my
present situation. I am alienating managers left and right. But I am happy crazy and who cares?
Because on the third of July Toss asked me to
marry him and I said yes! Here’s how it happened. On Monday night we ate white clam linguini and crenshaw melon while listening to Keith Jarrett’s Koln Concert – then – came together in delicious, soul-freeing sex; two perfectly matched combatants recognizing each other not just from childhood and youth but school and dreams. He was eager to learn how I could best be pleased – so I surrendered to the inevitable. Fireworks!
He left me sleeping there in the AM – I heard thumping downstairs but I know he has roommates so didn’t think anything of it – when he came back for lunch he discovered the door broken in and my purse missing. Keys, wallet, everything. I had to call into work – had to call a locksmith to give me keys to my car.
Toss doesn’t know what else they stole because he doesn’t know what else is supposed to be in this house – called his roommates. They came, police came. So we spent a day of intense babbling and the worst kinds of petty annoyances – but none of it mattered because he was there. In fact, I welcomed it; it was an extra opportunity to be together.
At one point I said, you know, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. He said, if I believed that, I’d ask you to marry me. I said, if you did I’d say yes. So he said, “Do you want to get married?” I said, “I think so,” and there it was! He said I’m the only woman he has ever wanted to marry much less asked. We even chose the children’s names – there are going to be two of them – a boy and a girl of course; one named after Reed and one a combination of our addresses! Had to call Aunt Frederica to give her the good news because she’s the one who had to give the hospital permission to stitch me up ten years ago after our first unfortunate night together! (She was drunk of course.) Toss asked me to come back to Kentucky for his last year of law school. I “shouldn’t miss this part of his life.” Dogs too, natch – we are a package deal.
He has a house he’s rehabbing that has so many rooms it is known as the Hilton. When I said I would come that was more important to him than our engagement even. He says I can file f or divorce in Kentucky’s understanding Commonwealth. He ordered a case of Moet Chandon, saying now we have to drive up the coast and tell everybody. I am a little scared to tell my parents – this suddenness might only seem another strike against me. We told Avril and Maureen – they just stared – obviously thinking we both have lost our minds – it will take them awhile to believe in it. I told Avril about Kentucky – she says she can handle the house; she can always rent out my room to a college student if she feels pinched. I want to leave some money with her – at least $1000 – had the brilliant idea to sell my car. Wouldn’t want to be impoverished in Kentucky and I don’t want to be on “retainer” from T.
Last night I read Toss The Duel and his eyes filled with tears! He said the only flaw he sees in this arrangement is that one of us must surely predecease the other! Could it really happen? Could we grow old together? Could it be that I will never make love to another person? Wrote a short note to Bruce, telling him I will definitely be needing a divorce, sooner, rather than later. Now I am trying to write a short note to D; but honestly, what is there to say? Summing up our relationship seems only to dismiss it. He has already fallen far, far back into the past. Toss is my future.
The Duel
Europe without you Was a funeral feast. I recall the procession of your letters Far better than The stream of luckless suitors Trying to distract me. Virgins aren’t distractible. Your seductive missives stalked me. Your fatal ploy was that nude photo Adam lonely in his garden.
I came right home. I well recall the ceremonies Of that night! Your shyness My perfume Our ignorance Wild and hard A riderless horse. I did cry out as the candles burned. I swear there were some moments when We actually saw each other. But if this magic sword cuts both ways Why was I the only bleeder? They peeled me off And dropped me down a mile Of antiseptic hallway – A princess in a bucket. It could have ended there But at your school I haunted you A chilly-breasted demon. My daytime incarnation seemed mature: I fooled everyone; We chatted as you prepared the skin. I bit down hard and Tasted only Suture wire. You wrote and broke off Our association. Years groaned by Like convicts chained We served our terms with no time off For bad behavior. Lust had luster, Excrement was ecstasy.
The castaways the whirlwind Flung upon the sand Were calm, polite We knew our way around. But That look you gave me! Our unborn children shivered In their sausage skins Fully aware Their time had come. The tale was done The frog-mask Shivered off We saw: The you of you The me of me – Masks Unmirrored Scars Unscored Virgins not but Innocence Restored.
2 PM 15 Feb 79 – Thurs
Sleeting out. Feeling restless the way I do before I write
a new book. Hauled out Bride & Wolves for a rewrite – tremendously impressed with my own talent! Development always was my problem (as in life). Greene’s Human has an odd, unfinished feel. Reviews did not prepare me for it in the least. I think they reviewed Greene rather than his book. More impressed by Margot Ruddock’s letter to Yeats in Ah, Sweet Dancer (which could be retitled Dirty Old Man.) She compares the “fickleness” of men to the fickleness of God! Can’t blame her if God insists on being male. Read Howatch’s Call In the Night as a purgative. Going to see Country Wife tonight at U. Of Md. Usher sent me strange Valentine collage of Playboy photos, couples kissing, etc. Avril says “I give up on him. It’ll be a miracle if he can ever say what he wants.”
Starlight Sat 18 Feb 79 – 11:10 AM Waiting for my bangs to curl at the start of a double. Had a nightmare where Devon performed marriage ceremony between me and some other guy! Right up to the end I kept thinking he was going to “rescue” me. Naturally he did not. “Psychic” about him as usual I got a letter saying he’s busy with this year’s Ladies Ski Team meaning he’s got 12 girls passionately in love with him and he plans to take his time to savor the field. Vengeful poem results:
Cloverleaf Some roads lead nowhere; They’re my favorites. I held my breath while You drew my face in Blinding strokes and Creamed my mouth with curling lines Destroyed one picture; then another. Left at dawn while I Ran downstairs in circles, calling Raging, spending Nights without you, No blue thigh to guard My sleeping heart while yours looks out To gauge the coming storm. Now I’m trapped in cloverleaves Sentenced to school figures By endless angry judges. Every face I paint is yours; balked by An enervating past Of unlived lives. Open up the chilly ruffles Of my breasts To beauty; yours and mine and your Strange spine’s; A body so much lighter Than the mountain that you loved The course you learned Much better than you learned me. Overconfident that you’ll come back I float across the powdered snow; In bird-winged silence all-enveloping Unless I’m Lost and frozen like my heart?
