5:25 PM Plush Palace - Sat 14 Jan 78
Snakes dropping into paradise one by one. First, although Jervaze is incredibly easygoing – it is impossible to get him to state a preference about a movie or a restaurant, for example – (had to drag him to Eastwood’s Every Which Way But Loose) I can tell he is nervous about introducing me to his brother and sister in law. Should I just suggest we lie about what I do for a living? I guess that wouldn’t really solve anything. Sartre is so right. Hell IS other people. Then there’s my mother – the latest demon fondling my ear. Once a woman has made herself vulnerable to a man, she’s through. Uncommitted sex brings out the worst in men, blah blah blah. Because it’s “too perfect” from his point of view. I am “causing him moral hazard”. Yes, I tell the voice, and it would be perfect from MY POINT OF VIEW TOO IF YOU WOULD JUST SHUT UP. WE ONLY STARTED DATING A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO. But one can’t shut out THAT voice so easily. Mystified by Willard Gaylin’s irritating Caring. He acts like mutual dependence or interdependence is some “failure” of personal autonomy. Powder Mill Road - 11 PM Sunday 15 Jan 78 Jervaze “dropped by” this afternoon. Since it’s such a long way from his place to mine I was astonished. Is it that I can no longer believe a man will climb mountains for me? Or is it just my sensitivities to Jervaze’s strangely inchoate “disabilities” warning me and sending up red flags? We had a nice talk – he seemed faintly down – then he had to leave because he needs to get up extra early tomorrow. I was in too good a mood to work on my novel, bought clothes instead. 3 pairs of pants, sweater coat, five pairs undies, one gauchos. All clothes size 7. Packaged MSS when I came home so as not to feel too unproductive. Coleridge poem taken by Virginia community college screed. No money. (Natch.) 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 Ottoline. It would be lovely to be rich – it would not be lovely to be Ottoline. 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.
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11:30 AM Wed 11 Jan 78
Experiencing sharp attacks of fear all day long at “being in a relationship”. What the hell was I doing giving him my ring? See, I agree that everything’s always my fault! Story of my life! Currently enjoying two quiet hours while A is at the gynecologist. It will be great when she gets her own place. Plenty of private time and space to panic in. Today I got a phone call from R and a letter from Devon. So I was able to line my relationships up, so to speak, contrast and compare. Even lumped together they are not one full relationship! R’s “gamesmanship” is down from its zenith, but, owing to my total nonparticipation, also at its most exposed. Lengthy chat about our vacations, and then he spent probably a half hour telling me his “insurance setup”. Why? So I can tell everyone where to find the will and the important papers when he runs into a tree on his next ski trip! I should be worried about him dying apparently!!! I let him talk, I didn’t cut him off and I asked no questions, largely because this makes him the craziest and he deserves it. I know he’s comforting himself now that I still care about his finances if not about him. Devon thanked me for the glamorpic (described me as “so lovely” and said he feels like he’s talking to me when he writes his letter) and then launched into a long description of his and Gwynne’s relationship. They have an “understanding” which seems to involve “being there for each other” without “demands”. “Why doesn’t he just admit he’s gay?” howls Avril when I read this to her. But I don’t think sex is even that simple for him. His approach is much more diffuse – a constantly vibrating choice between “being sexual” and “not being sexual”. He and I had such good sex, but if it all has to happen in a sort of coma, if there can’t be any planning or god forbid, discussion then the hell with it. As for Jervaze, he showed up for the last three hours of my first night back at The Plush Palace from the Starlight. He was wearing my ring. I asked him if my work bothered him. He said, no, he was cool with it, but was glad I asked. Whereupon we went back to his place and made love for 3 hours. Whoo-hoo! I’m not kidding! The first test – home design – alas he failed. His furnishings are truly HORRIFIC Spanish Mediterranean dreck. His shower curtain consists of festoons of blue chiffon – it is INCONCEIVABLE that a male could purchase such a thing. Guess I am not asking the right questions. Old girlfriend? Mom? Sister-in-law? Some woman raised exclusively on pirate movies had a hand in here somewhere. As to the sex – that test he passed. He’s a prizewinner there. Everything takes forever and that doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. Is he some kind of reptile, living in a time zone utterly different from us mammals? It took him 20 minutes to get my pants off working steadily. I got enough comments about the beauty of my body to satisfy my ego for life. He went down on me without a flicker – so much for all those rumors about Southern men – and when he goes down he stays down. On the other hand – he never did come. Calms fears of premature ejaculation but raises other ones. His uncircumcised penis stayed stiff for 3 hours. This is a first for me, and I don’t know whether I like it. I really can’t give myself permission to come under these circumstances yet clearly I will have to – I’ll just have to say, “forget you – let’s concentrate on me.” That could work. But as I say, it would certainly be different. When I left, he gave me his key. 7:45 Pm – Plush Palace – Thurs 12 Jan 78 Called Jervaze and suggested we do something tonight – he acted enthusiastic. I said, “Should I be calling you? Wouldn’t want to call too much,” and he said, “Call all the time.” R–induced horrors dropping away one by one. It’s snowing – I’ll go straight to Jervaze’s. (He’s close to club.) 4PM Friday, Jan 13-78 I think Jervaze may really be an angel; one of Milton’s sexed up angels who took a wrong turn to our planet by mistake. Some anxiety is relieved. We never did get to go anywhere – stayed in bed. Bliss. But if this doesn’t work I will damn well marry Devon whether he likes it or not – I can’t take much more of this. I’m at my desk hammering out letters – trying to answer one from the island realtor. The studio apt has “no cooking facilities”. I don’t care but the realtor does, she has a house on the pond for $175 “long lease” she wants me to take. Says it has a Franklin stove and I could “bike to town.” I admit I’m interested. Jervaze has offered to come to the island with me in March – I really shudder at the thought of introducing him to my parents, how to tactfully say, Please don’t ask him about Ideas and only offer him one drink. Last night I let myself into his apt, took a shower, tried to use his sparkingly hazardous blow dryer, gave that up, crawled in bed with him. I had lots of Ryder-induced fears that he wouldn’t be there, in bed with another girl, etc. But no. There he was, nude, gorgeous, asleep – and when he woke up, happy to see me. Midnight - 6 Jan- 78
Crazy with love. Jervaze and I had one of those unforgettable dates last night – Took him to my favorite restaurant in Ellicott City - Coco Lane and we talked for hours. He loves dogs – wants to raise Grand Pyrenees. His favorite cats are English blues. Wanted to be a vet except he always hated school, so that’s how he got into working with his hands and he thinks there’s no way back now. He loves WC Fields and horror movies. The thing I love about him most (apart from his astonishing beauty) is his natural courtesy, his dignity (he is very polite to anyone in a service position – the exact opposite of R who acted as if being exigent was the same thing as being discriminating. A sign of status.) He has such an aura of gentleness and calm, just like those big dogs he loves so much. His isolation, I like too – he’s the only male I’ve met in quite awhile who doesn’t travel in a pack. He has a brother in the same job locally – that’s why he came up from Alabama – but he plainly thinks suburban Virginia is the “fast lane” and I don’t disabuse him. He eats seafood by preference and wants to live on the water. He probably drinks too much and could be an incipient alcoholic. My parents would be totally, totally appalled but of course it doesn’t take much to appall them. Alas, he hasn’t finished my book – claims he’s “working on it”. I am waiting for him to outright say he doesn’t understand it – maybe when he knows me better. When he kissed me goodnight he only kissed me – a relief at the time, since it was one less worry. Now of course I wish I had some clearer indication from him that he finds me even attractive. Is he polite or am I resistible? Don’t want to be resistible – we’ll have to change that. Sat -1 pm 7 Jan- 78 I’m at the