by Chuck Kinder
So we have a lot of living to do, and to make up for, Yes? And we will, you’ll see. I love you, it is as simple as that and as complicated. We’ll make it together and will make it with a minimum of fuss – all the fuss has gone on these last weeks. Things are going to get better, no question. As long as our love is a constant, and I know that in my bones, the other business will take care of itself and we will be together.
All love, always
R.
Dearest Lindsey –
And how are you, love? Hope I didn’t ramble on too much or sound too ghastly drunk – at your expense, too – when I called you up last night. There’re always so many things to say and, seemingly, so little time in which to say them that I sometimes fear I’m talking only in sheer banalities or generalities, esp. if I’m a bit in my cups, only letting fly with a word or a phrase now and then about what’s really on my mind. Anyway, forgive me if such seems the case. What is needed, I think, is to talk to each other every day, and in person, in bed. That’s what I’d like. Ours has been an unusual relationship, to say the least. We have something together, we have a great deal, or it simply wouldn’t, couldn’t, have gone on like it has. My life underwent a profound sea-change when we met; I wouldn’t have it otherwise. That meeting in Missoula last August will always have to be one of the most extraordinary, and beautiful, events of my life, past or future. And I know it has not ever been easy for you, given my situation. In truth, I know it has been most difficult at best, to put it mildly. I often feel edgy, afraid embarrassed, even, that you might feel you have compromised yourself or your principles; and I’m absolutely terrified that you might ever think that I or “the world” might see you as simply The Other Woman. Believe me, with all the belief your heart and head can muster, when I say that I love you and love you deeply. You’ve become part of my life as I, admittedly selfishly, hope I’ve become a part of yours. These written words are all such poor substitutes still for what I really feel and want to say. As you said in one of your letters, we must promise each other to sit down and talk about whatever might be bothering onr or the other. One of the things Buffalo Bill said the other night when he called so drunk, and he was giving me the run-down, low-down, and general gossip a la Bill, was that if I ever made you a clear and determined offer, you’d accept. I’m paraphrasing now, but it was something like that. He was doing a bit of talking, true, really going on, drunkenly, and he did say some unflattering things about you, about other men in your life, lots of other men, that you are called in some quarters The Black Widow, for preying on hapless fellows like some hobby! But I didn’t listen to any of that. The only thing I heard was that I could be the man who could make an honest woman of you, his words, not mine. But is it true? Could I make you an offer you wouldn’t refuse? That’s what I meant last night when I talked about trust. Damn, I’m afraid this letter is or has become entirely too somber, rambly too. Sorry. Just writing it line by line, rather slowly, not looking back at what I’ve said nor looking ahead very far either. Need to see you. Need to have some long slow quiet mornings. Need to lie back at night and watch the stars in their courses, etc. need to love you and to feel your love for me. And the sooner the better. I feel a tiny bit hung over I’m afraid, a tiny bit spaced. Can’t seem to get it together, get myself together, I mean. Vast, empty spaces inside. Unidentified flying objects flapping around inside my chest and my head. Meanwhile, a stack of letters that needs answering go unanswered, poetry and fiction manuscripts go unmailed, not to mention unwritten, is there such a word as that last? Yes, there is. Maybe today is just a lousy day, but all these days are without color and incredibly long. Opened one letter a while ago which told me I was $180 overdrawn on my Master Charge and would I please refrain from using it. Nothing but nothing in life is easy; profound, huh, but I learned that a long time ago. We, the two of us down here, Alice Ann and I, have had some very bad nights and mornings – one of the worst when I called you the other morning and she happened to pick up an extension – I’m talking sleepless nights, no appetite either one of us; everything sort of at a standstill. No guilt trips on your part either, please, at the moment. I love you, you know, and that is a constant. And I still can’t get over my amazement with it all. I’ll call you later and probably wind up telling you much of what I’ve just said. Hope your telephone bill can stand up to it for a while longer. Much love.
R.
Dearest Lindsey –
Just off the telephone. Made another pot of coffee. Had a good eight hours sleep last night, up at six this morning, feeling good, feeling groovy, confident about everything. This thing the other night cleared the air or something so that you wouldn’t believe it. Maybe it was good it happened, but nothing like that will ever happen again, for sure. Have been told that love and hate are very similar, that is very close to each other, but never really believed it, am not sure I do now, only thing I know is there has been a great deal of intensity in this relationship down here for a very long time, years. We’re both a couple of extraordinary and complex people, and it has not been easy on either one of us to make a new life, have a different life, envision a life with someone else. Have told you I never thought I could love anyone again, and that was and is true. Love you. Terribly much. I know we can make it – soar, in fact. These have just been hard times for everyone, you not least of all. At the least I can imagine some of what you too must have gone through, been put through, these past weeks, the separation, worry, doubts, guilts, what-have-you, including all that shit coming down from mutual friends and so forth up there. But look, we’ll ride all this out, we will, as long as you don’t lose heart, and you won’t, and I won’t, & we’re going to have something when it’s all over because we’ve wanted it so badly, and had to wait for it for so long, and, besides, it’s just there, baby, it has been there for me since those days in Montana; I was hit and hit hard and I guess I knew then that my life could never be the same again. We’re going to be all right. The awful waiting is damn near killing, however, but I’m determined to have you, as I said. And, yeah, all them fellas, whoever, says we’re not going to make it, or whatever they say, we’re going to show them we can come through.