2 PM – Jervaze came in! Ducked away momentarily
from his fiancée. Glad he didn’t bring her in as I am having my period and feeling particularly fat and grumpy. My poor body’s been unloved for a month now and is falling to pieces. Still it was an enormous pleasure to see him. Someone for whom I apparently remain The Holy Grail.
Tues. 6:45 PM 20 Feb 79 Struggling against a vast undifferentiated depression. Going to treat it with diet and meditation. Reading Tapie’s Richelieu and Louis XIII. History a great cure for all who feel unlucky. Even being an aristo was no picnic. Avril accepted for both of us to go to Aunt Frederica’s party on the shore where she’s rented a house. Hitchman’s bio of Dorothy Sayers very bad book. Sayers wasn’t “in love” with Lord Peter, she was him! Will-to-power and dream logic. Trying to “bind” her two halves together when she made him marry Harriet. Had to re-read Sayers’ wonderful Unnatural Death (my favorite) to get the taste out of my mouth. Ah. Such pleasure. Painting till I’m exhausted then long walks with dogs through pretty Queens’ Chapel Manor. Haven’t seen a neighborhood this satisfying since Chevy Chase.
Starlight Wed 21 Feb 79 – 11:45 AM Going through a phase where work feels like being beaten. Think it’s because no one is caring for my body. Will warmer weather turn the tide? I love my house but Marc Kramer is wrong – home ownership NOT the cure-all promised. The only difference I can see is I can no longer mess around financially. Nose permanently to grindstone. Reading John Dickson Carr’s Blind Barber. It is so awful. Why does anyone like him? Pass my time sewing red rhinestone buttons to my pink satin blouse. Yesterday clutch cable snapped – pedal became a dummy. Fortunately I was right NEXT to a gas station. Had to take a taxi home. Financial nightmare – more doubles to get my car out of hock? Turns out it’s not expensive. A. gives me ride to work, Eddy gives me ride to car. Leaning heavily on inner life. Efforts to live “outwardly” all seemingly result in hideous failure. Shopping list: pasties, carpet tape, stockings, cotton balls, liquid plumber, string bikini.
Sat. 24 Feb 79 Devon turned 30 today. Great house party at bungalow Aunt F rented on Mulberry Island. Interesting artist named Stockley there with an exciting mind but unworkable body. Fun to talk to though. He wears a hard hat and welds. Avril asked out by handsome redhead named John. Fingers crossed. Jervaze called to say he broke off his engagement. Uh oh. Macmillan says my novel “not their cup of tea”. Very sneery.
Starlight Fri 2 Mar 79 – 2 PM Bought a pair of yellow overalls to write in. Hadn’t realized how thin I’ve gotten – I look fantastic. House (closing) magically lifts depression when it cost $900 less than I expected. I was fully ready to write these nice people a rubber check – Thank God that’s not necessary. Instead of wasting away in debtor’s prison, I get to compare myself to Sylvia Plath. What if in a panic, I married a party boy who fails to love T he Real Me? Wait, I did that. But I didn’t stay to wrestle with him and now I’m free. Could be much, much worse. Hang in there and go it alone. See it as a strength. Trying to apply for grants. There’s an art form all by itself. Avril’s redhead working out nicely. I don’t like his comments about his mother though. Is satisfactory sex possible with men who hate their mothers? Could be massive Red Flag.
12:35 PM Tues Mar 6 – 79 Sit down to chat with diary over lunch – can’t eat because scolding letter from agent gave me a stomachache. Didn’t I know it was unethical to allow several agents to consider me at the same time? I do see it’s a very beneficial for the agents to drag this process out so they end up doing all the choosing and not you. But since she’s the one I want I can’t say so. Play dumb, promise to Be Good in Future and throw my affairs entirely into her hands and let her speak for me. Silence frees the artist from “servile bondage to the world”, says Sontag. Letter from Devon saying he really respects me for buying a house (the opposite of what Mom thought would happen. He says it makes me more interesting. Or he’s just less scared I will show up on his doorstep.) Also he says “it’s been a bad ski season” and asking particularly about the men in my life, closing, ”I love you Alysse. Our relationship is the most important thing to me.” Whew! What are the odds that every girl on that team would turn out to be a lesbian? Or were they fooled by his aura of untouchable purity? Most girls would consider it a challenge but some lack the three hours necessary to defrost him. Still, they’re all out of their minds not to give him a whirl I must admit. Interesting how very much we each fear the other’s loss.
11PM Starlight Wed 7 Mar 79 Very down night. Only $70 so far. Need $600 to keep my bills current. Bryony wailing because the state took her children away. Sometimes seems like the pain of the helpless is smothering the world. Tony’s the bouncer tonight and he’s all for letting the men stick their bills down the girls’ G-strings! No thank you. Wait till Gentleman Randy hears about this. Reading a bad German mystery – the mystery being why he wrote it, how it got published and why I’m reading it. Fantasizing celebrating spring by getting all my hair cut off. Hmmm. Jean Seberg? Could be sexy. Wish I’d brought Kafka’s Letters. Making huge floor pillows for my housewarming party. Longing to sink into classical music & bubble bath, followed by Oleg Cassini sheets & cup of diet cocoa. Having my own house really is a dream come true.
