Bye-Bye 9780814769416

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BYE

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N e w Yor k Universit y Pres s gratefull y acknowledge s th e support o f Madelin e an d Kevi n Brin e i n makin g thes e awards possible .

BOOKS B Y J A NE R A N S O M

Without Asking, Stor y Lin e Pres s (poetry ) Scene of the Crime, Story Lin e Pres s (poetry )

The New York University Press Prizes for Fiction and Poetry In 1990 , Ne w Yor k Universit y Pres s launche d th e Bobs t Awards for Emergin g Writer s t o suppor t innovative , exper imental, an d importan t fictio n an d poetry . A s th e prestig e of the award s ha s expande d i n recen t years , s o to o ha s thei r mandate. Th e award s wer e originall y conceive d t o publis h authors whos e wor k ha d no t ye t appeare d i n boo k form . We no w includ e author s who , whil e ofte n alread y a know n quantity, remai n unrecognize d relativ e t o th e qualit y an d ambition o f their writing . We have thus renamed th e award s the Ne w Yor k Universit y Press Priz e fo r Fictio n an d th e Ne w Yor k Universit y Pres s Prize fo r Poetry . I n 1996 , the jurors selecte d Jane Ransom' s novel, Bye-Bye, an d Ann e Caston' s collectio n o f poems , Flying Out with the Wounded.

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JANE R A N S O M NEW YOR

K U N I V E R S I T Y PRES New York an d Londo n

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NEW YOR K U N I V E R S I T Y PRES S New Yor k an d Londo n Copyright © 199 7 by New Yor k Universit y All rights reserved This book i s fictional. Names , characters , places, and incidents ar e invented o r use d fictitiously . An y resemblanc e t o actua l people, places, or event s is purely coincidental . Library o f Congress Cataloging-in-Publicatio n Dat a Ransom, Jane Reavill , 1958 Bye-bye / Jan e Ransom , p. cm . ISBN 0-8147-7490- 3 (alk . pap.) I. Title . PS3568.A579B94 199 7 813'.54-dc21 96-5122 1 CIP New Yor k University Pres s books ar e printed o n acid-fre e paper , and thei r binding materials ar e chosen fo r strengt h an d durability . Manufactured i n th e Unite d State s of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For MM.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I offe r my sincer e gratitud e fo r encouragemen t an d in spiration t o Barbar a Sang , Tsip i Keller , To m Pappas , Linda Chester , Mar y Burt , an d Bo b Covington , an d particular thank s fo r brillian t editin g t o Barbar a Epler , and for insightfu l criticis m to Laurie Fox , Michael Man cller, Dorothe a Stillma n Halliday , an d th e indefatigabl e Andrew Kaufman . Thanks als o t o Lingo: A Journal of the Arts fo r firs t pub lishing an excerpt o f this book .

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BYE

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I dra w he r outline , hea d t o toe . W h a t follow s i s not easy . I pi n th e botto m o f th e pag e unde r m y righ t wrist , while tuggin g th e to p margi n u p wit h m y lef t hand , stretching th e pape r tau t lik e th e sid e o f a pup tent . Wit h my righ t han d I sta b th e pictur e repeatedl y wit h a nee dle, stayin g insid e th e lines , neve r prickin g th e sam e place twice . N o w he r skin' s a s roug h a s a chees e grater . I cli p around th e riddle d figure , wa d he r int o a cris p sponge , drop he r int o ho t chocolate . Bye Mom. M y mothe r use d t o strid e throug h countr y field s trailin g her palm s alon g th e wee d tops , unleashin g cloud s o f

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insects. Whil e I che w patiently , cowlike , th e pape r dis solves int o man y bits . I thin k o f the wa y sh e sucke d o n stalks o f grass . Yummy, chocolate . Ho w sh e spi t o n dr y stones to make them shine . A real flirt . She habitually caresse d he r coffe e spoo n whil e sh e talked, slippin g he r thum b int o an d ove r it s curves , along its edges, around an d aroun d an d around, withou t looking. I ha d t o look , mesmerized , mute . I swallo w hard to get it down, gritt y chocolat e cemen t coatin g my tongue. My mother was hard to get rid of. Becaus e in fact sh e was already gone . Ho w d o you thro w ou t a tenant wh o left yesterday ? How d o you evic t a ghost? Alive o r dead , my mothe r ha s alway s haunte d me . Althoug h I spen t relatively little tim e with her , I could neve r get ou t fro m under her . "No, dear . Orson Welles di d th e radi o broadcast , bu t Herbert George Wells wrote th e book. " As sh e spoke , m y mothe r patte d th e insid e o f m y elbow t o comfor t m e i n my stupidity . W e sa t thig h t o thigh, havin g stea k a t th e Ponderos a becaus e Mo m wa s visiting m e a t college , a ver y rar e visit . M y boyfrien d gazed back an d forth, waiting . "Is tha t right? " he finall y sai d for me , looking a t her . "Wells, wells, wells." {2}

She smiled, bravo, winked a t him, squeezin g my arm . Whether i t was The War of the Worlds or the worlds wars, I coul d neve r compete . Sh e alway s outdi d me . Sh e al ways knew better . "Exactly what d o you mea n by that, dear? " "Oh it s just, like , a phrase, Mom. Yo u know." She didn' t trus t me , no t eve n afte r my graduatio n i n journalism, magna cu m laude . Withou t warnin g I ha d dropped by California t o see her. "Well let's think." Mom didn' t give up. "There's really no suc h thing as jus t a phrase.' When yo u say , as you di d just now , 'Occupyin g Grenad a isn' t exactl y th e Nor mandy conquest, ' on e wonder s jus t which Normand y conquest you're referring to. " "I mean t th e famou s one. " No w I wa s i n trouble . Mom ha d caugh t me . "The famou s one ! Really dear , let's think. Th e 'Nor man Conquest ' cam e whe n Willia m th e Conquero r in vaded Englan d i n 1066 , wherea s th e 'Normand y cam paign' refer s t o th e Allie d invasio n o f th e Continen t i n 1944. These ar e both famous , bu t neither' s precisely 'th e Normandy conquest. ' Yo u see your mistake." I wanted t o be a s ruthlessly intelligent a s she was. That wa s m y mistake . W e ha d th e sam e nam e fo r a while, sure, but we'd never be equals . {3}