Starlight – club owner owns this one too – its huge. How I hate this stage. It isn’t a true stage but a runway winding through the audience, which means you have to keep walking all the time – and they try to fill it by having several girls up at once. One can’t build any audience hypnosis – people pay less attention and have more business meetings – and tips really take a nosedive. The bartender is a grizzled old lesbian who stares right up my crotch – supposedly to see if my stocking seams are straight (they aren’t. Fortunately she doesn’t offer to do them for me – but she still watches. ) Four of the other girls tried to get me to let them smoke dope in the dressing room – I told them no. They’d have to go out back with the alley cats. Thank God Glee – who has a lot of class – backed me up. So the two of us had the dressing room to ourselves, which made a pleasant change from watching the others trying to disguise the scars from their breast operations. Book I brought – The Pleasure of Ruins – does not go with this atmosphere in spite of its title. R called me here – says he found me thru Randy who was impressed because R’s on TV! I flatly told him he is scaring the life of out me with this behavior. But he seems to know just how far to push things, amazingly we had a wonderful talk! Gentleman Jim let us talk in his office: very respectful of our “privacy”. He obviously thinks we are dating. Wonder if he will tip R to the fact that I have a “honey on the side” at the Plush Palace? Jesus! I told R I am sick of his “psychotic twin brother” (good idea for a novel, actually) and he really laughed – admitted he has “a Jekyll-Hyde” thing going on. (It’s actually worse than that – it’s really Hyde and Mr. Nastier Hyde – but didn’t tell him that. Keep conversation on a light note.) He promised to stop calling me at work. Monday 8 Jan 78 – 6 PM Twenty-four hours ago I was sitting in my red dress with a glass of port, waiting for Jervaze to arrive. Anxiety level high. Somewhere – I think from Mom – I got the impression that my needs are so automatically repellent to any sane individual that they must be hidden. Therefore I have to carefully think my way through to any honest approach – and then it isn’t really honest any more. But I can’t be just impulsive. Prepared myself for disappointment – that he would be late or perhaps not show – because there is something weird about him. Some deep dark secret perhaps? But he was right on time. This time I took him to my closest restaurant - waiter put on quite a show with the Irish coffee till the flaming liquor rolled down his sleeves! Jervaze came inside my house without hesitation – I fretting about how to best establish physical contact while he sprawled comfortably on the couch. I turned off the overhead light and lit candles –took off my jacket – he rubbed his face against my breasts acting calm, respectful and not neurotic. Must be my experience with R that makes me fearful of being “shamed” every second. Jervaze kissed and kissed my face so long – tears automatically filled my eyes. But he did not get upset. Got up like a perfect gentleman “when it was time to leave” and I managed to resist attacking him. I did one very strange thing that is causing me anxiety now. We showed each other our class rings – he always wears his. I slid mine on his little finger and left it there. He wore it home. Uh oh. Detroit, 11:05 PM, Thursday 29 Dec 77
At the adorably, impossibly 20’s Tudoresque manse my sister Merrill is restoring – it’s lovely here. Merrill and her husband say dancing is “sex work” and “sex work” is “OK” if its “regulated so “sex workers aren’t exploited.” I get annoyed that nobody can tell the difference between dancing and prostitution! Lots of things cause “erotic titillation” – breathing for example. Still, I find I’m inclining toward taking a two-month break in March and going to the island to write. Is this family management? But one of the reasons I like dancing is because you can “pick it up and put it down.” Well, we’ll see. Thurs night 29 Dec 77 9:30 PM I find as I distance from R I remember some good things and that makes me happy. He was so unique. It was fun knowing him, watching him perform impromptu magic for street children and restaurant patrons. More extraordinary really than poor old Jervaze who in spite of his glamorous looks drinks way too much and hates his job. Also R knew me as a “not dancer” which J doesn’t – maybe that persona obscures who