by U
pair. Of that I have no doubt.
Unfortunately, Ms. Ellsworth always was a bit of a chicken, afraid
to stick her neck out, afraid to take risks.
Ashamed to return to her organic chemistry class just because a few
dorks had seen her cute little tits. Afraid to stand up to her mother
Prude. Afraid to go it alone. Afraid of the truth. Afraid to play it
straight with me, a man who loved her with a burning passion, a man
who likely would have done anything for her except let her bully and
nag him.
I suspect that if Polly had screwed up her courage, we would be
together again. She never could resist my physical presence,
goddammit, and by that I don’t simply mean sex.
By that I simply mean me.
I could look into her eyes and feel the chemistry, the elemental
attraction of mutual magnetic forces. Words that came out of Polly’s
mouth were words I wanted to hear, from a voice that made me glad I
was alive.
I believe that I had pretty much the same effect on her. Polly’s
rejection of me I have therefore never quite figured out.
I don’t think she honestly knows either. Every time she tries to
explain it, she comes up with an entirely new set of reasons. In
rejecting me, I always thought she was rejecting something about
herself as well, something pretty important.
Fuck! When we made love, it wasn’t just bodies in motion, a
mechanical friction. It was more like nuclear fusion, imploding atoms
in a searing cataclysm that had the power destroy worlds and affect
faraway galaxies.
And I’m not exaggerating, either.
38
I suppose Polly can make light of it now, deluding herself with
smarmy opinions and verbal cheap shots. Well, that’s really too bad.
I wish it were different.
The price she pays for her cowardice will grow exponentially. She
will never completely escape my influence. She will never know any
man like me. I know it. I just know it.
Polly’s life will likely be spent some with financially stable,
crashingly dull creep. That is what I believe. All I wanted was to be
able to trust her. If there was a lot she wanted from me, okay, there
was a certain amount I wanted from her as well. As soon as I was
sure of her love, I would have given her my all.
Proof of her love. That’s what I was after. Not just the words, but
the fact. She demanded it from me, but was never willing to supply it
herself. What I have left is the knowledge that I loved her with a true
and honest heart.
That’s all there is to say.
I won’t write to her again.
So what else is new? A lot. Megan is teaching me how to do this
stupid welfare bullshit, showing me which forms to fill out and how to
authorize payments. She’s already done it before, at the West Eugene
branch office, until August of 1976.
First, Megan was a unit clerk, a crummy job if ever there was one,
she says. Unlike the worker jobs, which pay more, the unit clerk must
be able to type. Right before she moved to Pendleton with Mark, they
finally gave Megan the worker job she wanted.
"A woman who had a baby decided she didn’t want to come back
to work," Megan said. "So they let me have it."
Although Megan looks exactly like a slender Barbie doll and
dresses stylishly, her looks are deceiving. She’s an unrepentant rebel
who hates authority almost as much as I do.
Megan tells me she rues the day that she ever learned to type
because it confined her to a job rut that she feared she would never
escape. Despite her college degree, they have never given her a
chance. This is her big opportunity to escape the clerical ghetto.
39
As a bonus, she gets to teach me how to be a worker. There could
not be a more apt or willing pupil.
I don’t know about this. Being in such close proximity to this
beautiful woman all day long. She stands beside me at my desk and
points out things I’m supposed to complete on the 403B forms. I can
feel the warmth of her body near me and I drink in this lavender
perfume she wears.
Megan dresses like the thoroughbred she is. Holy Fucking Moley.
Sometimes I think she often unwittingly feeds me these sub sensory
attractant sexual chemicals that penetrate deeply into my primitive
testosterone-soaked male brain.
I am powerless to resist them. In the meantime, Megan is so
beautiful and capable I can’t fucking believe my luck.
By the end of the day, I’ve usually got a hard on a cat couldn’t
scratch.
Yesterday, I had to masturbate almost as soon as I got home so I
could settle down and get back to work on my book.
However, in her company I behave like the perfect gentleman I am.
Believe it or not, I do know how to behave myself around women. It
has never been my habit to stare, leer, or otherwise lech after them in
an unseemly fashion. The simple knowledge that an intense physical
attraction exists is more than enough for me. Be relaxed and natural is
my way. Make clean jokes and be fun. Do be a nice boy. Don’t be a
jackass. I guess I can thank my Catholic School upbringing for
something, anyway.
In addition, in the course of fashioning this journal, I have gained
extra experience in how to divorce my thoughts from my actions. I
am no longer as impulsive as I once was.