I coul d neve r catc h up . Sh e ha d bee n menstruatin g for year s an d year s by th e tim e I go t m y perio d i n fift h grade. I still love th e smel l o f new Kotex . I don' t kno w why. Sometime s dog s g o craz y ove r shoes , sniffin g th e leather like drug addicts. That sam e year my breasts grew big a s hers. Sh e forbad e m e t o wea r a bra. "You'r e to o young. An d becaus e I said so." The boy s torture d m e a t recess, callin g me "Jiggl e Tits, " "Flopp y Knockers, " an d "Boom Boo m Bazoom. " But Mo m di d invite m e t o tr y tampons. "Here , le t m e pu t i t i n fo r you. " I wante d t o say no, but I couldn't sa y anything. I wondered abou t he r motives. Why sh e left u s the following year. Women ar e tricky like that . The y preten d t o b e you r mothe r the n poof , they're gone . Surely , it was her departur e tha t eventuall y gave m e th e courag e t o finis h he r off . Still , I thin k w e loved eac h other . I f ever I do get anothe r dog , I'll nam e it afte r her . "Sit , Mom . Heel , Mom . Stay , Mom . Pla y dead, Mom . Goo d Mom . Ba d Mom . Bad , ba d Mom. " She's actuall y dead , no t playing . "Goo d girl! " An d I' m . . . smart now. Go t it ? There ar e plenty o f other wome n around i f I wan t tha t kin d o f company . I' m no t unde r anybody's thumb, not anymore , not unles s I want t o be. ••

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I yawn wide a s a horse an d try to remember if whoever s beside m e i s male o r female . I slid e my han d alon g th e {4}

ceiling o f the blanke t suspende d betwee n us , tak e blin d aim, lowe r my hand . A n erection . Large , firm . . . cold . Some lesbia n wit h a strap-o n dildo ? Wait . I fee l balls . Also cold . A strap-o n wit h ball s attached . I dro p my hand farther , t o strok e th e inside o f the thigh s . . . cold. I open m y mout h t o scream , the n don't . Althoug h no w I realize tha t eve n i f I wante d to , I coul d no t wak e thi s man, no w o r ever—nevertheless , I disengag e mysel f from th e sheet s as stealthily as possible. "Get up." My Lover has once agai n rudely awakene d me . "I said , get up . You'r e s o helples s lik e thi s i n th e morning. Anyon e coul d d o wha t the y wan t wit h you . Get up. Darling, would you mak e me breakfast? " "Some dea d guy was in bed with me. " "Better dea d tha n alive, " sh e says . "Dea d me n hav e fabulous hard-ons. " "Did you tel l me tha t last night?" "I'll tel l yo u tha t ever y nigh t i f i t make s yo u happy . Anything for your pleasure. Only please make me break fast. Us. Mak e us breakfast." "Yeah. Some dream . Gott a pee first— " "Don't forge t t o uh , wai t a minute , I didn' t get a chance last night, unti e your uh, fro m t h e — " "Ow. Fuck. Just fucking unti e me now." "I guess, " M y Love r says . "Althoug h yo u d o loo k {5}

nice, al l twiste d u p o n th e floor. A

littl e bruis e woul d

spice u p tha t kne e anyway. " "Fuck you."

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But th e trut h is , bruises don't bothe r me . The y ar e socia l butterflies, makin g colorfu l appearances , withou t depth . They don' t hurt . Fo r menstrua l cramps , I bit e m y hand , to shif t th e pai n around , ge t i t confused . Lik e mos t perversions, thi s i s not ver y original . O n e o f the bes t experience s I'v e eve r ha d wa s wakin g up fro m a n abortion . I found mysel f floating i n a n aston ishing absenc e o f discomfor t o r anxiety . I t wa s Demerol . It didn' t last . W h at I can't figur e ou t i s whether anesthet ics eliminate o r merel y conceal suffering. Doe s th e pai n still exis t eve n i f yo u don' t fee l it ? Thi s i s lik e tha t Z e n koan abou t th e fallin g tree . Puzzle s an d anesthetic s giv e me pleasure , openin g a tra p doo r i n m y claustrophobi c self-consciousness. M y Love r i s a puzzle. M y Love r i s a n anesthetic . M y Lover i s a religion—a vague , impersona l power , pleasan t to surrende r to . Sometime s it' s health y t o g o t o a docto r w h o touche s yo u al l over , the n addresse s yo u wit h n o more warmt h tha n a n IR S agent . I imagin e me n pa y prostitutes fo r thi s kin d o f distan t intimacy . W o m e n ca n get i t fre e fro m eac h other , hu g kis s hu g kiss , cherie. {6}

My Love r i s th e opposit e o f my ex-husband , i n gende r and i n relatio n t o me . Wit h him , I wa s alway s feelin g something. Marriag e riddle d m e wit h emotion , slo w rages tha t wrecked my posture fo r days , greedy joys tha t threatened t o catapul t m e int o th e fourt h dimension , o r even int o havin g kids . Whe n I mysel f wa s a kid , ou r family do g licke d an d licke d m y ne w kitte n unti l th e kitten was dizzy with happiness. Mommy, Mommy. Well I assumed it was happiness. Back hom e afte r th e operation , my husban d serve d me dinne r i n bed : spinac h pi e an d a Middl e Easter n lamb ste w he had made, following hi s family recipe . I'v e rarely felt s o taken car e of . Hubby , hubby . H e resemble d Mom mor e tha n sh e hersel f eve r did . M y mothe r wa s not th e nurturin g type . Bu t sh e an d my husban d wer e both the stoic, strong-minded, attractive , overall superior type. Which explain s how I finally wo n he r attentio n b y having won his. Back then , I live d i n th e rea l world . I remembe r i t well. W e ha d bee n marrie d quit e a while. I ha d grow n used t o m y husband' s physica l proximit y an d m y moth er's distant brilliance. And the n Shazam! my mother wa s suddenly ther e besid e me , flesh an d blood , whil e my husbands imag e flickered acros s th e T V sky . She ha d arrived in New York the same evening he spent in Washington bein g interviewed o n CBS . {7}

