11:30 AM Friday, 24 March 78
Staggering down for my first cup of coffee when I heard Harvey’s voice in the kitchen. Thank God I heard it in time – if he had seen me in my baby doll nighty I guess he would have considered himself justified in pinning me immediately to the floor. He brought me a hibiscus flower as a peace offering. A more significant peace offering came from Mom and Dad who gave us each 100 more shares of stock. I tried to refuse it – they insisted. I warned them I’ll only sell it. Maybe I’ll be able to buy a new car when I get back. I could use it. Spent last night trying to read Welty’s Bride of Innisfallen, couldn’t get my mind around it. Read Faithful Are the Wounds instead. Very like a stage play – which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Powder Mill Road – home – 8:30 PM Sun 26 March 78 Can’t describe the ecstasy of being in my own place. On the island I am hideous – here I am beautiful. The loss of confidence is so severe as to actually induce delusions. Now that I am back I am ready to tackle my existence brilliantly. As always. We got in last night in the pouring rain – 11:30 PM – A had coffee and left. I read a soppy love story and slept in my Own Bed. Today we did laundry, went to see a bad movie – actors working madly away to no effect. Tomorrow I get mail – hope there’s lots of it. Did get a beautiful poem out of the island – Peacock Pavement: The Poet on her walk - submit to Denver Quarterly – who has been very polite about me lately. They’ve shown an interest in my stuff though nothing has ever been exactly “right. Plush Palace – Mon night 27 Mar 78 Am I glad to be back. Really missed the old place. Walked in and there was Jervaze, big as life. He was quite plastered but acted very pleased to see me. I feel he has turned a definite corner. He could have been somebody, could have made choices, but he seems to have decided to live in an ever deepening blur. I am well out of it. I asked him what happened to my ring. He promised to look for it. He has a new plan of course. His brother is trying to talk him into returning to school. So he’ll talk that to death for a while first one way then the other way till his kidneys and his liver and his brain go. Then it won’t matter any more. But I have to get a picture of him now while he still looks good so I can show my grandchildren. He was dressed all in white like an angel and is letting his silver gilt hair grow long. I can hear it now: “You dated Wild Bill Hickock?” Yes kids. And it was really wild. Called my agent and demanded to know how much I am actually going to get from HBJ. The answer is $1993, so it’s a good thing I got that stock which I sold today. April 5 I pick up my new car – a Fiat. (A takes the Gremlin.) Money in the bank – need to settle in for a long writing session. Trying to concentrate on my book – Bowen’s The Last September – but it just feels too distant from my own life. I feel like I’m slowly surfacing, like a corpse that has been in the water for three days. Last night I finished Anne Tyler’s Searching for Caleb. Her most beautiful novel in my estimation. Today A and I bought plants, put money down on car. I’m exhausted and out of love with my own life – don’t understand why I personally need to do everything backwards. 4:30 PM Fri 31 Mar 78 Barrage of criticism from Mom and Dad that I spent stock money on car. How do they expect us to live in two different places and have one car? Doesn’t make sense. A has car today for her eye appt – will pick me up in 45 mins. I am struggling with Bowen’s The Little Girls. She uses writing for disguise. Last night A and I went to dinner at an Italian restaurant – she had the clams, I had the shrimp, we split a bottle of wine. Then we went to see what A described as “one concentration camp film too many.” I bought tickets to Bonnie Raitt concert – Mom and Dad suggested I “look up” their friends’ son Peter Pauley. I may invite him, I do remember him as cool and handsome. But brunette. Oh well, can’t have everything. Got check from agent – less her percentage – which I forgot to calculate. So I hope I get paid enough Sat to have money for car. My future emerges through a glass darkly – don’t know yet whether I like it or not. 2:50 PM Sat April 1, 1978 - Starlight Working a double. My latest realization is: I can never have enough money. Curse you, Marc Kramer for suggesting I invest in real estate. In spite of this I’ve decided not to take on doubles unless I’m in a jam (as I am over this car.) Interesting new dancer – big hips and no boobs but a wonderful attitude. Her laugh can be heard by fishing boats on the distant Chesapeake. Alvera. She works in a lawyer’s office during the day. I’m trying to imagine her in her suit typing briefs. The Little Girls is Bowen’s worst written book. She’s not a narrative writer but a prose poet – always falls down over narrative. Plus I feel a loss of joy in her art – maybe because she “had” to write it? This is really a book about despair – which To The North also was – but one book was good and the other isn’t. I think writing is a lot like cooking – some ideas can’t be rescued through editing – they just get worse and worse. 10:30 PM Tender is not the night thank God – three more sets and it will all be over. The next one will be the worst – the last two I won’t even notice. I called A – she’s despondent. Feeling chained to the apt I’m sure. I agreed we’d see An Unmarried Woman tomorrow – go out and have some fun. Mon after her classes we’ll watch The Oscars at my place. Bought 3 costumes from Kerry that I can ill afford – but they were a steal. Sent Harvey the Brownmiller book. There’s no excuse for such ignorance. Plush Palace – 8:50 PM – Thurs night 6 April 78 So ends one of the happiest days of my life. Woke this AM two minutes before clock radio – breakfast in bed reading – good work at typewriter. Long walk with dogs – came back to find Green’s Mag took my whole “suicide” series. A showed up helped me play with my car – first and second tough to get into and out of until the salesman professionally broke its little hymen. Seems all right now. Book going well. Most of the time I feel I have the ideal existence – plenty of sleep, plenty of exercise, plenty of time to write, plenty of privacy. Paradise. J called. He is really going to Alabama this time. Said he loved me, thereby proving my point that the less