Castle – 11 PM – Thurs. 15 June 79
Don came in wearing tennis whites (purple in the black light) complete with racket like a Noel Coward character. I told him I was emotionally involved with someone else and just couldn’t go. He just sort of nodded and left without getting a drink – or tipping me – so he probably came in only to see me. Relief. Freedom beats money any day. I secretly hope he never comes in again. I will live without the tips. I applied for a MasterCard – hoping that will give me a backup way to manage emergencies. Dramatic scene with Jordana tonight – she came in sobbing – her boyfriend wants her to marry him and go to Florida and she doesn’t know what to do. I said what I always say, take the risk. So she quit. Managers are furious with me. Queens Chapel Rd – Sun 17 June 79 Exhausting weekend at seminar. I was supposed to give a reading from Gift.I was a nervous wreck beforehand, sweating, had to switch my breathing to manual – the works. It went fine. There was so much silence and building tension – then at the end, the release was cathartic. Bravos. That was the good part of the conference. The classes were the bad part. Students disappointed that I’ve had only one book published and I’m still poor – they feel I might not be a “real” writer and I don’t blame them. Lamely told them about switching agents. I could have used some more stage presence or at least some baldfaced lies. My lack of confidence was broadcast far and wide. Having my period. Damn. Starlight – Sat night – 23 June 79 What a week! I have discussed it with A in depth but I still don’t understand it – I’ll just write it out and see what happens. Got a letter from Toss Sheffield of all people – my bloodmate from high school – a wonderful letter. He read my poem in the Alumni Directory and noted I was “divorced”. (Of course technically I’m still just separated because of Bruce’s malfeasance.) Toss is working with Ralph Nader on Three Mile Island in DC all summer and wants to see me. The rest of the time he is a prizewinning journalist studying law in Kentucky. Woo woo! Timing could not be better – my restlessness desperately seeks somebody new – someone I don’t have to explain my childhood, schooling and family to. The Boy Next Door! At the very least I could use him as a cat o’nine tails on D (which he royally deserves). Last Wed night Devon showed up in the middle of the night on his way out to California. More push me – pull you. Very unsatisfying night as we finger each other gingerly like priceless objects pre-smashed, badly glued and inexpertly set. He invited me out to Calif. in Sept. Long wait, big ticket, which is the story of Any Girlfriend of Devon’s Life. Mightbe able to manage if I get that MasterCard. On the other hand said our parents were “hoping we’d get together” which is major turnoff. GiGi came in again. She obviously misses us. Said she saw Buck the other day and he spoke of me fondly. There’s a load off my mind. Leave ‘em sighing, that’s my motto. Toss Sheffield put the phone number of the house where he’s staying in his letter – I’ll call him tonight around ten. Wait till he finds out what I do for a living. Or I might not tell him. It all depends on him. He said he missed me at our tenth reunion – only went because he thought I’d be there! I didn’t go because I didn’t want to “explain my life” – and if I tell him, there’s a possibility everyone might know. Can I handle that much exposure? Struggling to read Joan Didion’s Slouching Toward Bethlehembut she is pretty depressing. Read Millheiser’s The Mirror. Absolutely stank. What was Putnam thinkingof to choose that novel over mine? Shows there’s a factor here I don’t understand. Wish I was a multizillionaire with my own publishing co. Castle 26 June – Tues – 10:30 PM How to describe my ecstatic dinner with Toss? He opened himself up to me like a book. “Take. Read”. He loves the universe but in a healthy way – vibrates to it and wants to be overwhelmed, then empowered by it. Just like me! He explores the DC area with the zest of one “learning” a foreign country – touchingly amazed that one eats the whole of a fried crab – “Even the eyebrows!” We discussedeverything – politics, theology, my marriage – his parents’ divorce – his horrifyingly determined Catholic virgin of a high-maintenance girlfriend – he chose her because she reminds him of his grandmother. And he admits it! This is all scary but I feel I must ride with it. He is so intelligent– such a relief to talk to someone who knows the difference between a prodigal and a prodigy and can tell a scherzo from a schizo. He showed up for dinner at Queens Chapel Road, driving an immaculate yellow Rabbit. I was frightened to so much as look out the window – I said to Avril – “Tell me what he’s like.” She said, He’s exactly the same. And he was. Gorgeous poet’s face (Rupert Brooke) long blonde hair – wrestler’s body – maybe a little too thin. (He’s had a rough hardworking year of self-denial following Bad Relationship.) He wore a white cotton sweater and what looked to be the same corduroy pants he wore throughout high school. I wore tight white capris and my pink gauze blouse. He noticed my body immediately – how hard and slender – asked if I was a runner. I told him my doctor says I have a runner’s heart – but no, I’m a walker. I like taking my time to see all there is to see. We had swordfish prepared on my new gas grill. We responded to each other in exactly the same way we did right before he left for college – his eyes feasting all over me – so humbling and overwhelming to realize someone loved me so deeply at such a painful period of my life. Wemarked each other in every meaning of the verb. I feel chastened and grateful to have such an effect on another person. We have so many similarities – both listened to Miss Goggins as children! We can each quote whole skit, tossing back bourbon in brandy snifters. As soon as I was drunk enough I declaimed my poem about how we spent Class Day in the treehouse. He didn’tremember the frickin’ treehouse! The memories of people who don’tkeep diaries are appallingly patchy. I showed him the trunk under my bed – decorated with flowers and my childish handwriting – “Yssa” and showed him the diary that described those nights! He was open mouthed; he stared at me as if I were a witch. Who knew diaries can come in so handily to resurrect the dead? He told me I am a fabulouswriter and should nevergive up. That the purpose of existence is to find what you were born to do and do it. No one else in my life talks like this! There was no lingering hostility over our unfortunate parting – our fundamentally dishonest Dear John – Dear Jane letters. No game playing – none of that. I can’t even recall who touched who first – my guess is we lunged at each other – it must have been mutual. Well, if I’m a witch, he’s a knight in shining armor. Only he can rescue me from this hellish situation I’ve fallen in with D – with all of them. That he could make love to me that way and not want to see me till Sept has been playing tricks with my mind. Devon uses me to flagellate himself and I can be so much more than that. It’s definitely fun to talk to someone who has exactly the same background as me – someone who reads and gets all my references. I was beginning to feel like an exotic (about to become extinct) rarity. He wants to date me solidly the whole time he’s here – (he leaves in Sept – that mystic date). Fri we’re going out – and probably Sun and the fourth of July. He says he’s never gotten over me, never loved anyone else the way he loved me. He wants me to come to his family’s place in the Berkshires in August – where I last went at 18 years old – why not say yes? I turn down work joyously while the managers gnash their teeth. It’s only money.
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Alysse Aallyn
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