Besides, inasmuch as I look forward seeing Megan at work in the
morning, I won’t let anything distract me from my writing project. It
is of paramount importance.
* * * *
March 8, 1978
Despite my recent vow to the contrary, I sent a response to Ms.
Ellsworth after writing it twice and typing it once. I really don’t
40
expect an immediate reply. In essence, I’m just swapping ideas with a
woman I once knew.
One thing I did do was ask her to stop insulting Chesley in our
correspondence.
She has no call making snitty put-downs of my friends, especially a
person she hardly knows. It is interesting that she can take me to task
for writing negative stuff about people and then turn around and do it
herself.
In nearly three years of knowing her, I have learned that the rules
she invents for others do not necessarily apply to her.
But I had to laugh at her fears. They are not of me but of herself.
Surely she knows the last thing I wish for her is harm. During our
affair I was much too casual and nonchalant about her – I admit that.
It dawned on me way too late how truly serious she was. In
retrospect, I think I would have preferred a good long discussion
about The Future before we became physically intimate. A full, frank
discussion beforehand might have given me food for thought.
Instead, we just started fucking.
Come to think of it, I did have a conversation like that once with
this Sarah I. woman I knew back in Atlanta. I met her right as I was
about ready to leave town in 1975.
We made out at a party, but that was all. Still, it
was some pretty
passionate necking. Real deep tongue action. Sarah liked kissing me,
I could tell, and I liked kissing her. A lot. But Sarah insisted she
would not be intimate with a guy unless he agreed to an exclusive
relationship first.
"Oh, I’m not saying we have to immediately get married," Sarah
said. "But if I am with a guy he is only with me. Nobody else."
Sarah said that had to be the deal, right up front. She also added
that she was no prude and liked sex, but it must be in the context of an
exclusive relationship. Now that I look back, I think maybe she was
on to something.
Perhaps if I had gone through such a discussion with Polly, I might
not have misread so many of her desperate signals.
41
At this late stage, I am beginning to believe that couples probably
ought to get to know each other a little better before they start fucking.
Having at least some idea of what you are getting into with someone
might smooth the adjustment.
Ah, hindsight.
Finished Chap. 28 tonight. I did not think it needed a notebook
rewrite so I just wrote it straight. It went fine. The Vladimir Lanolin
radicalization vignette brought the manuscript up to page 82. I’m
hitting my stride at last, working without interruption. I might even
finish ahead of schedule.
I’d like to get through this thing without having to do a complete
third draft, if at all possible. Also need to index the names so that
they will be consistent in the final version. I keep changing them so
often they remind me of party hats. You take them off as soon as the
candles are blown out.
Planning a trip to Eugene this weekend.
Need to do a few things there.
* * * *
March 9, 1978
Then again, the damn thing will probably need a complete third
draft after all. Oh well. Finished Chap. 29 this evening, bringing it up
to page 86. At this rate I may be done by the end of the month. I sure
hope so.
Tomorrow I intend to clean house, wash clothes, and get ready for
my trip to Eugene. Also need to get some money.
Work is going okay.
Got a letter telling me that my tax refund is being held again for
overdue student loans.
Those fucks. I will never get out from under those old college
loans at this rate. That is the reason why I will not and do not plan to
attend law school. To do it, I would have to borrow more money. I
say to hell with that shit.
So many people I run across wonder why I seem to be paranoid
about money. These comments invariably come from people who
have never been without it, people who have led very comfortable
42
lives. In my experience, it takes a special person to be someone who
has money but does not treat everyone else like shit. I have yet to
meet such a person. Certainly no one in my acquaintance would
qualify.
Gotta finish my book.
Need to get some decent reefer while I am in Eugene. Maybe I can
ask John Thomas.
* * * *
March 13, 1978
The weekend turned out well for the most part. Got my original
manuscript back and made a date with Annie. Bought a little dope
from a guy John Thomas knows but I will have to wait to the end of
the month to get more. It is hard for me to do without cannabis sativa.
I use it to explore my inner self.
Went to a party. Saw a lot of Eugene people and had a pretty good
time. The bus needs some transmission work done, I am beginning to
suspect. There is a grinding noise in second gear. Got another letter
from Mick. Have already sent him a long letter, even before I got his.
May swap houses with Charles and Arianna the weekend of the 1st.
That could be fun. Only missed Saturday as a workday on the book
this weekend. Cranked out Chap. 30 on Sunday, bringing the page
total up to 92. I’d like to get this current draft completed before the
state Democratic Party Convention.