of a relationship we are having the more important it is to him. If we never see each other again, I bet he will remember me as the perfect girlfriend. All future women in his life will curse my name. Good letter from Mom and Dad apologizing for their explosion about car. Part of the problem dealing with them is they try to preserve a “united front” which means they have to frantically whisper and negotiate behind the scenes, then speak awkwardly together like an ill-rehearsed Greek chorus. I can kind of speculate about who really thinks what – not that I want to. A and I liked Unmarried Woman - much better than Goodbye Girl. I tried Peter all day – no answer. Reading Storm Jameson’s Journey From the North – it’s like watching a slo-mo car accident the way she beats up on herself. Why this sense that honesty requires one must utterly disown all one’s earlier versions? CS Forrester did exactly the same thing in Long Before 40 – will I feel compelled to do the same some day about this life I am leading now? Foolishness is youth’s necessary clothing methinks. Think I will dump this book without finishing. Try Angus Wilson’s The Middle Age of Mrs. Eliot. 9:25 PM – Plush Palace – Sat night 8 April 78 Beautiful day. Off to Columbia, testing my new car. A & I had lunch at Clyde’s – talked about what fun it would be if we each had a full time man – and they liked each other. We could double date. Feels impossible. Walked around lake – bought baby clothes for Genevieve. Home, walked dogs, then to work. Boring evening. Few unenthusiastic customers. GiGi brought in a bottle of champagne – I broke my rule and had some out of sheer boredom. A father in with his 2 ½ yr old daughter – sent her up to the stage with a tip for me. Depressing fact #2 – tried to read a short story about rape in Fiction called The Intruder – it was awful – turned me off the whole magazine. Angus Wilson’s Middle Age merely stupid. Will I have a go at No Laughing Matter? Still no Peter and no explanation. If he is away on vacation his parents don’t know about it. Feels suddenly difficult to be independent and alone. 10:10 Pm – Sunday night 9 April 78 A met a guy she likes in one of her classes who likes her. Fingers crossed. As a result I spent Saturday alone, which I don’t mind. It would be OK with me if every day were the same, wake at 10, write till 4, then off to work. On Sun we played in Adelphi Mill Park – swam in the falls – wonderful picnic of brie and cherries – played with dogs. Phoned Peter – a girl answered! He came on very brisk and businesslike – had been in Venezuela. I asked if she was “the housekeeper” – he hurried to get off phone – said he would drop by club. Always wanted to see me perform. I told him my schedule. I figure if he and she are seriously involved so that I shouldn’t move forward – he’ll tell me. Chloe’s friend Dennis called and tried to make me feel guilty enough to go out with him. Little does he know how far past that “Since I can’t think of an excuse you’ll accept I guess I’ll just be forced to go out with you” stage I am. He turned hostile – said I’d “led him on”. I refused to rise to this, portraying self as a naturally friendly but also naturally private person. I guess I’ll have more of this stuff with J gone. He was sort of protection. Everyone wants someone who doesn’t want them. Highly entertaining if one were bored enough. I am not. Interesting conversation with A where we discussed the “courting rules” we’d learned. Pretty grim – we’ve had to ditch them completely. Got into another one of our “Is Satisfaction Possible” marathon debates. I always say it is, she says, what if it’s not. I refuse to consider this option. Mom’s advice to A is loiter around art galleries and art museums to get the right guy. This sounds expensive & time consuming. Plus, I know too many artists to be in love with this idea. They are the worst. I want someone stable. I have to admit my chances of finding someone like that in the job I’m in seem small. But I only need one guy. I’m special – so would he be. A insists things were better in the past – “pre-liberation” but I’m not buying it. Opal’s marriage very instructive on these points. They are both beautiful, can think and have work they love. Why fight and sulk nonstop? Each feels the other does not truly “value them” and fusses for increased respect. Each thinks the other is “holding them back.” So they claim. With any encouragement I think they would jump into a threesome. Non merci. 10:30 PM – Plush Palace – Mon night 10 April 78 Two more sets. I’ll live. Finished study of Mary McCarthy by Doris Grumbach. Much prefer that to actually having to read McCarthy who reminds me of Aldous Huxley – Is it possible to be too contemporary? Trends of modern writing a little too sketchy for me. No book should feel like flipping through a magazine. Sensory overload sans enlightenment. As for Angus Wilson – we are parting forever. I read all but two stories in Such Darling Dodos – back on the shelf he goes. Wonderful day – up before 7, read New York Times, sent out poems – magnificent walk with dogs – explored abandoned house. Haunted by novel – so went back and got six pages – one good new idea. Called publisher – ordered ten more books. Little self-promotion. While working got call from the Plush Palace – would I come in two sets early for Glory, who is sick? Love to. Just feeling bankrupted by the drycleaners. I was justified too because first set got a big tip. ($300)! P called – said he would have loved to go to the Raitt concert with me but had to go to Vermont. He certainly talks differently when his girlfriend/housekeeper/telephone answerer person is not around. He hinted that his love life is impossibly complex and he doesn’t want his parents to know. I’m guessing that she is married. He promised to get in touch when he gets back. I’m in the ladies room because the airconditioning in dressing room not working – it is suffocating in there. Yesterday evening thoroughly enjoyable – steaks wine and hot fudge sundaes at A’s then watched Richard Brooks Happy Ending which really was a bomb. Trying to read Anthony Powell’s Venusberg but feeling nothing yet. Tried Sarton’s Miss Pickthorn – a hash of all her other stuff – very slight. A. not home for past four hours – out on date with Jordan. Can’t wait to hear how it went.
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