Mon 20 Feb 79 – 12:20 AM Such a depressing party I got drunk just to be “out” of it. Avril & Ben making out in a corner all evening. Usher brought me books and a bird of paradise flower, Stockley gave me a beautifully framed tiny drawing of crustaceans but then cancelled that by attempting to corner me all evening. He covers up the soul he doesn’t believe in with a repellant fleshy brutality – life is kill and conquer – eat or be eaten. Honestly, now I’m scared of him. Afraid to even argue with him for fear of launching something irreversible. Luckily, he next fastened his lasers on Yvonne. Poor Yvonne. Save yourself, I should say. Plan to ask Paz to schedule me for just two nights. On a self-dare, I sent my poem about Rossetti’s model to Usher.
LIZZIE SIDDALL: The Woeful Victory
Be still or I can’t paint you. It is evening and I almost recognized you. Who are you Fair one? Your mouth is stuffed With poppy hair Fate coils between your breasts Like snakes. But Your tongue’s torn out. You must be the echo of my thoughts.
(I am the motionless cradle.)
Your flesh takes fire from my setting sun. Can you free me, O Lady of the Sundial? My eyes are growing dim.
(Perfect love’s not found this side of heaven.)
I shall paint you vermilion Butcher nightingales and use their tongues for brushes Melting foil & verdigris To the tune of Canterbury bells. Stay awhile, Fair one. I almost thought you spoke.
(I am the face that rises from the pool to drag the drinker deep.)
I will bury you in manuscripts, I will Visit when there’s time. Someday We might marry, but I am not whole, dear lady. I am not myself. Who are You?
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.
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.
Tues. 26 July 77 9:40 AM Sitting on stonewall in full sunlight in my black bikini waiting for pool to open. Swim and sunbathe till ll:30 when mail comes. After 7 I can return – that way I miss the crowds. Exercise, coffee, 3 glasses water. The Regime. I’m down to $4. Embarrassing to be taken out last night by Devon & his roommates. (We saw Star Wars. Childish, but they were into it.) Sent letter to Mom & D asking for stock certificates. They won’t like it.
Dinner should have been nice but barbecue very messy. Wore my tightest jeans and my pink French “Trés chic” t-shirt. Devon surprised me by talking on and on about how beautiful I am. Started to get stoked – in fact I was horny as hell. I would have taken the three of them on if I could have avoided the interpersonal madness that would result. They all have beautifully athletic bodies. But I’m starting to get a feeling that if I just sit in my deer blind a bit longer Devon will come to me. Every now and then I get an “R – flash”, like some synaptic slipup. What will I think of this years from now? Mirror images ache, then fade. Cold Comfort Farm exactly 100 pages too long (but I think most books are). Take a long hot Jean Nate bubble bath and read The Thornbirds.
2:30 PM Wed July 27 – 77
Masturbation is the better part of valor. Don’t make
decisions ruled by sex. Husband my wattage (joke). Too bad sex is such a fast way to get to know someone.
First draft of Demon so far bony and spare. Neatly boxed “components” = “write your own novel”. Trying to exterminate “dead” patches. Wish I had done this with The Mass at St. Secaire – but in those days I was in the “throw in everything you think of and take it out later” school. I like constructing this awkward armature better. Lean and mean superior to flagellate and winnow. Will I let R see this new body, this new confidence?
He will hang on for dear life and I don’t want that. I want to go back to dancing but R prefers I have neither security NOR money.) Think I’ll look for a sublet – easier to impress a private owner than a credit union. I’m not afraid of living alone. Painstaking cultivation of intense privacy in the midst of a crowd has always been my forte.
Mom and Dad called – acting all worried. Apologizing for giving R my number. I put on a good show of being completely ”over” him but I can see they don’t want me moving back to Washington and prefer Mrs. McManus’ ski chalet option. (My cynical side tells me it’s just cheaper.) I act like I have connections to the literary life in DC and they don’t know any better.
Thornbirds is teaching me the great unpleasantness of what publishers define as “a good read”. Contrary to my belief the Victorian period has not ended. Forced to skip the war, potted history and scenery descriptions just to keep going. 7:30 PM Finished Thornbirds. Neither Dane’s death nor Justine’s love affair rang true for me. Uh oh. Danger signs. My taste thoroughly out of kilter with the market.
Couldn’t swim – 3,000 spectators at some sort of race in the pool. So went to library – checked out twelve books – bio, history murder mysteries. Alec Waugh, Somerset Maugham, Vyvyan Holland, High Walpole. Evelyn Waugh, of course. At this very moment R is doing his very last show of 7:30 Live. Will they have a party or wake? Probably go out drinking at the Shalimar, try to pick up dancers he can hector and assault. Time for me to go walking and see how the other (99%) live.
HOT PROWL
Don’t wake up. I surveil by night Your chiseled torso Slackened with exhaustion. Touching things that once You touched, Listening to your apnea – I turn away before you turn. Making peace with all my choices. It’s worth everything; Winning in divorce my Hard-won superpower: Invisibility
2:45 PM Thurs 28 July 77
Loving myself today. I am very tan. Hair strawberry
blond and my stretchmarks look like silk moiré. Any sense of inadequacy must be pounced upon and shored up – work like a beaver at his dam. No worries, few fears. Daddy sent $ which I deposit in my acct. Since I can’t cash a check anywhere I eat what’s here; pickled beets and plain grits. Gallons of water to even it all out. Shake the old body out after 26 years.
Decide two people create love – I refuse to do it alone. Reading Ford Madox Ford and grooving on his Violet versus Elsie problems. Schadenfreude. Years later poor Elsie says, “I should have ignored everybody and divorced him.” Alas, Ford is a self-centered fool. Not simpatico character. However the period is a favorite with me. Mail hideously dull. Nothing from Harcourt. Will my “Westerns” editor have the nerve to turn down an author they’ve got 105,000 copies of? Yes. They’re all a bunch of weenies, frankly. Bike ride.
