Kips
Preeminent too was her voice, so feminine I could not imagine one more so, often soft, but even when harsh and angered still beautiful, not loud, feminine with sighs of exasperation.
The voice too reflects the soul, and I have noticed in many women a sometimes stone-cold voice emanating from a truly crippled soul that will never be repaired, and a look to match, that freezes the heart of the beholder with its cruelty. But her angered looks were those of a child, very transient and on the verge of a tear.
So I conclude that her heart is still sound and whole, that her fault is a spoiled childishness and not one of those wounds or infirmities that make some humans so inhumane, the dead weight they drag around and carry to the grave”.
Now I face the heavy task of writing an account of our last two weeks, painful though it is:
“8–28. The continuing saga of Dale and me: There appear to be no notes since 8–13, yet such a variety of memorable nights and days that to fail to record them (in bare outline at least) would seem a crime.
After our disagreements of Sat. Aug. 13th I spoke again to her Sunday night on the phone, agreeing to loan her my car so she could go out with Sally. We met, she kissed me gently in the front yard as I handed her the keys. Monday night I got very drunk with Jim (four pitchers and then some), talked to him of my affair with Dale being over, bitter and mad. I called her to tell her to leave the car keys in the mailbox (at the Plough, where we were), so I could drive home. Tuesday I saw her again, about ten at night, argued a bit, then bought Popsicles for us, like a lackey, alcohol too, then reconciled and slept together. Wednesday she quits work and plans to leave for Chicago.
Thursday I score speed for her after card game, but she is ill and tells me not to come over till Friday. Friday morning I do an electrical estimate for Paul Bedford” (a British chap and guitarist who hung out at the Plough occasionally) “and go to her at noon. She’s lying in bed, complaining of little sleep. I lay out three lines of very powerful stuff and return home to fix the car, where Mike and Chuck help me adjust the timing. Then a rainstorm starts and I return to her place, 9 p.m. Sally is there talking of the sale of their clothes at the flea market. So I leave them and go into the Plough, playing video games with Bob, high on speed. They join us, we dance, (a character named Mike joins Sally), it’s one a.m.
The four of us go back to Dale’s for more lines. He has some coke, long raps with him about lithography. We try a futile attempt to get more at 4 a.m. (me and him), but he gives me a number for later on. We return to Dale’s. Mike and Sally leave at 6 a.m. I borrow Steve’s truck and drive Dale to the flea market but now we’re coming down and feeling wretched, the number is bad, the weather lousy so we return to her house at eight a.m. lying in bed and sex till eleven. Then I go home to work on the car. I crash at 7 p.m.. She sleeps a bit in the afternoon. Her friend John from S.F.” (He was a really nice Australian, an old boyfriend of hers, who went to acting school with Mel Gibson, knew him well and even looked a bit like him, in build and good looks) “comes over to her place at 9 p.m. with coke and she does an all-nighter again. I meet her at the flea market about noon. (She is trying to sell her clothes for money for her trip) I help her sell to 3 p.m., take her home and put her to bed. Late Sunday night she’s up again, 11 p.m. I take her to ‘Kips’ for pizza then home. I go home to bed as I have to work the next day at 8 a.m.
Monday night I skip the card game to eat out with her at a Thai restaurant. We argue over the wine. She almost leaves in anger because I insinuate that she’s fastidious to a fault about cheaper wines. But she claims they give her headaches. Dinner proceeds (after I order a more expensive bottle, with my limited funds) we drink afterwards at ‘Larry Blake’s’ just up the street, get drunk, then, just as we leave she starts crying profusely in the street and I somehow offend her, exasperated at her behavior. She runs off into the night. I do not follow. I return to the car and driving home I see her sitting at a bus stop. I turn around and pick her up. She is apologetic. More alcohol at her house, much great sex, best ever-and last. Tuesday: zilch. Wednesday morn I loan her my car. She drives me to work then goes to get speed from the warehouse, picks me up with Sally along at 5, takes me home, lays out lines, kisses me a lot, then leaves. I shower, Mike comes over and we practice music. At 11:30 p.m. she calls and puts off coming over though she promised. I sleep. She calls again at 1 a.m. and puts it off again, making me mad. Thursday at 8 she comes with the car to drive me to work, dismal, ill, coming down. After work she calls and says she can’t pick me up, she’s too burnt, so I get a ride home with Terri. I clean up, walk to her place, hungry and tired, ready to take her to dinner somewhere. Her room is a mess as she’s started packing clothes, everywhere. Dinner at 11 at ‘Giovanni’s’, then coke is scored at midnight by Maggie’s friend. I’m falling asleep, but we drive to Mag’s at 12:30, collect her, return to Dale’s do lines and I perk up. Much talk, a bottle of wine consumed, Mag’s friend leaves and the three of us go back to Maggie’s for more wine and lines at 3 a.m. Strange arguments erupt as I get feisty, still peeved from her no-show the night before. I criticize her and come out with a strange, eloquent speech on why we do drugs: damage stimulates thinking. Dale is now very tired and wants to go home. I still want to party and so does Mag. But Dale does not want us together with her gone”. (with good insight, as I was very attracted to her) “I drive her home and we get into a huge argument. I’m half out of my mind, recant, beg forgiveness, and leave, half reconciled. (I drive back to Mag’s but the lights are out, one light knock on the door, no reply so I leave) I get home just before seven for an hour of sleep before work.
Friday- the hardest day of work in my life, humping shingles for a roofer who’s assistant didn’t show up, then on a steep roof nailing all day. I’m so tired I go home and crash at 7 p.m. Saturday I have a ten-thirty estimate to do. Dale has been binging on coke with John, struggles out of bed after I call her three times to get her to bring over some storage stuff before the train leaves at noon. At eleven-thirty she calls me to come get it. I arrive, her hair is dripping wet from shower, she’s standing there ‘sans chemise’, a chaos of objects across the floor, totally unready. I leave without saying goodbye, shrugging my shoulders. It’s what I expected, half laughing, half sad, leaving it to John to get her to the train on time. But it was very unlikely. She probably had to hang out with him another day to catch the next one.
Finis.”
Sunday: I read books, bought books, fixed the muffler, read more and wrote this.
“I added the last entry for Sunday because it’s so laconic and hints that I’m free of a great burden, mental and emotional, and can get back to some kind of normality. It really was a relief for me to see her go”.