It was the firs t tim e I had see n my mother i n years. It was the firs t tim e sh e had see n my husband , ever . Ther e he wa s explaining o n ai r som e plan t o replac e th e franc , the mark , th e pound , an d th e peso wit h a single Euro pean currency . Mom wa s ecstatic: "So attractive . So well informed. S o articulate." That wa s just like my mother . I was more cautious , remembering Esperanto an d th e metric system . Bu t my husban d said : "Thi s ca n work . Money i s whateve r th e variou s government s sa y i t is , and people hav e to use it. Don't they. " Mom raise d he r inde x finge r an d nodde d a t th e TV : "Absolutely." After tha t sh e embrace d hi m a s her own . Thi s bega n the nex t da y when the y me t i n person . "Wha t a superb interview. . . . Yo u hav e suc h a fin e gras p o f Europea n politics. An d yo u pu t fort h you r point s s o elegantly . Money i s a fascinatin g topic , muc h mor e complicate d than most people realize. " That was just like my mother . My husban d nodde d an d thanke d he r politely , the n turned t o thro w hi s arm s aroun d me , saying , "Sweet heart, Sweetheart . I missed you." Mo m eye d me u p an d down a s i f meetin g me fo r th e firs t time . I t wa s th e beginning o f a new era . Sh e glance d a t hi m again , a s if to mak e sure . Bu t i t wa s clear : h e woul d neve r betra y me. {8}

Things seeme d simple r bac k then , w h e n I live d i n th e real world . Bu t whethe r the y actuall y wer e o r not , I can't tell . I t di d seem a s i f m y lif e wer e followin g one reasonabl e thread—whic h sinc e the n ha s fraye d into man y strands , ravelin g an d unravelin g beyon d con trol. W h e n I bough t th e firs t oi l painting , i t fel t slightl y more eccentri c tha n orderin g a sloga n T-shir t lik e th e one m y brothe r sen t awa y for , tha t says , " i A M GOD." I didn't lik e th e painting , bu t tha t ha d nothin g t o d o wit h it. I wa s curious . Curiosit y i s a dangerou s drive . O h , kitty, kitty . But a s th e painting s bega n t o stac k up , I di d star t to suspec t mysel f o f som e hidde n motive . I no w w o n der i f that' s redundant . Probabl y al l m y tru e motive s are hidde n (o r a t leas t misplaced) . S o man y thing s are redundant , repetitious , copie s o f copies , a d infin itum. I n an y case , I wa s mor e concerne d wit h wha t people woul d think . I didn' t han g th e picture s fo r fea r someone woul d se e the m an d assum e I wa s losin g m y mind. Peopl e bega n t o suspec t m e o f that , afte r th e divorce. I hav e th e painting s o n m y wall s now . They'r e pur e kitsch, disturbin g an d tacky , bu t I' m draw n t o them . Most w o m e n ar e fascinate d b y murde r an d mayhem . M y h u s b a n d — e x - h u s b a n d — o n c e tol d m e tha t i n som e parts o f th e world , w o m e n ca n b e pu t t o deat h fo r {9}

wanton behavio r lik e mine , and—Bu t ther e I go , ra veling. ••

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"Here we are: over easy, toast, jam, bacon, juice, coffee. " Why doe s My Lover always want me to coo k for her? And ho w i s it tha t my ex-husband , suc h a busy man , can shop for an d prepare perfect meal s four o r five night s a week, an d no t hav e a nervous breakdown ? Wherea s i t sometimes take s me day s to garne r the specific energ y t o fetch groceries . Flauntin g he r financia l superiority , M y Lover ha s al l he r grocerie s delivere d fro m Dea n & De lucca. She doesn't kno w abou t th e paintings. My Love r photograph s wome n wit h women . Sh e i s somewhat notoriou s withi n th e smal l worl d o f lesbia n pornography. (A s a teenager, I myself used t o dra w littl e pictures; sometime s the y wer e o f a woma n an d a man , but sometime s the y wer e jus t o f a woman , wit h leg s open.) Many magazines pay My Lover well for her work, although som e don't . A n articl e abou t he r firs t caugh t my attention tw o years ago, in On Our Backs. Th e articl e was accompanie d b y a self-portrai t boastin g biceps an d crewcut. I looke d u p he r numbe r i n th e Manhatta n White Pages. "Hello," I said . " I jus t wante d t o sa y I' m a grea t admirer o f your art. " {10}