8:45 PM Finished article for the McManus mag about Shadowe – “Island in Common” – 750 words – sent it off with letter. Mission accomplished. Thinking of substituting a night ride for my walk. Trigger fewer yearnings. Ford’s moved to the US and I’m at the end of my tether with him. Tried reading Jane Novak’s Razor Edge of Balance on V. Woolf – she’s no threat – Lingo Academico virtually impenetrable. Loved reading Fowles on the Fr Lt’s Woman – even though he has a “tin ear” about the Victorians – their “failure” to depict “a man and woman in bed together” ! (How about My Secret Life!!!) He’s the real thing all right even though he launched 1st draft without any research. (It shows.) I’m going to stop freaking out about how little I know London. Full of joy & life & strength & immortality & pep. Now thinking fondly of DC. Resist the impulse to call myself a turkey for even MENTIONING living together to R. (I said in my phone message I had to have a house for dogs.) I can see him crying over his beer at the strip club. Insisting his wussdom is independence. I feel and look mighty thin – but refuse the temptation to weigh myself. Size seven is good enough. Took my walk looking indulgently at couples with children thinking, “This too is within my reach.” Mail full of dull rejections NO interest or acceptances. But the UNITY MITFORD I’d ordered came which I’m reading now. Must write about sisters someday. It’s a trip. 11:12 AM Sat 30 Jul 77 Going out tonight with Devon to see Annie Hall, that laff riot he hasn’t seen. This is one of the things I love about life – it’s so fucking unpredictable! Give these guys space to stew they will eventually DO something. We had a nice phone conversation. I can tell he has “traumatized” himself by “luring” me here. I tell him hardly, I’m writing 8 p. a day (of course it will all have to be thrown out) getting a tan and reading piles of books. (All true.) Too cold & overcast today for pool though and now its raining. Starting to get a feeling D and I will end up in bed. It’s inevitable. How I crave that tight young flesh…Bet you $5. Will wear my faded cerise linen jumpsuit, high heels and Nefertiti necklace. Stoking! Bike ride combined with cold shower doesn’t work.
4:15 PM Sun 31 July 77 Deck
D found Annie Hall so painful it took awhile for him
to speak. I was surprised but patient. I couldn’t have dreamed up a movie more likely to focus all our reservations. The scene where Annie tells Alvy she misses him made me think of R – the separate fragile uniqueness of each human soul – and I could tell Devon was “feeling” his memories too. We sneaked a pizza (a whole pizza) into the theatre so we could come right back here for wine and coffee and more wine – took three hours to get to the point of making love. In a fairly daring move D opened the buttons of my jumpsuit and stroked my stomach pulling down first one shoulder and then another to play with my breasts. Lovely feeling our bodies surge together. He’s good with his hands and has the most sensitive nipples of any man I’ve been with. At last I suggested we go to bed – the couch was really too uncomfortable. D went down on me – his body is the most gorgeous since the history of time – mountains, valleys, crevasses – it’s like rock climbing making love to this man. He insisted on coming outside me which startled me somewhat, but after asking about my “protection” (IUD) fortunately abandoned this technique the second time. (When he comes he makes a little crying noise).
He looks at me in a funny way like he wants to say something but he doesn’t say it. I tried to tell him I’ve learned so much from our 5 year friendship – he seemed unable to take it in. He obviously fears the future and his memory is so bad – after the terrors of his childhood he thinks the whole past is all bad news. It’s like he’s afraid to remember ANYTHING. That would be the worst thing for a writer. You dare not fear the past. Rhythms can’t evolve from longing alone. We woke up, grapenuts & coffee, went swimming, sat on deck, watched tennis on TV. Every time I changed clothes he said “the sight of you naked turns me on” and we made love again. Tomorrow is the first of August – whole new beginning. Try to see myself at 33, with a lawn and a bra and a trash compactor. Freedom is key. No mail. Reading Geo Woodcock’s critical study of Orwell.
6:45 PM Dark as night and pouring rain. Obsessing about D’s body – can’t get it out of my mind and our 22 hours together. Welcome obsessions; R’s slate cleared. Did I use him? Is he “Brand X?” Thinking of all the things I wish I’d said to Devon. He’s so intellectual yet so impermeable. Strange delicate kisses – as impossible to get inside his mouth as his mind. Loud thunder, lightning. D. Eden’s Deadly Travelers supposed to be fun but falls apart totally at the end. Disappointed by thoroughness of Gavin Lambert’s Conan Doyle study – he said everything – nothing left for me to do. (The Dangerous Edge.) Disenchanted with suspense mode. Maybe Demon should just be a series of short, sharp scenes. I don’t like intrusively officious writers – sacrificing character to story “You can’t let your characters get away from you”. Not only can you – you must. See where they run.
Just finished scene between Fawn and Deere’s cast-off “maitresse en titre”. Needing a scene between Jewel and Fawn, Fawn and Del. Let them accumulate like raindrops.
Dinner rice, chicken broth, onions. Coffee. Shouldn’t read true crime in bed. (Shiver.) But I will. 2 months since I’ve seen R. 10PM Black Dahlia almost did me in, too! That poor girl! The writing style in Infamous Murders is the most infamous thing about it. Wm. Roughhead I adore. Soothe my insomnia with art books.
PLAYING HIDE & SEEK IN THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART
hide & seek. It’s my game but you started it. you be a cop and I’ll be a museum – a swollen storehouse where even the walls are open to more than one interpretation. that’s me in dark glasses waiting round the corner for the whick of teeth on bended elbow the fateful kiss where the blood lies gathered. So lies rally; scars; a wound, a bruise – a cut – a fever a thing to call my own. “You imagined it, lady” there’s no one here. powder burn without the bullet.
