Boston to Rockland shuttle 11:45 AM Fri Dec 22
Thank God I brought this diary in my purse. Bad flight feels like Week 7 of the flu and I need something to take my mind off stomach. Love people-watching at the Downeast Gate – there’s a novel in that all by itself. This flight goes straight up the coast. A is sleeping in the co-pilot’s seat – let’s hope she doesn’t have to assume the controls. She is trying to get a march on the insomnia she always gets around parents. We just missed Genevieve and Brett – they put 2 planes on this flight and they must be on the other one. Christmas Day Enmeshed in a family that’s not even close to changing age old patterns. Listening to Christmas music by the Oberlin Choir and roasting chestnuts. As always, food preparations take a disproportionate amount of time – one might as well just surrender and become a restaurant prep chef. Family “scene” caused this time by me – I objected to Dad making the two older daughters executors – I guess that makes me and A “executees”? He says you can’t have four executors. A likely story. Well I felt I had to lodge a formal protest but of course it didn’t change a thing. Plush Palace – midnight – Fri 29 Dec 78 Merrill and Julian came to watch me dance. I think they were interested. Don The Lawyer came and sat at their table – he behaved himself. Good evening for tips. Don asked me out Wed – I explained I have a lot of demands on my time – just about to double my working schedule to buy this damn house – so it doesn’t look good. He passed that test by taking this news calmly. Catching up on dancers - Jerrilee’s pregnant, Fatima’s new boyfriend is obviously an ethnic gangster. (Armenian I’m guessing.) Jerrilee tried dancing at a club in DC where the girls “make lots of money” but just in tips– they have no salary. Rotten. I need extra hours but won’t audition there – prefer the protections offered by The Great Commonwealth of Virginia . Plush Palace – 7:30 PM Tues 2 Jan 79 Horrifying letter from Scott Meredith demanding money to read my novel. His form letter didn’t acknowledge mine in which I said I was already the author of one book but went on and on about “unpublished writers new to the business.” They obviously didn’t even read my letter. My father said, “Maybe he knows what he’s doing since he’s Norman Mailer’s agent” but I wrote back and said non merci. Auditioned at The Country Fair – they offered me $100 each three x a week. Call for my schedule. So that’s set. They have a good stage plus a barre and a pole. Haven’t seen a barre since Shalimar. Zachary unfortunately back from New York and in a mood to party. Claims to have provided drugs to SNL. Reads my novel and says it’s not commercial enough. I’m sure he’s right, which doesn’t cheer me up at all. Said it’s too brief - needs development which is also probably true. Trying to write a poem about funerals called Treading Pasture. Bad, bad, bad. Reading Tillie Olsen’s Silences and that’s not cheering me up either. Party Castle 11:15 AM Mon 8 Jan 79 I think I like this place better than Plush Palace or Country Fair. The dancers are totally uninterested in their jobs – they are all busy being college students, musicians and models – they rush in, rush out, spend their time studying and on the phone and offering me cash to finish their sets. Fine with me. It’s very restful not having to make friends. I called J’s brother – he’s due Thurs. Probably the worst thing about this place is the commute – I need to take Rock Creek Parkway and sometimes it goes one way and sometimes it goes the other way. An unwary person could end up in a head on collision. The stage is way better than Plush Palace but the dressing room way worse – a miniature chamber behind the potato bins – très très Colette. With me tonight are Phoebe, ex-stewardess with a degree in languages and Tasha, very silent black fashion model. She is gorgeous. Costumes are not big here – the idea is to wear one g-string all night – pasties small as possible. Contac really works – has totally drained my sinuses but also made me very thirsty – I am drinking gallons of water which I am afraid will make me visibly sweat. (Then pasties slide off and the woman from the Alcohol & Tobacco Task Force rushes forth with ticket.) Got my MS back from Scott Meredith. Zachary came to see me dance in the new club. We had a tender moment on how tough and insensitive the world is – he is having a bitching time with his new band – wants to go solo but feels that will never get anywhere. The truth is its tough to go it alone. Everybody thinks Gif tis “unfinished’ – which – horrors – means I have to do more. The dog to her vomit. Absolutely NOT fun. I want to start something totally, totally new. I suppose barfing and re-barfing is what separates the sheep from the goats – but which do I wantto be? There’s the fun of wandering around blindfold trying to imagine what you are touching or there is the disillusionment of taking it off and seeing you’re locked in the Same Old Basement. I think Buck has found another girlfriend. I am rather relieved to be let so painlessly off the hook – of course I miss the great parts of our relationship. But it was starting to get unmanageable along with everything else. At least with Zachary I can level with him about my life. Tonight’s reading: Margaret Millar whether I like her or not – and I don’t like her. Ordered a book on depression through the mail. Need all the help I can get. GiGi came in tonight – probably to gloat over my exhausted dancing. Even people who love it inevitably do too much. She’s enjoying being a trophy wife. She says.
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Alysse Aallyn
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