The book the book the book. I get so tired of working on it
sometimes I want to scream.
But it’s fun too.
* * * *
March 16, 1978
There was a certified letter notice in the mail today. I wonder if it
was about the tax refund Oxygen State stole from me. I wish they’d
send it. I’m almost broke again. I have about $12 left in my checking
account. I spent $9 on groceries today alone. The money slips away
so quickly.
Annie was here for a couple of nights. She’s going to make some
suggestions concerning the book. I’ve asked her to help me out.
43
After all, Annie does have a master’s degree in comparative lit with a
special emphasis on French (or is it Italian?) literature.
Annie drove up to my beach cabin in her new Renault Le Car that
she bought earlier this year. I must admit it’s a cute little vehicle, and
Annie looked pretty darned cute herself behind the wheel.
The girl is a rising academic, poised to get ahead and looking the
part as well. As soon as Annie pulled up, she glanced out the window
to see me, standing on the porch. The warmest of smiles greeted me
as she pushed open her car door, saying.
"Your directions were perfect."
I opened the car door as Annie climbed out, and then waited while
she popped the hatchback.
"Mmmm…" I said. "You’re looking good."
"Thank you."
Indeed Annie was looking good, dressed in a white cable knit
sweater and a brown skirt that hugged her hips tightly. Her hair was
long and thick, cut in a flattering wavy style.
We kissed, and Annie’s kiss was a potent mixture of passion and
affection. Then she broke the kiss.
"Need help with anything?" I asked.
"You can carry my bag," she said, raising the hatchback door. "I’d
like to bring it in."
"I’d be delighted."
My initial impression of her loveliness was accurate in every
aspect. If anything, she was ten to fifteen pounds lighter than at any
previous time I’d known her. Additionally, Annie has this exotic
voluptuous beauty, with a pretty face and a surprisingly small, perky
nose hovering over a pair of sweet, pouty lips.
And then there are her big, deep, dark brown eyes. Annie’s eyes
radiate intelligence like a barbecue grill radiates heat.
Consequently, I tried to make it a point not to lie to her too much,
on account of the fact that she could always pick apart my
prevarications sooner or later (most likely sooner.)
44
What I especially loved about Annie though, was her thick mane of
brunette hair, which she had recently grown long, cascading down to
the middle of her back.
It has a beautiful blue-black glow.
After Annie locked her car, I led her into the cabin, carrying her
overnight bag.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, to tell the truth. Her hair was, as
usual, a gorgeous contrast to her flawless white skin. After careful
examination, I can report that she had only one
mole that I was able to
discern, a tiny one on the small of her back, a flattish protrusion
maybe a quarter of an inch across, the color of milk chocolate.
Once I had Annie in the cabin and the door closed, we kissed.
She was the one who broke the kiss.
"So," she said, gently pushing me away, "when do you want to talk
about your manuscript?"
"Let’s start now," I said. "How about a drink first?"
"What do you have?"
"That white wine you like. Chablis."
"Sounds good."
I went to the refrigerator and got the bottle out, pouring us each an
extra large glass.
The other thing about Annie that I had to keep in mind was that as
far as sex was concerned, I had to go slow. She was definitely not a
"Fuck now, talk later," kind of girl. As poised and confident as she
was in discussing intellectual or academic subjects, she’s kinda
skittish about the dirty deed.
That didn’t mean that Annie wasn’t going to put out, once I had her
ensconced in my bed. On the contrary, it was evident that she wanted
to fuck and happens to be quite adept at it.
But before she would consent to giving her best effort in that
regard, she had to be well and thoroughly entertained. Having her talk
about my book, listening to her ideas, and responding to suggestions,
was a lot of fun for both of us.
I actually think she understands what I’m trying to do.
45
So far the things Annie has said are right on the money. She seems
to realize what I am trying to do here and I am very appreciative of
her help as an unofficial editor. Just the right balance must be struck
between comedy and seriousness, Annie says. Let the grim truth
emerge naturally as part of the jokes, the satire, the wisecracks, and
the parody.
Annie agrees that it is tough balance to strike.
We were near the bottom of our second glass of wine when I
suggested that we go to a restaurant on Bay Street called The Manly
Mussel. Annie was more than agreeable.
Our beer-battered halibut, fries and clam chowder had not yet
graced the table when Annie began talking a blue streak about this
graduate program she is in at Case Western and the politics involved