1 July 77
Today I should start my new novel – always the worst
part. Lauren called to APOLOGIZE for our dinner. I said nothing to apologize for I had a wonderful time. She said she had an “off” night and they are upping my print run from 100,000 to 110,000.. So I guess I’m “on” again in case I write another Eng gothic historical paperback they like (don’t hold your breath). Threw aside Berckman’s Crown Estate suddenly can’t stand other people’s writing.
Very disllusioning dinner with Chuck Kornowitz. My piece de resistance crab manicotti in Newburg sauce turned out exquisitely but he only cared about the booze. When I mentioned The Great American novel he said it’s been written and offered to send it to me. He edited it! He only laughed at one thing I said – he called Athenaeum a “very, very small publishing house” and I said, “More of a hut, really”. He obviously thought I was going to have sex with him so that he would read my book. I turned him down but offered to make up a bed for him on sofa (he really seemed incapacitated by drink but he blamed it on jetlag.) He insisted on leaving, looking very cranky. Did wonder aloud who the hell I think I am? What’s a little sex between “friends” (or supplicants & donors?)
Letter from Devon (I needed it) cheered me up extraordinarily. Just in the nick of time. I’m a loner, he’s a loner too – do two loners make a party? Having a hard time feeling beautiful when I am not dancing and 50 situps a day and one filthy bike ride are no substitute. But this seminarian writes a mean letter. Loved my novel. Looks forward to servicing – er surveying Boston in my company. Four hours on novel produces 8 bad pages. It’s a start. Ms. MacManus foisting her probate lawyer nephew Henry on me. He came over to invite me to the beach (and help me walk the dogs.) He’s a pale, pale Ryder (he’d have to be Peter Frampton to arouse me at this stage) and I feared he’d get sunstroke but I said yes. Saw Jabberwocky – very Monty Python.
Wrote a long wailing, complaining letter to Avril. Try to read Women & Madness but it’s too poorly written and repels every attempt. Norah Lofts White Hell of Pity – very depressing. You’re pretty much asking for it if you pick up a book with that title.
11:00 AM Sun 3 July 77 Had to walk Genevieve’s dogs all the way to Columbus & Ninth to find NY Times. Henry cancelled – I didn’t know why till Ms MacManus told me he found out I wasn’t Jewish! Now she tells me! (She’s not Jewish either.) Reading First Person Singular – actually some helpful dating advice. Is it too crass to count on having sex with Devon July 20? (That’s as long a wait as I think I can stand.)
12:45 PM Mon 4 July 77
Almost strangled the dogs today. Sam rolled in horseshit
in the park. Had to wash them both. Then they bothered me so much during my exercises I had to lock them up. They howled. Penance all around. Ms. McManus invited me to see New York, New York . We enjoyed Unsung Cole last night – and she is going to Martha’s Vineyard so won’t be around to make me her new chew toy.
11:25 PM Wish I could read the future. New York, New York none too reassuring about male/female relationships. Reading Leonard Woolf’s depressing Downhill All the Way. His mind so different from Virginia’s you could call it “antithetical”. Tomorrow’s excitement – double feature of Shame and The Passion of Anna.
12:25 AM 9 July 77
Ryder’s divorce final. His relationship with me? Still in
“separation” phase. Trying to hate him but it’s not working. Pity the petty man who revels in bondage. Feeling sorry for all his future lovers is the best I can do. He would respect me more if I was less sexually excitable, and that’s the ugly truth. Totally resigned that Harcourt will reject Secaire. Went to Patti Smith concert with Brett’s brother. Kind of fun the way she barks out her poetry; a little too butch for me. He is an incipient pedophile remarking on every thirteen-year old he saw (or possibly he was just trying to annoy me.)
11:45 PM Sun 10 July 77
Loved Rhoda Lerman’s The Girl That He Marries
– never were reviews so misleading!
July 14, 1977
Power out in the whole city! Living by candles. No
elevator doesn’t affect us readers. Doorman up and down the stairs with flashlights looking for old people. Dogs poop on balcony. I seize any excuse not to write.
9 PM Fri 22 July 1977 – Mrs. McManus’ condo
Pevensey Old Farms New deal: all I have to do for luxe pad is write an article for Mrs. McManus’ real estate mag. I think rich people are masters of bait and switch but of course I say yes. Contemplate novel about homicidal house-sitter called Other People’s Houses but I see from Books In Print it’s been taken.
Lying here making new breakthroughs in the art of writing sideways; disinfecting my ear from swimming. Wanted to write about Monica Dickens’ Man Overboard or N Ephron’s Crazy Salad or at the very least make a New Plan for My Novel but find I can’t. Was very “good” today – swam, bicycled, some writing. Allowed to eat anything here luckily her food is not too outrageous – hamburger and zucchini salad. Marinated artichoke hearts.
Refuse to shred my nerves further by hating myself. My body’s not perfect but I do feel on the home stretch to self-control. Give me six weeks and I’ll be flying. Emotionally, I’m a mess. Devon brought up marriage and I am smotheringly certain that I can’t live up to either of our expectations or be parson’s wife. Be fun to try – but that’s not the point. I fear the idiot side of me that just keeps coming out. Can’t seem self-assured, playfully grave instead sexually voracious and maniacally ridiculous. Anyway Intuition told me he would call tonight between 8-10 as soon as he could be reasonably sure the Oldsters are out of the way (he is visiting his parents who have “lights out” – i.e. are blitzed – by nine pm). However Experience says if I expect the call, he won’t call. (Learned this from Ryder).
He called at 8:30. I cracked too many jokes – conversation painfully bizarre. He seemed calm and unfreaked. He got a new job that gives him more “room” (he’s a waiter- he’s sick of teaching people) asked when he could “show up” and suggested tomorrow. Moving a lot faster than I expected from my memories of Shy Boy. Do I want to have my fantasies played fast and loose with in this way? (Am I over Ryder?) Do I want to get over him? Or are mismatches of Time & Desire my Fate?