She di d no t than k m e becaus e sh e di d no t believ e me . She aske d m e m y ag e an d name , i n tha t order . Sh e tol d me sh e wa s havin g a dinne r part y tha t nigh t an d tha t I was welcom e t o prepar e th e meal . I agree d immediately . I pu t o n m y blac k sued e short s whos e zippe r ra n i n a U shape—from m y bellybutton , dow n unde r m y crotch , and bac k u p t o th e to p o f m y buttock s betwee n m y tw o dimples. ( I owne d a fe w interestin g outfit s eve n then . Divorce doe s that. ) I arrive d wit h grocerie s a t 5:30 . Meetin g he r i n per son, I felt annoyed . I t wa s goin g t o b e m y firs t tim e wit h a woman ; I ha d though t i t woul d b e bette r i f she looke d like a man . Bu t i n rea l lif e sh e turne d ou t t o b e girlishl y petite, muc h smalle r tha n th e phot o ha d suggested , an d also muc h prettier—wit h he r Judy Davi s lip s an d wide , intelligent forehead . " M y guest s wil l b e her e i n tw o hours, " sh e said . I prepared babaganoush , cucumbe r an d yogur t salad , bas mati ric e wit h caramelize d onions , gree n bean s wit h garlic, an d th e lamb , braise d i n cumin , coriander , an d cinnamon; m y ex-husban d ha d taugh t m e t o cook . While I worked , sh e talked . "Ar e yo u sur e that' s goin g to b e read y o n time ? Tha t stuf f i n th e bow l look s greasy . N o t everybod y like s garlic . M y God , don' t overd o i t with th e sal t there. " T h e guest s wer e eigh t women , al l excep t on e ove r forty. T h e exceptio n wa s a twenty-three-year-ol d for {ii}

mer Mis s Kansas . Al l th e guests , includin g Mis s Kansas , approached m e (o r rather , distance d themselve s fro m me) wit h condescension , pity , an d glee . I wa s immedi ately recognize d a s on e mor e bimb o i n a lon g lin e o f M y Lover' s bimbos . Intuitivel y I acte d th e part , smilin g dumbly, dashin g abou t wit h tray s an d decanters , gigglin g inappropriately, wildl y bobbin g m y hea d t o mea n " y

es

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or eve n "maybe. " Late r on , afte r th e othe r guest s ha d gone, I receive d hig h reward s fo r m y efforts , onc e m y host finall y fel t compelle d t o tes t th e zippe r o n m y shorts. (It worked. )

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Dear , Each tim e I thin k I' m safel y o n th e way , suddenl y I fin d mysel f sliding back int o nostalgia , memorie s o f us together , ou r marriage , ho w happ y w e wer e to gether befor e th e crisi s hit . O r a t least , ho w happ y I REMEMBER us being. Because I'v e begun t o suspec t w e were neve r reall y happy, bu t perhap s tha t possibilit y i s too devastatin g t o consider . Becaus e i f w e weren' t happy, i f we wer e onl y pretendin g t o b e happy , wha t exactly wer e we , really ? But I kno w yo u hat e i t whe n m y min d begin s t o work thi s way—bot h yo u an d m y mothe r wer e al ways muc h cleare r thinker s tha n I eve r was—s o I'l l {12}

try t o ge t t o th e point . Actuall y I thin k tha t yo u an d my mothe r wer e alway s muc h to o similar , bu t again , that i s not th e point . You've mad e i t clea r tha t ou r divorc e i s final—o f course I hav e t o agre e wit h you—an d yet , i n man y small ways , i t seem s yo u can' t resis t leadin g m e on , you can' t resis t being just forgivin g enough , just crue l enough, jus t attentiv e enough , t o kee p m e tie d t o you. That al l m y friend s becam e you r friend s com pounds m y difficulties : sinc e ou r divorc e yo u hav e made sur e t o kee p i n touc h wit h them—s o tha t eve n when I just wan t t o rela x with a n ol d friend , I canno t get awa y fro m you . I t ha s reache d th e point , i n fact , where no w I nee d t o ge t awa y fro m al l thos e ol d friends a s well. Th e past , ou r past , threaten s t o suffo cate an y ne w lif e I make fo r myself . Why I'v e le t thi s happen , wh y I'v e bee n helples s to rid myself of this situation, why I'v e allowe d mysel f to remai n i n th e tortur e chambe r o f a dea d love , i s a bottomles s myster y t o m e — b u t that' s ho w i t is . Therefore, I have decide d t o disappear . You've proba bly figure d ou t I didn' t g o t o Paris . There' s roo m i n New Yor k fo r bot h o f u s now . I'l l cal l yo u later , maybe i n a few years .

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I've mentione d ho w I firs t me t M y Love r afte r seein g her i n a magazine. But thos e ca n b e unreliable , an d I generally prefe r t o lear n fro m books, especially librar y books, which carr y institutiona l authority . A year ago (a year after meetin g My Lover), I made a copy of my birth certificate; thi s wa s th e ste p whic h several library books suggested com e first . Next , I white d ou t my nam e o n the birth-certificat e copy , an d i n it s plac e pu t another : Rose Anne Waldin. Then I mad e a cop y o f tha t copy . I stamped thi s secon d cop y wit h a "Certified " stamp , scribbled o n th e lin e wher e a notar y public s signatur e was suppose d t o be , an d embosse d ove r th e stam p wit h a "Certified " embossin g seal . I ha d foun d th e nam e Anne Waldin by blindly inserting my finger i n the phon e book. T o make the name different I had added Rose, fo r Rose Anne Waldin. (I wanted t o b e Rosie because I never really have been.) I bough t a black, China-dol l wi g hal f a s long a s my own light-brown hair. I replaced my tortoise-shell glasses with contac t lense s tha t mad e my brow n eye s green . Wearing th e wi g an d lenses, I used Rosi e s birth certifi cate as an I.D. to get a drivers license. As Rosie, I parallel parked better tha n my old self ever had. A good start . With Rosi e s license an d birt h certificat e i n hand , I went nex t t o th e Socia l Securit y offic e (again , exactl y as the librar y book s suggested) . Rosi e explaine d tha t de spite he r thirty-fiv e years , sh e ha d neve r acquire d a So{14}