Got some good Cat Stevens playing on the FM. Goddamn but I’m so lonely for you. Don’t worry about anything down here. Thing are going to be all right and run smoothly until the first of Jan. After that too, you know what I mean, no hostility. It would have created a dreadfully difficult scene if I had tried to come up that week. I told Alice Ann I had a long talk with you on the phone and that I was leaving, as that was what I told her I wanted more than anything else. As I’ve told you, that night we talked for hours, about everything, you, me, she, the future. Also, as I told you, she asked me to please stay here through the holidays and then if we’re going to separate have an honorable separation without any scars and bitterness. We’ve come through a lot, and come through it together, for a long time, good times and bad, and all that we’ve put in deserves more than an absolute foundering replete with viciousness, hostility, and vindictive bitterness. I do seem to be going on, don’t I? Anyway, no more hostility down here and no more violence, just understanding from here on in. And by the way, I’ve clipped Alice Ann just twice in my life; once years ago in Arcata, and once this fall. This last time I swore to myself never, never, never again, no matter what. And she’s blasted me twice; once the other night, a roundhouse right, plus a few other assorted jabs, I think anyway, and once also a long time ago. This last Sunday took place in a cocktail lounge where else, about one in the morning, some late night entertainment for the other drinkers. Guess it sounds pretty low-life, huh? Anyway, never again, as I said. Although, in some strange way, it seems to turn Alice Ann on.
Felt a tiny bit nervous when I talked to you this morning. Fear you’ll think I’m prevaricating, that’s not the right word, fear you’ll think I can’t make a decision, or that I’ve so many problems of one sort or another you might just decide to throw in the towel and look around
for a nice clean-cut guy who is entirely unencumbered, or something. Anyway, I did feel a little nervous, I have to admit, a little embarrassed about everything, and a little worried too about your reactions to everything. Please write me again as soon as you get this, will you, love? If I could afford it I’d send this ir mail special so maybe you’d have it by tomorrow night. I tried to borrow some money from my mother but she claims I still owe her which isn’t true and makes me worry about her mental state, that maybe her memory is going. I also tried to borrow a couple of bucks from my pal Jim Stark, but he also claimed I owed him. I should not have paid him back the last time when he was half-drunk, because then he can make the claim that he doesn’t remember it. Oh well. Missing you so much. Love you, you know that. Close this up for now. Take care of yourself, little fish. I promise to do the same. No nervous breakdowns or anything like that down here. Never. Feet too firmly anchored in that peasant stock. Wow, I wish I were nibbling on your toes right now, and then right on up that shapely thigh, etc. etc. Yes. Yes. Yes. And, yes, thanks for the loan. I’ll get it right back. Hope you can drop that money order in tomorrow’s mail.
Love ever
R.
Dearest Ralph –
Just getting up. Luxuriating in Saturday morning. Actually, it’s already 1 p.m. My crazy cat managed to rouse me for the 8 a.m. chow session on the backporch. She let me know she was quite annoyed, thank you, that I didn’t grace her dish with sirloin – letting me know she is very bored with the Puss & Boots bullshit. But then as I’m scooping out that horrible stuff from the can she suddenly has no manners, that cat. And I have to push and toss her here and there to fill her bowl. Must get to Italy someday and see how all of those cats live. Doris Lessing has a nice short story about that. I am quite convinced of the cat’s place in the arcane. Cats always skulk around the corners of our rational life. But then what do we, you and I, know about rational life? We, I should have said, have to get to Italy someday, my love.
So here it is Saturday morning/afternoon. I’m knocking around the house and trying to pretend you are here. Just had my bath and first cup of coffee. Labor Day weekend, and I plan to stay here and read and take a few more strides into my thesis on Lessing. Angry with myself for letting it go these past two and a half years. Yet, it’s really rather incidental, except perhaps as a booster when I apply for law school. No excuse not to finish it. Have time on my hands and no money in my pocket. Guess the fates are conspiring to get me to start looking after my life.
Have a couple of things on my mind I want to write you about. Have taken time out to bring my coffee pot up here, plump a couple of pillows under my wooden chair. Never have been able to sit in a chair like a lady. Always like to have my knees somewhere near my chin. This chair is big enough that I can bring both feet up, and still have room to move my arms around and type. Coffee, phone, cigarettes, work strewn about on the desk. And a whole day to think of you, write to you, enjoy these feelings, a luxury of love.