I am certainly NOT turning down D’s offer to see what there can be for us. Companion? Lover? Second self? Brother? Alas he is too blindingly handsome for me to be rational. If he comes tomorrow there won’t be time for more than necking (has to get to new job by 4.)
Forget “July 20”, entered on my calendar as S Day. I WILL NOT MAKE LOVE TO A SCHEDULE. We have to have a night alone to make things happen. I can be patient – can he? Well, I can be honest. Best anyone can do.
10:45 PM Back from a walk, reliving my years as teenage prowler. And peeper. These walks are very informational as I spy couples hanging plants & merrimekkos, having fights and pouring wine. Macramé is de rigueur. Try to imagine Devon & me in similar situations. Maybe he won’t be a parson forever.
Celebrate my freedom from R. Nice to know I can go to parties without fearing R’s paranoia & restrictions mixed with his exhibitionism & flamboyance. Freeing me maybe to be those things. Fantasize pleasurably about long drives with D – my hand on his thigh – separate but equal thoughts unfolding with the journey. My emotions a difficult horse to ride.
11:50 PM Interrupted by phone call from R. (got this # from my parents.) Offered to send me money. What is wrong with him? He said, “You were right the way you always are. When are you coming back to me?” Loves me, misses me, wants me back. He’s been sick – Emmys a complete bust – his TV show cancelled – 2 directors actually fired (25 people in total.) Today’s the first day he’s been back to work, amazed not to get a pink slip. He’s taking a two week unpaid leave to go to the Finger Lakes and find his soul. If they fire him so what. He refuses to take out of town job. He really worked me over – gave me a bird’s eye view of what life with him would be like. For example, said, “his place is my place.” If he means “move in” he knows I’ll say no because his skyscraper doesn’t take dogs. He asked, “When do you come down to get your furniture?” I don’t like him having all this information. Thank God for D. Six weeks to decide whether I even want to return to Washington. I write a poem for Devon.
Angel Clothes
You are like a ripe peach Swollen in the summer of your life And as the peach surrounds its stone Your skeleton enwombs your soul But thinly. I often see it shining Through the hollows in your cheeks. I need your body Need to know its shadows Sound its pleasures But as the stone Though small at first Must grow; feed off the dying peach So your spirit must transhume your flesh Disgorge it in A thousand peaches a thousand summers a Thousand eternities more beautiful than You or i
7PM – Sat 23 July 77
D and I went for a long walk today, had a great
talk. He told me all about his passionate relationship with English girl – asking “Do you really want to know?” I did – I managed to be very hands off. Said he’d written her “lyrical love-letters” and she is saving money to come to US at Christmas. Bit of a downer to find other people have split minds like me. I told him a little about R and more about my husband. I had to hope he wouldn’t see it “retaliation” for what he’d told me. (R would have.) Fantasies can be ugly if they prevent you from experiencing reality.
We hugged – he left – I know he thinks I’m too “intense”. I was stupid enough to read him my peach poem. On the other hand, if a guy can’t handle my poetry where am I? R only likes poems he knows are about him. Wrote a whiny letter to Avril (who usually can handle whiny letters). Good today – bike, swimming, walk with D. Long letter to Mom and Dad.
Reading Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm – can’t stay grumpy – laughing too hard. Settling into my spaceship – my own body – first day of the rest of my life. Listening to wonderfully crazy modern opera on the radio.
Sun 24 July 77 Reading E. Ogilvie’s Theme for Reason. How can people still write novels interspersed with long nature descriptions – the pert chickadees and the blue moiré sea. I think it’s immoral for a writer of any talent to inflict this stuff on an overstuffed world. Shape now the key (used to be all about time-wasting.) I pledge to concentrate on making each day a triumph. The First Word The First Page. The First Day.
4PM Wrote 4 pages of A Demon Roused. Horribly dissatisfied. Patricia Highsmith on the suspense novel no damn help at all. Everything I’ve ever written pure dunder written by a dunderhead. Restrained myself from calling R. Face facts. Left DC June 4. This coming month has to be gotten through. Feel I suffered my “breakdown” last spring was a crisis of identity. Attacked by the writing thing (no money, no approval, no relationships) attacked by the relationship thing (R too critical, wanting to “change” me.) Starving myself. Long mad midnight walks rampaging thru Chevy Chase with dogs. The ENDLESS Devon situation only explicable when seen in this light. (He’s TOO good looking – it’s like a fantasy.)
Now about my book. New beginning ALL wrong and I couldn’t figure out why. The characters seem alive. 1) First Person Difficult. My husband always said 2) omniscient narrator no longer possible, making 3) me want to do it. However, I have to admit you 4) need to be somebody – an extra character and that’s a 5) bigger pain in the neck. 2) Scene Problematic. I’ve GOT to get out of England. It’s artificial. How about if I don’t say where it is? Will the specificity cops come after me? 3) Format (Suspense novel) rough because I have to be the one who knows what’s going on and I want to write my first draft in a narcoleptic state. Means I have to be happy making a huge ness with a million false starts and then write the thing ALL OVER when I know what’s going on. But I feel time running out on me. Goddam it. I should be happy to explore. Why all this pressure? Two novels unaccepted, why write a fourth? Am I deliberately trying to drive myself to the brink of insanity? Also I HATE Sunday because the pool is packed, no stores are open, and there’s no mail. Devon and his roommates Blair & Brian drop by and I struggle to appear sane. Hard for me.
6PM Called R. to yell at him. He wasn’t there – thank GOD. Maybe I just want to punish him. He certainly deserves it.
1:30 PM Mon 25 July 77
Dark night of the soul finally over. Very athletic today –
feel deliciously tired. Decide I should go back to Washington no matter what. My choices are my choices. My happiness can’t be dependent on how people treat me. I plan to use my time to become powerful – to be the person I’m supposed to be. In the drugstore line I was reading up on the showbiz personalities – nobody interesting before 30 and I have a few years yet.