cial Securit y n u m b e r — h e r parent s ha d bee n puttin g he r through schoo l al l thi s t i m e — b u t no w sh e wa s e m ployed an d he r ne w bos s sai d sh e neede d one . Soo n sh e was 075-08-9713 . T h e followin g week , I liquidate d som e o f m y modes t inheritance an d ha d almos t te n thousan d dollar s i n money order s mad e ou t t o Rosie . A t tha t tim e I wa s living o n th e Lowe r Eas t Side . I walke d northwes t t o Chelsea, wher e I opene d a Citiban k accoun t a s Rosie . This wen t smoothl y becaus e I ha d th e Socia l Securit y number an d driver s license . Afte r seein g th e mone y orders, Citiban k als o gav e Rosi e a VISA card . For th e nex t tw o weeks , I looke d fo r apartment s i n Chelsea. Agai n wearin g th e wi g an d th e contac t lenses , I wen t doo r t o door , askin g th e superintendent s abou t vacancies. Eventuall y I secure d a sixth-floo r one-bed room. T h e previou s tenan t ha d lef t behin d severa l piece s of cheap, raw-pin e furniture . I n m y ol d lif e I would hav e perhaps finishe d i t i n som e natura l tone , o r els e trashe d it, bu t no w I painted i t al l pink, rose pink. I di d no t wan t t o mov e i n on e fel l swoo p fro m th e old plac e t o th e new , becaus e tha t coul d attrac t attentio n and creat e witnesses w ho migh t someda y connec t Rosi e with m y ol d self . This , I wanted t o avoid . I t wa s impera tive tha t n o on e catc h m e a t Rosi e s place , o r he r a t mine. I bega n visitin g th e Chelse a apartmen t regularl y but furtively , donnin g th e wi g an d doffin g m y ol d eye {15}

glasses e n route , an d eac h tim e droppin g of f a fe w o f my belongings . Withi n thre e months , I ha d transferre d various utensils , dozen s o f books , m y laptop , an d m y collection o f oi l paintings . I gav e ol d furnitur e an d clothes t o th e Salvatio n Army . (Afte r all , I' m a kin d person, a good person. ) As I prepare d t o finall y mov e in , I bega n t o fantasiz e that m y husban d woul d tr y t o trac k m e down . T h e mor e I fantasize d abou t it , th e mor e allurin g th e possibilit y became, howeve r implausible . Fantas y ofte n supplement s my reality . A t time s i n th e past , whe n applyin g fo r e m ployment, I firs t fantasized abou t th e upcomin g inter view, i n orde r t o bolste r m y confidence . Yes, fantasy' s hand y fo r managin g fear . Today' s woman i s compelle d t o "fantasize " bein g take n b y gun point t o som e undergroun d c h a m b e r — b u t ther e I go . T h e firs t thin g tha t a n intelligen t stalke r lik e m y hus band woul d loo k fo r woul d b e a forwardin g address . With tha t i n mind , I informe d m y ol d pos t offic e tha t I was leavin g fo r a remot e par t o f China . "Ther e wil l b e no mai l servic e wher e I' m going . Anythin g come s fo r me, just thro w i t away. " T h e cler k nodde d vaguely . He r bifocals wer e crooked . Sometime s posta l worker s sna p suddenly. Withou t a n address , I coul d n o longe r bu y mail-order artwork , bu t mayb e I' d ha d enough . O n th e othe r hand , I di d wan t t o b e abl e t o receiv e some correspondence , i n orde r t o maintai n busines s rela {16}

tions wit h m y lawye r an d m y accountant , particularl y i n case Rosi e go t int o troubl e an d I ha d t o dum p he r i n a hurry. S o I sen t m y lawye r an d m y accountan t a false lead forwardin g address , o f a postal-bo x servic e i n C h i cago. I arrange d i t s o tha t no w th e Chicag o servic e secretly forward s m y mai l t o anothe r servic e i n Cincin nati, whic h i n tur n forward s i t t o on e i n Detroit , whic h finally forward s i t t o N e w York . I t end s u p a t Mai l Mall , a saf e si x block s awa y fro m PostWorld , wher e Rosi e rents a box. Al l thi s subterfug e ma y hav e bee n unneces sary (m y ex-husban d woul d neve r stal k anyone ) bu t i t made m e fee l sough t after , important , an d i n control . Last April, I finished becomin g Rosie . I dye d m y hai r bluish black , an d ha d i t cu t lik e th e wig . I put togethe r a wardrobe o f hig h heel s an d lot s o f viny l an d velou r i n the brigh t color s o f th e paintings . M y earlie r sel f ha d been mostl y th e beige-or-gray , linen-or-woo l type . I wasn't plannin g t o hur t anyone , bu t I di d al l a t onc e fee l as gidd y a s som e teenage r w h o kill s bot h parent s an d burns dow n th e house , late r blamin g i t o n ritua l abuse . I also bough t a waffl e iro n an d bega n eatin g waffle s wit h butter an d syru p a t leas t onc e a day . I mis s m y sli m silhouette bu t mak e u p fo r i t with larg e dose s o f eyebro w pencil, liner , mascara , an d lipstick . O n c e I was move d in , I unwrappe d th e painting s an d hung the m i n ever y roo m excep t th e bedroom . I wante d to immerse mysel f in another's work. I exempted th e bed {17}

room onl y becaus e I suffer fro m insomnia . T h e painting s are alarmingl y simple , bu t the y wer e don e b y a famous man. S o far the y have had little effect , tha t I can tell .

