by U
I want the fuck out of here.
* * * *
June 1, 1979
It’s official. I will go to work for Maryhill AFS on June 18.
Another move in the making. I am eagerly looking forward to the
change. Called Chesley this AM to advise him of it.
Then I informed Nick.
Megan took me to dinner tonight at the Windward Inn to celebrate.
She asked me twice if I was doing it to escape from her. I said no. I
told her that I picture us together in the very near future and that I am
in love with her.
There is no one else, I said. You are it.
This however, is career-related.
How can I explain it in a way that makes sense? What I really want
to do at this point is to court her, spend some money on her, for us to
have some fun together. Before, I’ve never had a decent job and a
woman I was in love with at the same time. Let us enjoy life, my
darling.
If we remain here we will be stuck at that crappy welfare office
together. What fun would that be?
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I want to live in downtown Portland, see movies and go to plays,
sample restaurants, bars, attend concerts, and, above all else: go
dancing.
On the few occasions when Megan and I have danced, it is like a
dream. She is so slim, sensual, graceful, and beautiful. I haven’t
danced with a woman like her since ... well, for a long time. I want us
to have some fun together and in Portland we can do it. Working in
this beach town, it will always be grim.
Everybody knows our story. They smirk at us. I hate it.
I want to get an apartment up by Portland State University. At first,
Megan can come visit on the weekends or I can go down there. I’ll
find a nice private place where we can make love to our heart’s
content with nobody knowing our business.
At night, we can dress up and go out. First the restaurant, then the
movie, then to the dance club. There are zillions of places where we
can go and they are (thankfully) not all disco.
We’ll wrap the evening up at this cool jazz bar I know about and
come home at one or two in the morning. Then we will make love.
Hot, sweaty, dirty, and sweet. I’ll find a place with a big claw foot
tub so we can soak in the suds together.
On Sunday mornings, we’ll go to Hamburger Mary’s for breakfast.
Those homo chefs at Hamburger Mary’s make the best damn lacto-
ova vegetarian omelets you’ve ever tasted.
Megan will fucking love them.
For a long time I think I have been waiting for a woman like Megan
to come into my life. I sense she has also been waiting for a man like
me. Let the world go to hell.
We’ve got each other. In this golden summer and fall of 1979, I
want it to be just Megan and me.
* * * *
June 29, 1979
So much has happened I haven’t had much time to write, let alone
digest my experiences.
I’m working at Maryhill AFS now. A whole new set of wacky
clients. This afternoon one of them (her name is Shirley) slipped on
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the lobby floor, the surface made slick by the puddle of urine a boy
toddler had deposited a few minutes earlier.
It was official. Crazy Shirley was coming to visit her welfare
worker. She has two kids and a history of mental illness.
It’s odd but I guess not too odd that she has the same name as
Chesley’s wife-to-be.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
Shirley nodded. "I slipped on the floor."
"Uh huh." I helped her up. There was a big wet spot on the back of
her ratty green stretch pants. I made no move towards the interview
room. I didn’t want her sitting down on anything.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"My ex-mother in law is raising my rent because she heard that
welfare payments are going up."
"Yes, I see. Well," I said, "your Section 8 housing application is
still on the waiting list. It might be another six months or so before
you get approved for low income housing."
"But I can’t afford another rent increase!" Shirley said. She has
these frantic, pleading eyes.
"How much does your ex-mother in law want?"
"Another $23 per month. Exactly the same amount as my grant is
supposed to go up. She knows about the increase."
"Oh, for crying out loud," I said, crabbily, before I caught myself. I
took a deep breath. "Well, if I juggle your food stamp allotment
around some, maybe we can use the higher shelter cost against your
stamps."
"How much?"
I did a quick mental calculation. "I’m guessing maybe I can
increase your stamps by $25 or so."
Shirley was embarrassingly grateful.
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Choosing Partners
July 25, 1979
Tomorrow’s the big day. We are flying to California for Chesley’s
wedding – Michael, Randy, and me.
Lloyd refuses to go. He says the bride is a horrible hag and he
wants no part of it. Absolutely I agree but I’m going anyway for
Chesley’s sake.
Everything is set. My bags are packed and I’m ready to go. Picked
out a few photos to show around, mostly of Megan and me having
fun. I am bringing my camera, books, other reading material, and my
Dark City notebook to keep me occupied should things get dull.
I’ve decided to introduce a policewoman in the next chapter. She
will burst through the door with gun in hand. There will be certain
other revisions as well.
Lots of hard work ahead.
How fast does light travel? 186,000 miles per second? Visit this
water world and travel to The Dark City. Read a story written in sand.
