New York City, 96th off the Park Sat June 25 77 ll PM
Suffered through my sister’s wedding – a day of hideous rain forcing us out from the rooftop garden to huddle in the restaurant. I wore a gray silk backless tuxedo pantsuit - halter-top and bare midriff – Mom did NOT approve. (Looked ravishing if I do say so myself.) Someone asked Dad – about me – “How many of you are redheads? And Dad said, “Hardly any of us.” Bride tells me she chose Brett because he would make a good father. Says she’s coming back pregnant from this honeymoon if it kills them both (they take temp, every morn, etc.) Mom all dewy eyed. I feel like replaying a few “deleted” scenes from Genevieve’s past of which Mom is blissfully unaware but loyally refrain. Retaining my title as Official Bad Daughter. Hey, it’s a pivotal job. NYC 10:45 PM Sun26 June 77 Last night Avril came into my hotel room to stop my wailing and we talked till 2:30 AM. We both agree “fireplug sex” – you stand there while I spray you – is out of the question. She says women who expect nurturing from men are always disappointed because men lack the nurturing gene. Hmm. This is not true of Ryder OR Devon (it was true of Bruce.) If we’re going to talk about “nurturing” we have to face the fact that plenty of mothers seem to lack the gene too – they don’t care what you want or who you are they are just trying to smack you into “shape”. That’s the kind Ryder is. Devon? Remains to be seen but the way he talked about my novel – seeing me inside it – gives me hope. Went to see 3 Women tonight with Best Man (Brett’s brother) on the Doobie Bros principle of “why you in such a hurry to be lonely one more night?” But he is still in college. Immature frat boy. Any relationship speculative at best. There’s Genevieve’s bike to ride when the physical becomes overwhelming on my 3 wk housesit (while they are on their honeymoon & Devon is in Eng) will pass fast. Hearing I was “house-sitting” in NYC parents’ friend at wedding offers me another outside Boston – perfect for seeing Devon whose theological college is nearby. That’s a definite yes. I REALLY miss dancing. Yet creativity heals all. Conquers my fear of ultimate impotence. The act of creation – even if others don’t agree – has a purifying effect. After all, we can’t live in other people’s heads (it’s dangerous to try). Tues. 28 Jun 77 Walk dogs, tend fish & plants, take bike ride, wash hair, see Swedish flick Man on a Roof (like a Lincoln Mercury ad). Bought huge-brimmed red sun hat with single rose in Greenwich Village. Walked HUNDREDS of blocks to NY Pub Lib they won’t let me take anything out. Planning next novel, A Demon Roused. Need to give Jewell some past crime. Infanticide? But under sympathetic circumstances. Or maybe murder of Stephen Ward-like pimp. Bad news at publisher: Harcourt acquires Pyramid and my editor dumped (lunch with her Thurs). Could be good news for me (lunch with new editor tomorrow). Trying not to feel dragged in to dumped editor’ hysteria. Out to dinner at Fiorello’s last night with Brett’s brother, then Altman’s Images (which he knew I wanted to see.) He is trying to figure “a way in”. There is no way in. Images exquisite. Much better than 3 Women. Transitions so elegant they hardly existed. Wish I could do that. Didn’t want to ruin it by talking about it. Very reminiscent of La Prisonniere. My previous all-time favorite. Sent R. my Pevensey Old Farms address so he won’t harass M & D. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Listening to Vivaldi and reading Haskell’s From Reverence to Rape –anything I can find around here. Genevieve likes novels and I HATE other novelists writing (usually). Lauren changed our Monk’s Inn lunch to dinner. Chuck Kornowitz offered to read Secaire – I invited him to dinner here. Wed 29 June 77 Disappointing meeting with “editor”. I guess dinner went as well as it could on the surface – but Lauren doesn’t like me and wants to wash her hands of me. Damned if I know why. Trying not to take it personally. She is furious at being in “paperback division” (subtext: “throwaways” ) and says my new novel being read by someone else – guy promoted over her who used to edit Westerns. Think she enjoyed my panic at this news. Tried entertaining her with usually reliable Tales of childhood but she was not amused. Probably considered it all bragging. She was very what I expected, mousy bun, tortoise shell earrings, presumably raging hormones. Dinner with me was something she had to “go through” . Work, not fun. Said she has to read two novels a day and prefers memoirs! That’s what she reads for pleasure. I ate snails with lots of garlic and I think she was a bit disgusted. I conjectured you could take out an eyeball with those special snail tongs. Since she was not turned on by the idea I could see she is not the editor for me. Snails were delicious, however. Anyone who loves mushrooms would adore snails. Lunch with ex-editor Ruby a scary experience. She made me meet her at a laundromat where her clothes were in the drier! Went to a Mexican restaurant around the corner, I ordered Sangria. She wore old jeans, ill-fitting shirt, had a price list in hand. Trying to get me to hire her as freelance editor! She showed me her poetry collection (awful: title “Twitterings”. ) Says she has a novel ¼ done. Praised me awkwardly by saying I am “a real writer”. When I tell her I just want to find out what I need to write by patiently building house of cards in my head she tells me people like me are trampled underfoot by the thousand. I need her to make my novels acceptable; her qualifications are that she has been fired by all the big publishers (they are “consolidating”) but she also expresses disgust with them. Needs to work on her presentation. I was horrified. Wanted to be friendly because she bought my book, but when I say why pay someone to rewrite your book in a way you might hate she say there are no guarantees in life. You have to go with whatever “works”. That she is not working seems too rude to point out. I agree the world’s a dark wood but I need to find my way out alone. She drank 3 bullshots, I order coffee frantically afraid I’ll have to drag her and her laundry home. We split the tab both probably thinking the other should have treated (last time out was on Harcourt’s dime). I tried to act like I might be thinking about it but I don’t have a good face for not showing when I am absolutely appalled. Purged my mind at Visconti’s Conversation Piece. Especially reveled the beauty of our modern Dorian Gray Helmut Berger and the “footsteps of death” in apt. overhead. Very Edith Wharton. Dinner at Ms. McManus’ Sutton Place apt. (whose house I will sit next.) She shows off her latest antique acquisitions.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Alysse Aallyn
Archives
September 2022
Categories |