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I use d t o ow n onl y on e piec e o f origina l artwork , a monotype m y husban d gav e m e fo r ou r firs t anniversary . I kep t i t afte r th e divorc e despit e m y bette r judgment ; sometimes, nostalgi a overwhelm s me . Rosi e maile d th e monotype bac k t o hi m thre e month s ago . Probabl y h e threw i t away . I remembe r th e da y w e bough t it . Neithe r o f us kne w much abou t contemporar y ar t back the n ( I have change d in man y ways) , bu t tha t da y h e too k m e t o th e Tote m Gallery an d tol d m e t o pic k ou t whateve r I wanted . " T h e Sumitom o Ban k just commissione d thi s galler y t o do thei r ne w Fift h Avenu e lobby . The y neve r mak e a bad investment, " m y husban d said . Year s later , I learne d more abou t th e Totem' s ignobl e reputation . Bu t bac k then, I truste d m y husban d s judgment i n nearl y al l mat ters. T h e sho w o f monotype s a t th e galler y tha t day—al l by a youn g ma n w h o late r mad e i t int o th e Whitne y Biennial—included a t leas t on e peni s pe r picture . Som e of the penise s wer e attache d t o bodie s bu t other s hovere d like streptobacill i ami d gelatinou s backgrounds . {18}

"High-class pornography . Let' s g o somewher e else, " my husban d said . "What? I didn' t hea r you, " I lied . "Thes e ar e s o beautiful. I definitel y wan t one. " In tha t brie f exchang e la y ou r entir e futur e (o r lac k thereof), al l ou r basi c irreconcilabl e differences : hi s in tolerance, m y dishonesty , hi s penchan t fo r labels , m y appetite fo r deviance , hi s fea r o f illici t sexuality , m y tendency t o dismis s hi s feelings . A t th e time , w e kne w nothing o f what la y ahead . T h e monotyp e I chos e depicte d a n anguishe d fac e above tw o penise s crosse d i n a n X , a moder n variatio n of th e classi c skull-and-crossbone s motif . I recal l tha t o n that da y i n th e Tote m Gallery , thi s pictur e hun g besid e the boomerang-shape d des k o f th e owne r qu a recep tionist. Sh e sa t readin g a magazine, wit h perfec t posture , her hai r (re d lik e m y mother's ) lacquere d int o a perfec t helmet. H e r self-assuranc e an d proximit y se t m e o n edge. " T h e wa y it' s painted , thi s fac e almos t resemble s a theater mask, " I announced . "I' m fro m a theatrica l fam ily, rathe r wel l know n actually , an d I'v e bee n applyin g t o graduate schools , t o stud y thes e things , uh , s o mayb e I'l l take tha t picture. " I remembe r speakin g loudly . She disengage d hersel f fro m he r magazine . " I see . Well, ho w . . . interesting. N ot man y o f ou r client s pursu e {19}

such a n anecdotal response t o a piece. Dear , migh t I ask, are you a serious buyer?" I recall how he r voice reminded m e o f my mother, bac k when I mysel f use d t o pain t picture s fo r Mom : "Wh y thank you, " sh e would sa y "Wha t a n interesting . . . tree. Isn't it . A tree. " I t wa s my mothe r who , s o lon g ago , taught m e neatnes s an d manners : " I hop e tha t you'v e put awa y th e crayon s an d th e pain t se t an d cleane d u p after yourself . Pretty please?" "Wrap u p tha t monotyp e fo r m e immediately" "My dear. " Th e red-haire d woma n tucke d i n he r chin. "Th e Tote m Galler y i s no t Macy's , o r Sear' s o r whatever you'r e used to . We'l l hav e t o discus s th e for m of payment , first , an d the n I'l l nee d you r nam e an d address. We keep track of all our artists' work." Sh e went on fo r quit e a while , a s I recall , an d ende d he r lectur e saying, "Whe n al l thes e step s hav e bee n completed , I will b e gla d t o hav e my assistan t prepar e th e monotyp e for saf e transport. " I ha d neve r mad e lov e t o anothe r woman . An d yet I instinctively longed t o sla p the receptionist . "He'll tak e care of it," I said. Of course , my husban d alway s too k car e o f every thing. {20}

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My husband thre w me ou t thre e years ago. Infidelity. M y husband travele d a lot . I n settin g monthl y allowances , bankruptcy court s understan d tha t th e mor e on e i s used to having , th e mor e on e needs , t o ge t by . Thi s truis m applies t o nonfinancia l matter s a s well . Wheneve r m y virile husban d wa s awa y fo r lon g periods , I fel t com pelled t o seduce other men. Now I am good a t keeping secrets , but the n I wasn't. One da y I tol d hi m abou t som e mino r tryst . (That' s redundant; the y wer e al l minor.) M y husban d agree d t o consider remainin g marrie d t o m e provide d I ge t help . But therap y backfired: th e mor e I talked t o th e therapis t about m y sexua l indiscretions , th e mor e sexua l an d in discreet I grew. My husban d discovere d thi s somehow. I accused hi m o f havin g rea d m y dat e boo k o r journal , but he swore he had read onl y my face. Whump. Out w e fell from ou r Edenic garden . At on e poin t w e wer e almos t allowe d bac k in , bu t came up agains t that age-ol d barrier, the condom. Yes , we were both disappointe d i n how it happened . After orderin g me to move out, my husband left fo r a long busines s trip . Durin g hi s absenc e I foun d a ne w apartment, packed, an d moved, cryin g throughout. I left my new numbe r an d address on his kitchen tabl e (whic h {21}

had been our kitchen table ) and the da y after h e returne d to Manhatta n h e phoned. "Coul d I have the pleasur e o f your compan y a t dinne r tomorrow , Sweetheart? " M y husband had not phoned onc e durin g his business trip. I had determine d tha t if he eve r did deign t o call , I would be to o busy to se e him. "Of course . I' d lov e t o hav e dinne r wit h you , when ever you want. " We wen t t o th e Cuppin g Room , whic h i s where w e had enjoye d ou r firs t drin k together , som e te n year s earlier, o n th e Fourt h o f July nigh t w e met , a s strangers, by accident . Tha t nigh t s o long ago, we had eac h sallie d forth alon e t o watc h th e firework s fro m Batter y Park . We had both arrive d to o late to se e anything besides th e throngs o f peopl e wh o ha d gotte n ther e first . H e wa s standing behind me, pressed up against me in the anony mous crowd, when I heard him sigh, "This is demoralizing." I ha d the n turned , see n hi s large eyes , cinnamon colored skin , an d blac k mustache , an d said , "I' d b e happy—no, mor e tha n happy , very very happy, to remoralize you." And so we had left Batter y Park and gone t o the Cuppin g Room . A decade later, it seemed ou r life had come full circle . Here w e wer e married , separated , an d i n th e Cuppin g Room again . H e tol d m e abou t hi s business tri p — "We pulled it off without a hitch, once the Labor Departmen t cooperated"—and I told him abou t my new apartment : {22}

