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 PMWas 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 reallygot 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.
When This Card Chooses You – Check your friend list. Do you dream of love, sex, connection? Hand-holding, hugging, family celebrations? You were born to search for Alliances. An alliance is symbiotic, good for both sides of the equation. To reach out, you must each decide your motive (“I Could Use a Friend”) and approach with the CERTAINTY that you are WORTHY of friendship. This last one is tricky because we are all looking for validation. This is the source of many “imposter” dreams where we find ourselves naked in front of the entire class, unprepared on Test Day!
You Are a Giver and Worthy of Help – We can’t get through this alone, and we don’t want to. Luckily, we are surrounded by other humans, struggling, just like us. If we pledge to help each other, we can dispatch terror and celebrate joy! Comforting! But how can we tell the difference between Builders and Exploiters? We don’t want to end up as someone else’s meal.
Warrior Danger – When someone is trying to mangle your self-esteem, recognize this. Even if it comes in the guise of “friendship” this person is an enemy. This is not what friends are for. When someone is trying to “capture” you, i.e. limit and control your possibilities and behavior, that person is a hostage-taker looking for slaves. NOT a friend.
Warrior Challenge – How to recognize friends? Friends are honest: “I just don’t like that dress but maybe it’s me.” Friends are forgiving, ‘I’m sorry, I was having a bad day. I know you’re sorry, too.” Friends are fun, “Let’s cheer ourselves up.” Friends are helpful: “Let’s figure a way out of this.” Are you honest, forgiving, fun-loving and helpful? You’re ready to be a friend. Friendship is a good place to start. Be the friend you want to have – warm, funny, loyal, truthful.
Love Enriches – It Does Not Deplete – – Friends are a mirror in which we see ourselves. We can experiment with possibilities, we can expand our reach. Our intelligence is doubled, as well as our efforts. Our sorrows are halved and our ideas are increased exponentially. Reach out! You never know until you try. And there’s always the possibility of Love and deepening sexual connection.
Love Transforms As A Warrior Transforms – Things you thought you could not do seem possible now because someone believes in you. Believe in yourself because they do, and honor them by believing in them, in return.
Locked Back to Back the Warrior Pair Sees Everything – Gaze turns outward at the world, not inward on each other. Are you chewing or strengthening? Learn the steps of your tango. Add new steps of your own.
As You Change, the Couple Changes – Compare Training Journals. Are you evolving? Can you evolve together? Is it safe to speak the truth? Does one partner try to dominate? Does one partner use infantile behaviors to get “their way”? There is no “one way.” As joint warriors, the couple has goals also. Compare. Allow differences. The truth will be revealed.
Models & Mentors – “You are my sun, my moon and all my stars” – e.e. cummings
“All that we love deeply becomes a part of us” – Helen Keller
“Love makes your soul crawl out of its hiding place” – Zora Neale Hurston
“Love is not proud or boastful, keeps no record of past mistakes – love rejoices in the truth”
– II Corinthians
“Laugh as much as you breathe, love as long as you live” – Rumi
#Haiku: The Lovers
Falling upwards Into you My other wing, my second Clapping hand
In the bar we argue You drink gin and I drink bourbon You admit there’s something out there but God and Christ have been discredited You prefer the snake-faced aliens.
Can pedagogues discredit learning I demand -Do rapists disgrace sex? Outside the blank-faced soldiers Breathing on the glass of history Await their time.
They are glad to lend their bones As lumber. They’re afraid to live. Rebel children seize the city Experimenting on the damned. We’re trapped inside the hourglass
Moving not in circles but in spirals – Moving somewhere. You order a stronger round I look inside my wallet To see what’s left.
On Fifth Avenue; nonstop parade of glittery storefronts & Entitled shoppers.
Glamorous trousseau fun! . Our limo pulls up to Questrina, Sets off parking lights; A woman rushed through the double doors offering Glossy green dress bags in outstretched hands-
Driver swept them to the car and we were off again. “Your clothes,” explained Verne. Excitement, confusion; the Disappointment that Always follows bait and switch:
You get SOMETHING Just not what you expected. Had my dress been chosen for me? “I thought Maribel and I-“ “Oh, there’s lots for you to do,” He dismissed.