See fear and horror as Dale Murphy sinks into an unfathomable
morass. Life is destructive of itself.
That’s the beauty of it – the constant waste, the decay, the
redundancy, the inevitable spoliation.
Ashes to ashes, from DNA to dust.
Need to rent me a monkey suit, buy a gift.
All these draggy financial things. Human marriage customs. Bah
humbug. Poor people buying gifts for the rich. I may never get
married. Surely not like this, in any case.
It’s way too phony for me.
Reading Isaac Bashevis Singer’s Passions. Love the way that guy
writes. Reminds me of me. Also reading Jules Witcover’s The
Resurrection of Richard Nixon. Witcover’s book really inspires me
about politics. I love reading it, consider it a masterpiece. Nixon’s
comeback after his 1960 loss to JFK was truly amazing. Politics
aside, what perseverance!
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Still want to run for the legislature next year. I’d like to have the
decks cleared for an all-out effort. Don’t tell me I can’t win. I don’t
care. I just want to run. I want to express my views in a public
forum. There are so many things I want to say.
* * * *
July 27, 1979
Soft, cool California morn at 8:00 AM. The suburb Chesley’s
parents live in is called Danville. About thirty minutes south of San
&n
bsp; Francisco. Attended a very dull party last night (all male) to
commemorate the passing of Chesley’s singlehood.
Did not get drunk and probably it’s just as well. Wished I’d
brought my book to work on, though.
At least there were no strippers or sexist bullshit to live down later.
I got real stoned and sat alone for a while out on the patio, thinking
about Chesley’s old girlfriend, Darlene.
She was this leggy Chinese-American chick Chesley met at Oregon
State. Oh man. Darlene had this very long black hair, dark almond
eyes, was beautiful and sexy. Chesley started dating her right after I
hooked up with Leanne. Talk about skimming the cream. That babe
Darlene was like to take your breath away, she was so drop dead
fucking beautiful.
And smart, too. Except, apparently, about men.
Originally, Darlene hailed from Hawaii but she also lived in
California part of the time. She had a father in the military and her
parents were divorced.
Darlene’s favorite thing was to get stoned and fuck Chesley’s
brains out in his dorm room, which was right next door to mine.
Based on the noise that came through the wall I’d have to say Darlene
was multi-orgasmic practically to a fault.
Beautiful, smart, and fucked like a champ – what more could that
fucking idiot want?
Right after school got out our freshman year, Chesley brought her
to Danville to meet his parents, before she flew to Hawaii for the
summer.
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Big mistake. Chesley’s mother took an immediate dislike to
Darlene, on account of her being Asian. Not Jewish either, you know.
His mom began snooping through the letters he received (who does
this remind you of?) from Darlene as the summer wore on. In several
letters, she made ill-considered references to smoking dope and
uninhibited sex, which freaked Chesley’s mother out.
Chesley’s mom claimed she had the right to go through his stuff
because he had been busted for hash while at school and was on thin
ice legally.
Seems to me that asshole privacy violators invariably claim special
rights.
Mommy forbid Chesley to have anything further to do with Darlene
and so the weasel quit school up here as a way of breaking up with
her. When Darlene followed him to UC Davis anyway, he put
together yet another scheme to ditch her, this time by returning to
Eugene, finishing out his senior year at the University of Oregon.
One day, Chesley told Darlene he would come to see her the
following morning. Instead, he loaded up his van and moved to
Eugene, vanishing from her life forever. His younger brother said
Darlene called the house many times afterwards, trying to get in touch
him, but always got the brush off from Chesley’s mommy.
What a fucking schmuck. Darlene never did anything wrong.
Everybody else was doing the same thing. Marlene didn’t drink or
even smoke cigarettes. Was kind of straight, actually.
All she did was toke weed at Chesley’s urging and fuck him until
he was limp as a noodle. Her most unforgivable offense, as near as I
could tell, was that she was not white.
In a few hours Chesley will marry Nurse Shirley, a fucking cunt I
am positive doesn’t even like him, let alone love him. A woman who
is nowhere near as classy as Darlene on any measurable scale. Come
to think of it, Shirley is nowhere near his girlfriend Karen Hall either,
who was truly the living model of intelligence, beauty, class, humor,
and refinement.
This marriage is so insane as to be almost laughable. Chesley
discards the best to marry the worst. Irony abounds.
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Ya know what? Methinks he is going to marry a girl just like the
girl who married dear old dad.
It is also very peculiar that Randy is here. Two men in the wedding
party have had carnal knowledge of the bride.