"It's cute . It' s adorable . T h e view' s fantastic. " Somethin g was wrong . After dinner , w e walke d t o m y ne w plac e ar m i n arm . "Very nice . A bi t small, " h e observed . H e turne d o n an d off th e ga s stove . H e flushed th e toile t withou t usin g it . H e acte d proprietary , a s if this would b e a kind o f secon d home fo r us ; I fel t m y lif e wobbl e lik e a forkful o f Jell O still inche s fro m m y mouth . I poure d cogna c int o tw o paper cups . W e drank . W e talked . W e kissed , sittin g o n my ne w futo n sofa-bed . Eventually , w e pulle d ou t th e bed an d pause d fo r birt h control . " W h y i s th e be d squeaking s o much?" h e asked . " D o yo u thin k it' s assem bled correctly? " "I don' t know , Sweetie . Mayb e it' s hittin g th e base boards," I said , squeezin g foa m int o m y diaphragm . M y husban d leane d t o investigat e behin d th e be d frame. Ther e wa s a lon g silence . T h e n h e said , " H o w stupid o f me . A s usual , I though t thing s wer e simple . I should hav e known , wit h you. " "What's th e matter? " "See fo r yourself. " I ha d trie d t o remov e al l trace s o f recen t debaucher y before hi s visit . O f cours e I hadn' t bee n celibat e afte r moving int o m y ne w place , bu t I ha d trie d t o b e careful . Before hi s retur n I ha d hidde n th e bong , painte d ove r the cigarett e an d win e stain s o n th e windo w sill , washe d the sheets , throw n ou t th e empt y bottles , vacuume d th e {23}

rug, an d swep t th e floor. Bu t no w I looked—at a torn , empty, foi l Troja n envelop e stuc k i n th e crac k betwee n the floor an d baseboard. During th e ensuin g month s o f silenc e (h e refuse d t o speak t o m e fo r som e time) , it began t o see m mor e an d more unfai r t o m e tha t onc e I ha d move d out , m y having lover s shoul d b e see n a s betrayal. I ha d assume d marital separatio n mean t permission to sleep around. Bu t my husban d ha d imagine d I woul d spen d hi s absenc e thinking everythin g over , realizin g ho w muc h I misse d and love d him , an d vowin g t o chang e m y slutt y ways . To discove r (an d a t suc h a poignan t moment ) tha t th e predicted transformatio n ha d no t occurred , mad e my husband fee l tha t he' d bee n mad e a fool of . Fo r whic h he has never forgiven me . ••

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GF, fortyish, overly educated, seeks "dinner conversation" with equally (if possible) brainy broad, in hopes of friendship or possibly more (and if so, lucky you). I don't necessarily expect you to be as attractive as I am. #2858

I calle d he Supplement's personal-a d respons e number , punched i n extensio n 2858 , an d lef t a message I hope d the overly educated Gay Female would understand : "I' m as discriminating a s you are . Phone m y answering machin e {24}

as to when and where." I gave Rosie's name and number . Some day s later th e phon e rang , I waited , th e machin e clicked on , an d th e messag e wa s left . "Friday , Jul y 7 , eight o'clock , 31 0 Riverside Drive , apartment 13-A. " I tr y t o breath e slowly , calmly , bu t a s the doo r t o 13- A opens, I g o numb . I stan d gaping , to o self-consciou s t o take i n muc h o f what sh e look s like . We eac h exten d a hand, bu t neithe r o f u s step s forward . She' s talle r tha n me, like my mother. I lean far towar d her an d fear I may topple ove r lik e a corps e int o he r arms . Instead , w e shake hands. Then sh e bow s he r head , say s somethin g courteous , and usher s m e in . Th e ceilin g i s low . I se e onl y a fe w windows, an d the y begi n hig h of f th e ground , a s i n a dungeon. Th e furnitur e i s bulk y an d awkward , expen sive yet dismal. She continue s he r urban e hostes s mono logue, beckons me further int o th e dar k living room an d hands m e a full win e glass . He r shor t blon d hai r stand s on end , gelle d int o a shocke d position . "Th e response s so fa r haven' t thrille d me, " sh e says , referrin g t o he r a d in he Supplement, Ne w York' s newest ultrasmar t weekly . She lean s bac k i n he r swive l armchair ; my turn . I' m thrown of f balanc e b y th e gloom y apartmen t an d th e emerging fac t tha t sh e i s extraordinaril y attractive , wit h a lon g neck , delicat e ears , luminou s blu e eyes , Nordi c cheekbones. I fee l sill y an d demoralized , sun k int o th e {25}

marshmallow sofa . T h e n I remembe r I' m Rosie . An d I notice th e woman' s stif f posture, no t exactl y prudish , bu t somehow snobby . Time's up. I repositio n mysel f o n th e edge o f he r couch , lif t m y glas s i n a unilatera l toast , observe it s blood-colore d content s agains t th e light , an d begin pontificatin g abou t wine . "So wha t I' m sayin g i s tha t basicall y ther e wa s a consensus amon g th e eighteenth-centur y bourgeoisi e t o match instea d o f clash— red mea t wen t wit h red wine , and white mea t wen t wit h white w i n e — a lo t lik e gettin g a blue handbag t o g o wit h you r blue shoes . Thi s prove d you weren' t lowe r class . O f cours e th e reall y ric h people , the aristocrats , didn' t giv e a flying fuc k an d wen t o n drinking whateve r the y fel t like. " Rosie s littl e speec h cause s Persona l A d t o dro p he r cigarette, burnin g a hol e i n th e woo l rug . T h e spo t smokes an d stink s fo r a secon d befor e Persona l A d pick s up th e cigarette , an d grind s th e ember s unde r he r heel . Immediately sh e mention s th e Catholi c Church' s us e o f wine an d (shrewdly , inspire d b y th e smokin g rug ) incense. O h sh e to o i s clever . "Incens e didn' t ente r th e Churc h until th e Middl e Ages , yo u know . There' s nothin g par ticularly Christia n abou t it . T h e ancien t Greek s use d it, an d s o di d th e Egyptians . Jus t anothe r exampl e o f Catholicism incorporatin g whateve r socia l custom s nec essary t o preserv e it s ne plus ultra!' " O h yes , o f course, " I say . I don't , i n fact , kno w wha t {26}