Surprised he didn’t offer Lollies to distract me. “Here we are,” says would-be groom. “My place.” A skyscraper on Fifth Avenue?
Shiny red and black doorman – general Of a third world country – Rushed the curb. “Your lordship.” I thought my ears unplugged. Had I heard this right? Did he speak American and was Verne in fact, “a lord”?
I should have watched those damned Downton Abbey episodes my folks begged me to see instead of proudly sequestering with Japanese anime. Limo driver brought all bags – He had to use a different elevator.
43 floor ride, black & gold enameled door thrown open on the penthouse there stood Mirabel.
Chapter Four : The Lost Sister
My eyes filled with tears and I realized How much I’d feared that This was all a scam. “Darling!”
She waved her skinny arms and kissed the air. “Mwah! Mwah! You escaped!” I couldn’t touch her – We laughed and laughed. She gave Verne a burning look – “Get us drinks”
And dragged me – Literally DRAGGED me into A double-doored bedroom and Swept me down upon a white flokati rug. We were children again – Conspiring & strategizing together or She played all the parts and I Gazed on adoringly.
She took control with those hypnotic eyes While my school self asked, IS this really Mirabel? So much smaller than my memory – Disappearing before my eyes in fact, As she had managed to do my whole entire Life; darker – blond all gone –
I know I’m taller now, but how could this tiny thing Have ever been a supermodel? Someone rattled at the door – Mirabel called – “We’re dressing!” Pulled me into giggle – “Leave it!”
Covered my mouth signalling with her Humongous eyes – Crawling to the door she – Peeked out – Pulled in a Champagne bucket and a pair of flutes.
“Grooms get in the WAY!” She laughed and toasted me. “But men! You know!” She gasped and gagged as if She’d never had such wine. I sipped sedately.
Judgingly As I’d learned to do with grown-ups. Who was this Mirabel? The way she carved me With her eyes She must be real Yet something smelled Imposture.
I just don’t know – I’m far too new – It’s far too weird. She leaned to touch my hair. “I always thought They should have named you Anne.”
The door opened and Verne stood over us Looking down reprovingly. Mirabel blanched – I thought because she’d said He’s not to enter – But he was mild enough
Laying dress bags along the bed Reproachfully As if to ask “How can you dress without dresses?” Then he was gone The door slightly left ajar. Mirabel clicked it closed with her foot. She called, “See you at dinner!”
I felt sorry for poor Verne But when we heard the outer door click Mirabel rose and unzipped the bags. She topped off her glass with Vodka from a bottle by the bed. “It’s such bad champagne,” she excused, “In Europe, babies drink this stuff.”
I studied the bottle – Beau Joie Brut Special Cuvée – A brute champagne. Tasted fine to me – like Sharpest winter air.
Mirabel offered her bottle. “No thanks.” She drained her tulip glass. ”You’ve certainly changed,” she commented. Did I drink vodka at eight years old? I said, “So have you.”
“I’m darker now. Verne wouldn’t look at blondes.” Too bad, I thought. I’d hoped she’d find a different type of guy. “Is he really a lord?” Maribel rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.” At my surprise she added – “It always seems to mean you can’t do Anything you want.”
She shrugged. “At least the restaurants like it.” “And you’ll be –“ “Lady Verne.” She shrugged; unexcited By the prospect. Seemed The opposite of what Old Maribel would have thought.
“So, you just met?” “Oh no, we’ve been together FOREVER – And only now we tie the knot. But you!” She spun me all around. “You’re so tall! And thin!” “I eat like a horse” I apologized
I grow too fast – all my friends are vegan But I eat Everything – “I can’t seem to fast.” “Wait till after the wedding,” Said Maribel
“Then just do a purge. “Think you’d fit a four?” The dress she pulled was pale gold, fairytale dress with endless puffy skirt. My gasp relaxed Mirabel’s face. She smiled.
“I’m sure I could!” almost dropped my wineglass in my excitement to try it on. Stripped down to my unsightly sports bra And boy’s brief pants.