Read your yesterday letter several times. Once for the surface message. Reread it for between the lines. As I get to know you better, I find more in your omissions than you might suppose. Love you, you rascal. But, oh how difficult to find out what’s really happening to you. See that my letters even at their greatest provocative level, fail to prod you into elucidation. Christ, love. I believe you are getting things together, but I can’t help worrying – at what cost. Will I like what’s happening? Will you?
So I laugh, hug your letter, call you a scamp of the first order, and tuck the letter in my purse to carry around with me everywhere to pull out again and again to reread. But this time I’m going to write out a list of questions to fire at you on the phone – I’ll have to write them out, for when you call I get so excited I forget all the things I want to know and babble-babble-babble. And there are things I really want to know. In your last letter you said you and Alice Ann had the talkies, and that she understood more about us … whatever that means. What does that mean? Do I run for cover, keep smiling, think about tomorrow, consider myself a villainess and vamp about my bedroom, or what?
Suspect rather that I’m a tolerated evil of sorts, but that’s only egotistical guesswork. More important, what’s happening with the two of you? Can you communicate more freely, more naturally? If so, that is definitely all to the good. Well, anyway, I’m honestly not the least bit jealous – that would be absurd. But I am envious. Really want to be with you, talk to you … everything in its time … am bouncing up and down, getting cramps in my toe. How’s your wonderful curly head?
Anyway, about last night. Kathy and I went out for drinks around 8 p.m., while Buffalo Bill was roaming around God knows where. We talked at length about their marital problems. Ugh. Oxydol or Tide brings you the next installment. Anyway, I feel there is no real hope for a full marriage there. Kathy is absolutely turned off about sex – period, and has been ever since their baby was stillborn which is the first time she has said this to me. So Bill will have to settle for an affair here and there, if he wants to maintain the existing relationship. Too bad really. Think Kathy understands how important that is to him, esp. as he enters the fucked-up forties. But she is psychologically unable to comply. So, the story will probably continue to have its bizarre aspects, the essential aspect will remain constant. Both are unwilling to consider or initiate substantial alternatives.
I also found out why Bill is so down on me again. When he returned from fishing at Duck Lake last week he stopped in the Flame Lounge where he heard that Kathy and I had been in for drinks on a couple of occasions, and that we were jokingly called the Tavern Touring Twins. A harmless enough thing, I suppose, but it really bummed Bill out, not to speak of me. Guess if one has to be slammed that’s one of the most innocuous ways to have it done. But Bill’s reaction indicated how tenuous my friendship with him is, how easily he will dismiss me because of his anger with Kathy. In the fit he threw, he told Kathy he would do anything he could to see that you and I do not get together, and that I would only fuck you up. I know he was speaking in anger and that the anger was directed at Kathy and at me only incidentally as an associate of hers, but it still seemed outrageous. She told him that she knew nothing about my association with you, that I did not confide in her on that matter (this after some probing on Bill’s part), so perhaps things still rest there. I still feel pretty badly about all of that. I haven’t done anything to hurt Bill, certainly nothing that I am aware of, except maintain my friendship with Kathy. Must anger always be so unreasonable?
Anyway, at about that point in our conversation we were joined by a couple of guys, uninvited, one we knew, the other his friend. I wasn’t interested so I insisted on buying this guy a drink. Some weird policy, I suppose. I refuse to let a guy buy me a drink because then he thinks he has more rights than he has. Most men don’t understand this, however, and tend to be belligerent. Guess he didn’t either, because he got pretty irate, was drunk to begin with, and announced that he was going to fuck me that night. At that point I should have left the table, but I decided that maybe I could explain things to him and turn him into a rational adult man. I’m always doing stupid shit like this. Thinking I’m God or something. So anyway, we continued talking, and things calmed down. He accepted the drink. Said he was just a dumb cowboy looking for love, and I said I was just a poor working girl, so I wouldn’t buy him anymore drinks and I didn’t want any more myself. Kathy left at that point, went across the street to get something to eat. I could have choked her. The guy then put the hustle on me. I explained that I didn’t want to be hustled. I wanted to be able to stop in at a bar for a drink without a hassle. I added that I was really interested in someone else who lied in California and simply couldn’t get it on with him. At that point he pulled out his wallet and said he would buy me a plane ticket down there, gave me his credit card ... no strings attached, he said. I handed it back to him and got up and split. Even while I thought it was rather funny, it frightened me, and I don’t quite know why. And I do
n’t quite know why I’m telling you about this incident. Except that these things happen. I’m pretty dedicated to keeping my life here totally straight. Find that I’m lonely occasionally even though the day is peopled pretty fully. Guess I miss you and substitute encounters just don’t fill that space. You may know the feeling. Even while seriously considering another person, what he’s saying, what he’s feeling, I suddenly wonder where you are – a whole world away. It just sneaks up like that, until you realize that’s where you were all the time, thinking about the one you love.
