The phone rang this morning and Alice answered, then groaned, "It's Mark."
It was 10.
She handed the phone and I asked gruffly, "What do you want?"
"Can you come into work?"
"Why? You need someone to blame when you lose money?" Mark was always plundering the petty cash for ALBEE DIRECTS ALBEE.
"Edward came in and asked where you were. He wasn't happy to hear you had quit."
"Did you tell him why?" I was sure he had made up something that blame me.
"I said I thought you were stealing."
"And he said you were wrong."
"Yes."
I put my hand over the mouthpiece and asked Alice, "Would I be an asshole to go back to work for Mark?"
"Ask for a raise." She rolled over to sleep. The hillbilly directress had come back around dawn. She smelled of another woman's perfume at least not belonging to her witch partner, Susan. Revlon Charlie.
I had been getting paid $150 a week and said, "Pay me 180 a week."
Mark said 'yes'.
"I'll be in there shortly."
Shortly meant getting out of bed and feeling the window overlooking the alley. The pane of glass was cold and the cypress tree was shedding the final leaves. I pulled over autumn clothing for the first time this year; a sweater, heavy boots, a thick leather jacket, and new gloves from Bloomingdales. On the walk over to Veselka I shivered in the wind. The sun was weakly shining through the clouds. I loved the cold, because it drove most of the junkies inside. There was no sign of Hakkim, the scourge of the neighborhood. After breakfast at Veselka I walked up to Mark's apartment building. Mark answered the door. I glared at him and he wisely said, "Let's forget the past and look forward to the future. Edward really likes your work."
"I'm sure."
We made phone calls to various theaters across the USA. The Albee retrospective was immensely popular featuring; THE AMERICAN DREAM, THE ZOO STORY, COUNTING THE WAYS, FAM AND YAM, Counting the Ways" and assorted other plays and my favorite QUOTATIONS FROM CHAIRMAN MAO, which I had seen in rehearsal. The day passed without incident, but this calm was all a facade. Mark was an asshole screamer, when things went bad and some people never change.
GRANT STITT general counselor NRP
The New Zealander emigrated to the USA to study modern dancer. He is 28, homosexual, a good gossip, and a vegetarian. He has nom lover just dalliance without count. His dancing is modern which suits his lanky body. Grant is a devote NRP member in charge of the Surrender Army, which will be the military gay arm of the Party dedicated to giving up before a shot is fired on the front line to corrupt the Soviet troops. Hopefully he won't become the Eric Roehm of the NRP, the homosexual Nazi leader of the SA troops, which was crushed by Hitler in the Night of the Long Knives.
Keith Richards had his day in Canadian court for heroin possession. His sentence of a year's probation and a gig before blind children surprised the Silent Majority press calling for his blood. The Stones haven't thrilled me since their hit BROWN SUGAR and that was because a fan named Paul O'Malley had shouted out the title 'BROWN SUGAR' during the recording of a live LP. Every at my graduation from Boston College seniors yelled BROWN SUGAR throughout the ceremony upsetting the Jesuits.
In the punk world Sid Vicious of THE SEX PISTOLS' bass player attempted suicide with a lightbulb.
He should have used a razor blade. They are very effective slicing lengthwise. I would never killed myself that way or jumping or with a gun or hanging or pills or a unlit stove like the poet Sylvia Plath. How I don't know, but if necessary I'll fix it out. Still it's funny to see how sturdy is the human body.
Back when I was driving taxi for Boston Cab I ran a stop sign before the Roxbury projects at Lamartine and Heath Streets and t-boned a Mustang at full speed. Time collapsed to a blur, then resumed normal speed. The force of the collision threw me across the Checker Cab with a snapped-off steering wheel in my hands. The other driver Mitch Lipcomb was unhurt as well and the soul singer confessed outside court that he had fallen sleep at the wheel. We laughed and then realized no one had shown up for the hearing.
"Let's get a drink."
Sid Vicious was probably avoiding a court date for the murder of his girlfriend Nancy Spungen at the Chelsea Hotel. Rumors had it that Sid had taken thirty Tuinals and had been in a drug coma during the killing on Columbus Day. His shows exposed his total lack of musical talent, but punks crowded CBGBs and Max's to see the disaster sing Frank Sinatra's hit MY WAY. Record producers ignored his heroin addiction and bizarre behavior in favor of filthy loot, but Sid's performances echoed the coming untalented assault of New Wave led by the Lounge Lizards and Teenage Jesus. each dreaming of gold-plated sneakers, suit jackets from near-extinct seals from Italian designers and China White #4.
White heroin was nuch better than Mexican Brown.
Woof woof woof dogs at the door. Don't you go outside Rabid hounds snare for revenge Fangs snap at the glass. The mongrels wish they were Poodles Or Pekinese. Dogs are scared of water Dogs are scaring me I drop my trousers and piss on them all. Arf Arf arf
Alice and I met over a year ago through the designer, Timothy Dunleavey. They were friends from North Carolina. I was going to a birthday party for Jancy Stephenson from Texas. After a few drinks I asked Alice and her friend to go someplace more private. They were staying at a West Side townhouse with a pool in the cellar. The water was unheated, yet the two of us stripped naked. Her friend puked after a few minutes of sex. Alice came from Coal County. The good side of the tracks had her kind tough and she called for God, as I finished in her. I was not God, but her orgasm was divine.
Tonight I lie in bed and she sits at the kitchen table speaking to her consort, Susan. Her voice was low. I could only pick out a few words. The conversation could have been between two lovers. I fear the worst. I came into the kitchen with a towel around my waist. She turns away from me. I open a bottle of Chateau Bourdieux from France liberated from Mark's wine chest. It's better than the usual crap I drink. I ask Alice if she wants some. She made a face. She only drinks with the cast of NEW WAVE VAUDEVILLE.
"You want to make love?"
She shook her head and returned to speaking on the phone. Women try to seduce me at CBGBs. I refuse them and wonder in Alice's celibacy is contagious. I hope not. I like fucking, but I also want tobe monogamous. I wander the streets alone. A libertine in love instead of in lust.
It was late in Butte, Montana When I arrived at the cowboy bar. I order a whiskey and beer And search the place for my wife. Rumor had it she was living here now. Not with anyone Playing the tramp Mona wasn't here I drowned my drinks and ordered another round Last call in Butte Montana. I can't forget Mona Her face fills empty mirrors Two weeks ago she left the state line Tired of living in a tent. She started breakfast While I was in the shower I came back to burning eggs. She took my money and caught a ride With a trucker heading east. She knew how to leave fast Any other woman from Reno could do the same I ate the burned eggs. She always burnt them I dressed for work building shitters For the new highway rest stop West of Missoula I earned enough working overtime in the snow I borrowed my boss' truck I bought a pistol in Drummond. Planning to shot here dead Last call in Butte Montana The gun is in the truck I ain't gonna kill no one Only myself and soft I order two more. The bar is empty The bartender wants me gone I tell him about Mona. "Her. She was here a couple of Days ago. Said she was heading to Laramie with a rodeo bum But a girl like that don't ever have a destination Only someplace she had done." I thanked him for the info He gave me the drinks to go in a paper cup It's only Friday night And she gotta be out there I'll drink my way across the west till Sunday Then come on back to work Still hurting from work and Mona and sleazy bars Always last call in Montana.
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