“Can’t wear a bra with this one,” says Mirabel. “I’ll do you up.” She gazed too long – A man’s gaze I thought – I turned away.
I followed all her modeling pages But there’s been nothing for the past Three years.
I was smart enough to know that airbrushed people don’t look like that in real life. Mirabel had been so gorgeous;
those huge eyes and perfect Roman nose seemed to promise a matching depth of soul. We all want to believe that beautiful people Get everything they need from life;
yet I remembered the Mirabel I’d known. She’d never come back to this family fold unless something had gone horribly wrong. As my train slid into the darkness of the Grand Central tunnel I texted the number I’d been given with “Train on time”
followed by a happiness emoji. Then of course I wanted to delete it But wasn’t I – as the only bridesmaid – Obligated to act excited? I’d never done any of this before – It’s Brave New World to me.
The response wasn’t from Mirabel at all but labelled @Valerian: “I’m meeting you. Mirabel otherwise occupied as usual. Look out for red hunting coat.” Who was Valerian? Where was Mirabel? Was this the fiancé who had her phone? If that was the deal from the beginning Mom and Dad would never let me come.
Here’s Mirabel at her core – proficient In the art of “softening people up” Which never meant the truth. Dad says Mirabel always “plays the inside straight” Some disparaging poker term.
As the train lurched to a stop I stood up and studied myself in the Mirrored windows. The girl “Valerian” would see Looked good enough in gray skirt with shiny thigh high patent leather boots and recently highlighted auburn hair. Nothing like Mirabel’s blond gorgeousness of course. But Out from beneath Mom’s thumb
I’d added to my eye makeup – Mom frowns on false lashes – Because looking ready for my moment gives me hope. I hadn’t answered the text: Stranger Danger just too strong. I’d Uber myself – if I knew where I was going. But I wanted the chance to Look at him before he looked
At me. That would work Unless He was the one who’d tried to Friend me – Meaning he’d seen all my pictures? Ugh. You want to be seen and yet somehow Not.
We project ourselves into others’ eyes – I want to be seen in a certain way – Where I control reactions! Of course it makes no sense And that’s what diaries are for – endlessly Trying to reshape Cellphone diary fantasy. But There he was
right by the escalators, standing out in his red coat. Mirabel would never descend to the tracks. A tall, distinguished looking man in his thirties probably, very thin – dark pants and a red down jacket. The closer I got the more Startlingly handsome was that weathered knife-planed face –
Beneath dark glasses – he broke into smiles at the sight of me. No hope of escape – If I thought anything it was – “He’s better than I dreamed!” Made it easier forging some new Relation with my uncomfortably lost sister. He reached for my bag
Kissed the top of my forehead Dry lips – tasting sweat and foundation. “Richenda?” English accent. “I Recognized you immediately. You look just like Mirabel. It’s the eyes.”
I felt a gush of pleasure at Such baseless flattery – Wanted to argue “I am not!” but Zines do say we girls must learn accepting compliments. Sooner rather than never. “Er, thanks.” So ungraceful.
“What happened to Mirabel?” “Unavoidably detained.” He swept both me and bag away from the escalator Down the platform. “We’ll take the elevator to the car service.” Actually, a limo. The driver rushed to take my pathetic flowered bag. Did the driver and this so far unintroduced man know each other – casually or permanent – hard to say.
“You’re the fiancé?” I stuttered out. He seemed surprised. “Sorry,” he said, bundling me into the limo, “It’s Wedding nerves. I’m Philip Valerian. Everyone calls me Verne.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Mom thought your name was Rupert Golden!” Verne didn’t find this amusing. “Some previous swain,” he huffed. Wedding nerves? Exactly right. He was jumpy, Fingers drumming on my knee. I was alone with @Valerian.
Fourteen and I used to be bored. Winter breaks were especially glacial
Till just recently –
Right before dinner Mom Put her head around my door : “You won’t believe what happened!” What could excite such A dull person?
But I lacked comparisons because This never happened before. Slammed my book shut because – Geometry is paralyzing – And joined the Guessing game.