Forget about weight – just follow & learn to love “virtuous routine”. (I’m a size seven – that’s pretty good.) Today it POURED rain – night baseball Devon wanted to attend out of the question. He suggested we switch to a movie when he called this am.
Still feel stilted with him unfortunately. Theme for Reason’s sole interest is that it was written by a lesbian. Still, she isn’t very forthcoming. “Marriage of convenience?” Really?
Assault on library. Planning to ransack the place. Leafed through Helen Hayes (poor woman); enjoying Thurber’s My World and Welcome To It .
10 PM Sun 24 Apr 77
Very good day working "critic" at Pacifica radio. Worrying if I get 2nd job
novel will suffer. Maybe Mr. Pierce will take care of that. Finished Shelley – why is Triumph of Life always the Triumph of Death? Nothing left to read – Natural Hist of Vampire; ho hum, Beyond Belief is a yawn, Spoor of Spooks holds some interest but grating tone. Finished scene between Nilssa and Labarraz – not really happy with it. Total collapse of self-confidence a real problem for an artist.
Tues 26 Apr 77
Keith Dalrymple came in to place a call and unfortunately
asked me how I was. Threw myself sobbing into his arms. Scary bad news. R. called last night to say, “I’ll take care of you.” Then said I should move to Maine and get an apt I can “afford”!!! Then said he’d been comparing everyone in Boston with me – no one stacked up. Whiplash. “Taking care… isn’t that what hit men say? Butchers? Garbage men? He is schizo. The unspoken message is I have to be what he expects – clearly impossible. So why am I stuck? Why can’t I just move on?
Sexually he’s spoiled me, alas. Must finish this goddam novel
but I need to run around town in a G-string auditioning. Wish there was anyone I trust to show novel to but everyone’s taste is so weird. They don’t see what I’m trying to do and they don’t see any point in getting there. Must learn to please myself but I’m bone tired, dammit. Making a list of Sources of joy: Art Writing Sisters Dogs Nature The Beauty of Everything Friends Love?
11:45 AM Sun 1 May 77
Keith softened me up by calling to ask if I’d been in
his office. He smelled my perfume. (I hadn’t.) Agreed to go out with him Sat night. Just awful. Awful. Keep wishing he was literally ANYONE else. Dating someone who doesn’t interest you sexually is like trying to diet by ordering food you dislike. (I actually tried this. Ordered tripe.) Howlably stupid. Yet no one to howl to. R. says he’d “hate” to think I “needed” him and didn’t call. Am I the stupid one here? I think so. Sucker for punishment. Upstairs, Downstairs cheers me up a little. Considering renting little house in the wilds of Virginia. Or garden apt. utilities included. Dogs would like it – close to clubs. Read Eliz Savage’s Good Confession – very minor. Cleaning. Laundry, dishes, garbage. Thinking about Sylvia Plath and the problem of panic attacks. It’s all about learning to steer into the skid.
Wed May 4 - 77
Made illegal copies of novel at work, drove to Plush
Palace in Virginia to audition. (10 Mins down Rt 1 from Woodrow Wilson bridge. 1 HR commute). VA pays better, mandates pasties & stockings, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms (I’m not kidding) makes sure you don’t sit with or talk to clientele. Amen! I was hired immediately $90 day plus tips. So pleased. Got a car appt Fri 13th so El Diablo won’t die on Beltway. Working Thurs, Fr. Sat and there’s no holdback, they pay you immediately. Buy G-strings & pasties Landover mall. Avril says R “betrayed” me. But do you “betray” someone by having a weak character? He can’t help it. A says he’s behaved so badly there’s no hope for him. I think he can’t make up his mind – he wants me only if I don’t want him. Plus if he finds out I’m dancing again he’ll want to “convert” me. (He’ll think I’m doing it just to torture him. I don’t plan to tell.) Gave A a copy of my novel to read – feeling insane – got to get reaction from SOMEBODY. Broadcast asks me to stay “on call” so Mr. Pierce has forgiven me or is desperate.
Plush Palace – 9 PM Fri 6 May 77
Very nice dressing room. Girl I’m dancing with (Darla) is just
awful. Find the comparison very cheering. A gobbled my novel up, says it’s “deep” but “obsessive”; made me feel on right track. How much can I torture my audience? I‘ve GOT to stop blubbering and start fantasizing. Who CARES about the pathos of my existence? Make something up.
Sat. 7 May 77
House is mine! Everyone moved out. (A’s & Mason’s new
place just what they wanted – skyscraper urban nightmare.) Listening to opera, reading NY Times, feeling like a Big Success. Dog across my chest in blissful rapture. ($100 in tips last night!!!) R called to say I “always have a place with him” and He “has never taken my heart ring off”. Is he nuts or am I?
Realize for the first time he says things he KNOWS aren’t
true just to hear himself say them!! Just like the Victorians – mouthing something is halfway there! Because you’re making an effort! You could not imagine anyone more opposite from me. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, as the rock musicians say.
Reading Bottle Factory Outing – so wonderful. (But liked
The Secret Glass better.) Trying to numb weird longings to write ghost stories and eat chicken potpie (regression). Wrote first draft of a short story about a grandmother telling her shocked granddaughter about “the time I almost committed suicide”. Very matter of fact. Feel I’m recovering from “mono-soul-iosis” – not just R but my first marriage, Devon and everyone between. Shoulders asks to borrow lawnmower – asked me if I want to watch him use it. (He knows he’s pretty.) I do.