I really am. I remember the excitement of watching Ryder make his television show – unexpectedly sweaty physical labor in choosing camera angles and shots, timing, music, close-ups – building the tape as the excitement was happening – more in common with sports than some couch potato activity like editing. Greektown for dinner after the Renaissance Center, so the night ended in a wild bouzouki. Day occupied with antiquing – especially fun since I am reading Rumer Godden’s China Court, which is basically a love song to things. It made me worry that there are not enough details in Demon – what should I add? Perhaps buy a Vogue to see. Dreamed about Devon last night. Wonder what he’s up to. Maybe I’m being psychic again. Getting some peace of mind about him as well. Merrill’s daughter comes to read over my shoulder, then when I move to hide the diary says, “Don’t worry, I can’t read cursive. “ Plush Palace – Tuesday, January 3, 1978 – 9:25 PM Back at work. Can’t concentrate on The murder of Sir Edmund Godfrey, which is the book I brought because I keep thinking Jervaze will drop by. Dead silence from him – no call on Christmas. I sent him one card but of course I only got back yesterday. I can’t bear to take all of the initiative. Oddly (especially after my dream about him) had a card waiting from Devon. Maybe I am psychic. Evidently he regrets that loveletter – encouraged me to “hang loose”. Quotes from Sister Goldenhair. In other words, don’t try to get him to plan to meet skiing, that’s just way more planning than he can handle. Kind of a pathetic specimen. Plush Palace – 10:05 pm Thurs 5 Jan 1978 Jervaze came in Tues after my 10:00 set – with lots of little presents for me, perfume, bears, cards, pins – in a Christmas stocking. He wore a gold-banded black cowboy hat covered with snow and a shiny black down parks, his platinum hair swinging around his face – it was like a visit from an angel. Or possibly a Chippendale dancer. He is too pretty; mine eyes dazzle. He stayed till I got off at 1 then walked me to my car – one kiss – asked me out very formally for Saturday night. I gave him directions to my place and he wrote them in a book – tipped his hat, climbed into his Shelby and vanished, leaving me wondering, is he gay? Is he even real? I continue to struggle reading The Young Romantics – artists in 1840’s Paris. Avril and I found a perfect black sequin tube top while we were out walking yesterday – I’m going to wear it with my black silk trouser suit. She thinks she found herself the perfect apartment too – a studio in a skyscraper with a great kitchen, huge closets, only $216 month utilities included, says she is going to look for another week before she decides. M & D don’t want her living with me because I am a “harmful influence.” We saw Armon in a bit part on TV last night – there weren’t any credits, but I knew it was him. Listening out of one ear to gossip – Gina says the bartender at the Starlight is bisexual and that Tony the bagman is her male lover. She is big, he is little, I can’t imagine them together. He is called the “bagman” because he runs between the clubs in a Lincoln filled with bags of money. Gina also says that she is a priest in a mail order religion and that her breasts are real and her ex husband raped her nine-year-old daughter. I can tell for a fact those breasts are fake so it does make it hard to believe anything she says. Last night went out with Erika to see the new Bunuel (in spite of her claims to revere him she failed to notice he used different actors for the same part) and to eat at Chateau Gesundheit. Depressing conversation about how terrible men are – says her ex-husband is a cross between a psychopath and a momma’s boy – she naturally assumed because of R that this would be my favorite subject. She also says all exotic dancers and showgirls were molested as children and as a result are lesbians who hate men. Asking or inviting? All I can say is that all little girls have unpleasant memories of Adult Men but this is just a chip on her breeze. A breeze I think I better stay out of in future, perhaps. I also get tired of hearing the Marxist slant on Life. Love doesn’t exist, people do everything for “self-interest”, etc. etc. If that is true they are doing a piss-poor job of it. I think people live for fantasy and some people’s fantasies are very, very cheap. Hoping drinks with Maeve will be more fun. |
Alysse Aallyn
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