“We won Powerball?” “Your sister’s coming home! To get married!” I hadn’t seen Mirabel –ten years older – in eight years. Truth to tell, I could barely remember her. A lifetime ago. “Why?”
Mom – never invited in – Leaned against the INSIDE Of my door. “Make up for the past.” Is that even possible? Or does she want a free wedding?
Mirabel was ALWAYS Always always always About the money. “So who’s she marrying?” “I think his name was something like Rupert Golden.”
“I didn’t want to ask her to wait while I got a pen. She said she’d send details. You know how she hates Snooping.” Everyone hates snooping, I thought.
Mirabel hates Accountability. Snooping can be fun If you’re the one doing it. Addictive. “Rupert Golden’s no real name,” was all I had To contribute. Mom gave me her “Like you’re the expert” face.
But fourteen year olds DO Know everything. We just forget Distracted so easily. We’ll be a whole family again for the first time in – ages.” So she can leave us again, I thought.
I knew. I’d always been Weirdly tuned from Mirabel “Murble” I called her When I learned to speak The dazzling goddess of my Dappled infancy.
Parents are nonsensical. All they cared was that She was willing to pretend for whatever short period that things are copacetic at the family manse.
Parents love pretending. “When’s this happening happening?’ “Unsettled,” said Mom. “She wants your help to buy a dress.” “Me?”
Up to that second I’d been a Peeper at The Family Drama. Did I want to participate? What choice did I have?
“You’ll be her only bridesmaid so she wants your dresses to match,” said Mom, But slowly as if just realizing What stupidity she spoke.
“You go up tomorrow night and the two of you come back Sunday.” How had she agreed to this? She still wasn’t happy.
“Unless… perhaps I’d drive you?” “I’ve taken trains before,” I said, trying to keep the baby whine Out of my voice. “I’m fourteen years old!” “But it’s the city,” wailed Mom
Panic flaring. “I’ve been to the city before, too,” I said. School field trips!!! Alone? First time for everything.
“She said she’d meet the five o’clock train,” sighed Mom, Obviously wondering How had she agreed to this? I almost didn’t like it.
So some strange woman Could call Mom up and Gain more freedom for me Than I’d ever managed?
It’s a gift. Don’t criticize its teeth. “It won’t be dark yet,” I said blithely.
“So is that where she’s living? In the city?” Rumors of international travel had reached us when Mirabel’s modeling cancelled. And all this time she’s Twenty miles away?
Mom seemed so unhappy. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s Rupert’s place. I’ll be trusting your good sense.”
She certainly can’t trust Mirabel, I thought. Someone in this family Needs to do some serious snooping.
That night someone named Philip Valerian Tried friending me on Facebook. I turned him down Like a bedspread, I Don’t talk to strangers.
No Bad, no Good, no Up, no Down, No Wednesday or Friday except in The Mind of Man. Sitting on the deck reading Maurois’ Life of Balzac – Prometheus. As usual I am fruitlessly pursing interesting people through the indexes. I am so interested in people who just appear once and flash away. That’s history. I especially enjoy the tantalizing extracts from the diary of Melanie Princess Metternich! How I’d adore reading the whole thing! Makes me ashamed of this spastic notebook with its diaristic pretenses. How can I upgrade this rag? Mention as many names as possible and hope one of s vaults the bridge of death?
Getting late. We left Sarnia headed for Tobermory and I have the nine to twelve watch so I have to stay awake. I should rush down now that I have a chance and freshen u, trying to make myself a ravishing beauty in case of passing tug. Dad keeps mouthing off about The Evils of the President – I say Johnson is just a Prisoner of his Age.
Sat. Aug 20 – 66 What a storm! I awoke to hear Daddy calling me – pulled on some foul weather gear and went on deck – seas foamy white and waves at least 17 feet – no lie! Daddy gave me the helm to hold hard over while he & Mom lowered the sails. I was freezing and wet and shivering in seconds. Dad tied the helm over and went below for just awhile. We were looking for the Cove Island Light and when we got there the natives were amazed that we had weathered that storm! (Battens flew out of the mainsail!)