Randy’s penis has previously penetrated Shirley’s putrid pussy.
Mmmm. If only I were more of a troublemaker, I’d tell Chesley’s
mom about it during the reception, especially about the adultery part.
I’d tell his mom that Shirley was the "other woman" last year when
Randy was cheating on his wife, Wilma. I’ll bet that would go over
big. Stir things up a bit. Mmmm. Just thinking about it amuses me
like hell.
Alas, I am only a thought criminal.
* * * *
July 30, 1979
Did not go to work today. I was too burned out from the wedding
weekend. Although twice I offered to drive the getaway car, Chesley
married Shirley after all. I predict three to five years max, but I could
be wrong. Maybe they are well-suited for each other, being both
stupid and selfish. I did try to be convivial, and for the most part I
think I succeeded.
No serious misbehaviors on my part whatever, I am unhappy to
report.
There were a lot of things to observe and many pretty women in
attendance. Chesley’s parents hosted a pool party and we all drank
beer, ate snacks and horsed around in the water. Chesley and Shirley
chased each other like a couple of idiots. If you think Shirley looks
repulsive in her nurse’s outfit, you ought to see her in a purple bikini.
In truth, I think Chesley would be better off marrying that fat girl
Debbie he fucked at his old apartment in NE. At least she was
likeable and sweet natured.
I snapped an extremely unflattering picture of Shirley when she
wasn’t looking. I’ll show it to Schenzler later.
He’ll lose his lunch.
The young women who were at the party were all eager to get
married. And I must admit, there were quite a few nice, pretty ones.
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One particularly lissome blond kept appearing at my elbow during the
reception.
Her name was Sidney Laagelander. A registered nurse, just like her
pal Shirley. However, unlike Shirley, Sidney is slender and attractive,
with pretty blue eyes and looks absolutely killer in a red bikini. Oh
my heavens, yes.
However, it is hard to judge women by their friends. Many of them
have no real friends, I suspect just temporary allies. Actually, Sidney
seemed quite nice, superior to Shirley in every way. She said funny
things and was easy to get along with. I’ll bet she’s an excellent fuck,
too. But so what? I have no interest in any of them, and I’ve had my
share of nurses.
Megan is the woman for me.
Jerry Brown is edging closer to an open challenge of Jimmy Carter,
a captive of the worst foreign policy types. It’s fine with me if Jerry
runs. Ted Kennedy could also jump in. The more the merrier, I say.
* * * *
August 17, 1979
Well, I went to my ten-year high school reunion. As expected, it
was a huge drag, although many of the women are still very beautiful
and many are still unattached.
The latter we can safely describe as desperate. Unfortunately,
Meredith never showed.
I wasn’t there for long, but it was still long enough for Kathy Dunn
> to hassle me. She flicked me a bunch of shit about the time when we
were an item at age sixteen, for a period of about four months. We
came close to but did not consummate sexual intercourse.
Okay, so I broke up with her. So what? She was (and still is) very
beautiful, with gorgeous red hair and very lovely large breasts, which,
among other things, she very considerately let me fondle and kiss to
my heart’s content on several occasions twelve years ago. But Kathy
also got way too serious way too fast and, in truth, the girl scared the
bejeebers out of me.
What more can I say?
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Of course I knew perfectly well that you can’t get pregnant from
the stuff we did. Of course I knew.
* * * *
September 11, 1979 Monday
Called in sick. Stayed with Megan over the weekend at her place in
Heceta Beach. Indeed. Any reservations or misgivings I may have
harbored about her are have vanished.
Our physical separation has imbued me with a greater clarity about
us as a couple. A definite sea change is taking place within. I can feel
it happening.
The beach house is very nice and Megan is beautiful beyond
compare. Things are coming together or rather, we are coming
together. Life is amazing. I can’t explain it.
I’m in love with her. That’s a fact. I suppose I am growing up.
There comes a time when you just start growing up.
Megan spent most of the afternoon Saturday in what has to be one
of the world’s skimpiest bikinis. While I listened to the football
game, she lounged on the deck in the sun, wearing this classic
rainbow-blue number that covers only what is required by law and
barely at that.
Before Megan put it on in the bathroom, she got ready to shave
herself.
"I bought my suit a month ago, but I haven’t worn it because I need
to trim this first," she said, pointing to her bush.
"Let me do it," I said.
"You baby," Megan said, laughing. But she handed me the Lady
Electric and I set to work. Of course, I didn’t get carried away,
because I madly love her dark blond pubic hair, but I made sure that
none peeked out from beneath the tiny triangle of blue cloth that