7:15 PM 8 May 1977
Feeling much better, like I’ve passed a turning point. Wasn’t
sure how much I could trust myself in the past, but if I’ve come through this, my core must be solid, instead of the jelly mass I fear. Sitting in my far-from-clean study beneath my poster of Blake’s God & the Angels enjoying an after dinner cup of coffee. Sanity returns. A. is coming tonight to get her flicati rugs – that will make the downstairs look empty. Trying to finish Household’s Courtesy of Death, so I can take all these silly books to the library, dump them, and get a lifetime supply of Peter de Vries. The only proven painkiller is laughter. My damn novel’s made a fool out of me. Time to admit it.
3:15 PM 9 May 77
Called into Broadcast to sub for Loretta. Working on Devlyn
galleys. The main scary thing about this place is that no one works here willingly. “Morale” is a poisonous miasma. Kind of like the architects’ office. Mom & Dad raise hell over A’s living with Mason. I thought they were so worked up about “commitment”! Sharing an apt is a commitment, isn’t it? Not according to them. Glad poor A is taking the storm for once and not me. Couldn’t cope with them on top of everything else. R. and I are trying to evolve into a “friendship”. I know it sounds stupid but there has to be some third place between attraction and avoidance because each of those is obsession. When I ran this idea past R he said I was his “best friend”. This is why he is so impossible to deal with. Best friend? He wouldn’t treat a pet the way he’s treated me (the SPCA would come and get him.) Speaking of Ryder, he just called. Finished my book, found the Black Mass a little short otherwise liked it. Didn’t say a word about “who’s Hank based on.” Thank God. He did ask who the baby’s father is – I said even Nilssa doesn’t know. According to R. I have “no problems”. (He doesn’t know about the dancing. I f he was REALLY my best friend I could tell him.) He says we have the whole rest of our lives to talk. He’s uncannily good at saying what I want to hear (unfortunately). Seeing him tonight. Take the bus home, buy wine, wash & set my hair. If only we could get to the stage where we no longer fear each other.
4:50 PM Tues 10 May 77
Well we’re not out of the woods yet but perhaps have
found a path. Last night was like losing my virginity all over again – we were both so shy. Slept wrapped up and embracing. Many compliments on my body (no tell-tale glitter in the bed.) He said he was so upset by me breaking up with him at McDonald’s he can’t go to any McD’s anymore. Pledges of love somewhat ruined by an argument during breakfast about whether a novel can be “good” if no one will buy it. Uh oh. I tried keeping it philosophical, not giving historical examples he wouldn’t recognize (which would be “one-upping”.) Finally stopped when he got a call from a “goofy chick.” Should I be worried, I ask, and he says no. But I can’t avoid the sinking feeling that I don’t dare hitch my wagon to anyone so dependent on mass psychology – even as a friend – without losing my way.
8:20 PM Plush Palace
Getting ready for my 2nd set. Thinking hard I decide
I need 8 months in Maine. I should quit Broadcast Agency right away (I think they need two weeks, poor bastards. No one wants to work there. When you have to quit a job that allows you to read you know its bad. This job lets me read and it’s a lot more interesting.) Stay there the summer at the very least. Just writing. The problem is, if I’ve got Mom and Dad working on my one side and R working the other, I’m like a chew toy. Horrible realization that if I told R I was dancing he would demand I quit and I might do it. So when I realize the person I need to be afraid of is me, it’s a Mary Shelley-like horrific moment. Trying to read Household’s Three Sentinels but all I can think of is those awful Juan Carlos coffee commercials; “harvesting de beans wid de donkeys”. My own life way more interesting. 10 PM – It’s my diary that’s my best friend – tell you anything. Household’s women are unspeakable. Just got to the place where he describes being “turned on” by the hair on a woman’s upper lip. Doesn’t do a thing for me. Hungry, but maybe when I get home I’ll have a yogurt. Trying to save $1000. And stay away from the 12¢ donuts. 12:55 PM In an hour I’ll be on the road and not a moment too soon. Fall into the arms of empty house & importunate dogs. Just ate a whole plate of cold French fries (not good). Boredom’s my worst enemy. Food at least feels like excitement. Such pathos. Gentleman Jim just gave me Thurs night, which is welcome.
Broadcast Agency – Wed – 11 May 77 5:35 PM
R. says his latest philosophy is “To Love is to Be
Happy With.” He’s all worked up about snowshoeing and horseback riding as the cure-alls for anything that ails us; says he’s budgeting money to spend on me every week. I do not find this appealing. He’s a warm puppy, all right, but I’ve already got two of those. In spite of that I fall into a reverie where we buy an old house outside of Annapolis, slowly fill it up with precious junk and love each other to death. Need to go home, eat rice & vegetables, and give dogs a good long walk. Reading Martha in Paris but thinking about Alysse in Annapolis…
7:50 PM Sun 15 May 77
Justifiably proud – paid ALL my bills and sent off my
galleys. Nothing like money! (Stupid car needs a new clutch. It’s always something.) Able to refuse “help” from Mom and Dad who are dithering about whether I need to be institutionalized.
Told them I was working at a “restaurant” (Let them
assume waitressing. They know I can’t cook. PP does serve food; State of Virginia makes people who serve alcohol serve something to sop it up with. Good old Virginia. ) Sent M & D a DEVLYN cover. $57 left in my acct.; $100 in my purse. (Open a savings acct tomorrow).
Ordered a beautiful Vietnamese print ($80) for Genevieve’s
wedding gift (last time she got married I sent candy. Well, I wasn’t invited!) Horseback riding did make me horny however – Ryder & I made love like a pair of wild animals. He may be compact, but he’s beautiful. Cleaned the entire house. Now darkness falls – means it’s time to walk the dogs. How I love peering into people’s windows. When I get back, strong tea with milk and the “splendeurs et misères” of Monica Dickens. Or will I succumb to that modern master of the Grimm fairytale, Agatha Christie? No poetry, but plenty of trolls.
Alysse Aallyn 