Daddy took us out to dinner at The Tub. We had porterhouse steaks! We stocked up on food, had the head repaired and then took off for Collins Inlet. After skirmishing with a couple of snakes (one a rattler! – the other a swimmer) I was happy to sunbathe nude on the beach while Mom & Dad explored the island. Saw 2 jackrabbits and a passel of beavers. Afterward we barbecued chicken and ate apple pie on the beach leaving me fatter and happier. I am writing this by flashlight while Mom and Dad yell at me to go to bed. (Apparently they don’t want to be mentioned in my index.) They are prisoners of convention.
Sun. Aug 21 – 66 Feeling oddly happy and calm in spite of the turbulence of my future. School? I can’t kid myself – in two months I will be bored & screaming. I don’t want to follow a life shaped by another’s hand. I want Alysse to be for Alysse. Wonder what that is in Latin – want to put it on my shield. My mother says I’m an egotist but I think I’m just normal. I believe in generosity and kindness and all that but living for others is death. I believe in calming and exploring the depths of your own waters. “Self-plumbing!” Inspired right now by Simone de Beauvoir’s Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter. (The “dutiful” is sarcastic.)
Sep 12 – 66 – Brockton Ohio Back home. Sitting on the same old stone bench where I used to sit and look out at the Same Old Woods but things are inexplicably different. Bloy is back from Choate – much handsomer – blonde goatee and all. He is very envious of me for going to a double sex school and asks a lot about it. He is taller and handsomer but he doesn’t seem to notice it – in fact has acquired a stammer that makes my heart go out to him. Is the Boy Next Door a Possible? I don’t know.
Tues Sept 20 – 66 Back at horrible old Plumly. Already so restless that I want to leave. Had to break up with poor old Blair – he kept holding my hand, waiting for me after meals and telling me things I’ve heard before. It got so I wanted to duck behind a pillar whenever I saw him. Reputation for heartlessness into overdrive but I can’t help it. Not heartless merely ornery. Just can’t cope with this “ownership” stuff. Reading The Hepburn which is WAY too sexy and not helping my mood. Dizzified with lust. I’d go for a Hepburn but I can’t find any.
“Give me the earth, give me the sky – Stone, not sand on which to lie.” Writing a parody of The Last of the Wine – “The Last of the Alphabet Soup”. Takes place at Plumly in the far distant future and reveals a sexual disintegration of the nth degree. Of course I am the heroine – named “Shalott” but pronounced “P-chot”. Better get to it. Whether Mr. Bernard will find it funny or not I can’t say.
Sept 25 – 66 I’ve got to stop reading like this. Evelyn Waugh did not write Vile Bodies to motivate Christian schoolgirls to do their homework and get into a “nice” college. Further disturbance created by the fact that the person I identify with in his work always gets killed. First Prudence, then Agatha. I think he just hates women.
Hard to concentrate there are so many record players going on this floor. Open any door and the inside looks like a Pepsi commercial. It’s Barbra Streisand vs. the Fugs, the Turtles battling it out with the Lettermen and Beach Boys neck and neck with Bob Dylan.
Thurs Sept 29 – 66 Everyone in love with new speech coach except me. I spread my dragnet instead for Doug Bristow from Kenya who has one gold and one blue eye! (And a crazy laugh!) Unfortunately he’s dating someone else and my roomie Aynsley says Marnie never dates longer than a month because she’s too possessive. (Hope!) I asked the Ouija board when he would ask me out and it said Oct 2 but doubt he can move that fast. Blair keeps KOBing me: “You are an elusive problem. I want to ask you out for Fri but I’m afraid you won’t go you seem so noncommittal.” He is a slow boy to get the point.
Classes grim. In history Mr. Beedwell keeps telling me not to speak in wide terms. Unfortunately I THINK in wide terms. Synthesis and analogy are my arts. In public speaking I burst into tears Mr. Thornton is so mean. Very humiliating for a future actress.
On top of all this I’ve been elected Vice-President of the Junior class! Girls are not allowed to be president – it would upset the boys and we know they’re so fragile. (That’s why they’re out every day on the Golden Fields of Autumn trying to kill each other.) President is Shawn Kobler.
Alysse Aallyn 