she means , becaus e I don' t understan d Latin ; bu t I am able, fro m m y year s o f newspape r reading , t o mak e fu n of th e Catholi c Church' s update d Universa l Catechism : ". . . I gues s spiritual speculatio n wa s alway s a sin , bu t now it seems that buying into Florid a real estate can also send yo u straigh t t o hell—whic h i s somethin g I'v e al ways suspected." She doesn' t laugh , bu t wanl y smiles , a s i f politely . Over th e nex t fe w hours , sh e brings ou t plate s o f olives and cheese , an d eac h time , a s she passe s near , I star e a t her prominent cheekbone s an d big blue eyes . Eventually we move to the dining room, where she sets on the table a fish-shape d dis h holdin g saffro n rice , lobste r claws , clams, an d mussels . Sh e light s candles . Th e fish-shape d dish an d th e candle s strik e m e a s suspiciously premedi tated. Wome n ar e known t o b e secretiv e killers, poison ing people , smotherin g childre n wit h pillows , adminis tering injections t o th e unconscious . I'm getting drunk. If I were goin g to kil l someone else , I'd do it differently . I have noticed most women my age don't drin k muc h anymore; afte r thirty , i t get s ugly . By th e en d o f dinner , she an d I hav e finishe d of f tw o bottle s o f wine . I sens e her likin g an d dislikin g my image : China-dol l hair , re d silk vest , an d platfor m sandals . W e retur n t o th e livin g room an d start in o n a third bottle . She take s th e chai r again . I sin k helplessl y bac k int o the sofa . Th e mor e I drink, th e mor e question s sh e asks. {27}

But sh e remain s ston e face d an d fail s t o respon d t o m y answers, excep t wit h mor e questions . I adher e t o th e truth a s muc h a s I can ; i t make s lyin g easier . Ever y no w and then , i n a tossed-of f aside , sh e reveal s devastatin g facts abou t herself—"M y uncl e bega n rapin g m e w h e n I wa s fourteen"—an d the n swiftl y withdraw s eac h tim e and snare s m e wit h anothe r question . " H o w di d yo u fee l about you r brother s illness? " " W h y don' t yo u finis h graduate school? " " H o w di d you r fathe r los e hi s job? " Unable t o tur n ou r mutua l gaz e bac k ont o her , I' m helplessly swep t alon g b y th e interrogation , tryin g t o keep m y answer s logicall y connected , bu t instea d bein g pulled lik e a kit e int o som e spac e wher e finall y I a m floating, alone , ye t no t free . "So, Rosie , you'v e move d aroun d a lot i n th e las t fe w years. Rathe r rootless , aren' t you . Interestin g . . . " Interesting was alway s a n insult , comin g fro m m y mother . Such smu g put-down s devastate d m y brother . The y ma y have bee n wha t di d hi m in . N o , impossible . M y brothe r was alway s a hopeles s case . A s fo r m y father , w h e n m y mother sicce d tha t wor d interesting o n him , h e wa s caught betwee n no t believin g he r an d wantin g t o believ e her. Fo r years , sh e ha d not found m y fathe r interestin g in any way whatsoever, an d ye t sh e continue d t o us e th e ter m against him : interesting. It was her mos t casual , crue l for m of dismissal . {28}

"I haven' t bee n abl e t o yet , bu t wha t I wan t i s t o ge t close enoug h t o somebod y s o tha t I ca n trus t them, " Personal A d says . No, no, no. I gra b th e kit e strin g an d hand-over-hand hau l mysel f dow n throug h th e strato sphere unti l I ca n touc h groun d an d bac k awa y fro m her . Safe. Bu t sh e craftil y coaxe s m e towar d he r agai n wit h a question abou t happiness . I buckl e an d tal k o f suicide , surprising bot h o f us . "Isn' t ther e anythin g tha t make s you happy? " sh e asks . I fee l m y fac e collaps e fro m win e and eterna l depression . " T h e dinne r wa s wonderful . Tha t ric e stuff . Reall y delicious. I f onl y I didn' t hav e t o ge t u p s o earl y tomor row fo r m y denta l appointment . Thi s wa s s o nic e o f yo u . . . I wan t t o reciprocat e soo n althoug h I' d rathe r no t have yo u over , I mea n I' d rathe r tak e yo u out, yo u know , to a nic e restaurant . Becaus e I' m a terribl e coo k and , well, I don' t hav e muc h o f a kitche n i n m y ne w apart ment." "Certainly Rosie , yo u ca n coo k something. " " N o , i t wouldn' t b e an y good , reall y . . . I don' t hav e any pans , ther e ar e onl y tw o b u r n e r s — " "Get som e pans. " " O h . Yes , you'r e right . O f course , I lik e t o coo k fo r other women . Okay . Anyway , i t wa s fun. " She kisse s m y chee k withou t touchin g it .

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{29}

In th e elevato r down , I chang e m y mind . B y th e tim e I reach m y apartmen t I' m desolate . Wh y di d sh e le t m e go? I reac h fo r th e saucepa n an d sla m i t agains t th e refrigerator. The n th e sam e wit h th e cast-iro n fryin g pan. O f course I have j?