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. So I guess I’m “on” again in case I write another Eng gothic historical paperback they want (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 50situps 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 V’s you could call it “antithetical”. Tomorrow’s excitement – double feature of Shame and The Passion of Anna. 12:25 AM 9 July 77 R’s divorce final. His relationship with me? Still in “separation” phase. Trying to hate him but its 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. Be fun to try – 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 wont 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. 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 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.
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Alysse Aallyn
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