Ever After (2 page)

I wanted to move out of Venice. Wills was starting to grow up and we were in the middle of a big drug scene. The clinic where people would stand outside in the morning to get their “meth” was only a block from our house.

Dad came up with the idea we might enjoy living in Idylwild. This is a place in the Los Angeles mountains above Palm Springs, more than a mile high. It's well located for Danny's “territory.”

We all drove up there, and I loved it right away. We lucked out and found just the kind of house I always wanted. Dad had made money writing
Birdy
and lent us some so we could buy the place.

Danny and I were getting along better. Wills loved it up there. There were rocks to climb, the smell of pines, snow in the winter, and beautiful, clear, star-filled nights. Blue jays and raccoons, pine cones and acorns were everywhere. Wills adored his little nursery school and I sometimes worked there. Danny didn't have any more driving to do than he did in Venice. His territory was huge. Idylwild was in the middle of it. The only trouble was the long drive up through the hills. But he was terrific about it.

Then, Danny was offered a chance to work for Honeywell Bull. Dad had helped Danny write his application and resume, and we were happy because it was much more money, with better prospects, than selling steel. The trouble was we had to move to Phoenix, Arizona, where Danny was put into a training program.

It meant selling the house of my dreams. In a certain way, that was when the dream really ended. We sold the Idylwild house for a profit, paid back Dad, and bought a place in Phoenix. It was a new house, sitting in a bare space surrounded by other houses just like it, without even a lawn. I couldn't get accustomed to living in an oasis surrounded by desert. I'd never lived like that. I couldn't believe it was me living in this house, with Danny off to work most of the time.

I did everything I could to make it a real home but I hated to look out the windows. Everything was so barren. I'd been spoiled by Idylwild, and even by Venice, but especially by living with my parents in Europe most of my childhood. At least there was always something interesting to see. Here there was nothing. It was so hot. Practically no one walked in the streets.

Wills started school, and I announced to Danny I wanted a divorce. There were no other men in my life but I knew there would be soon and I just wanted out. Danny was broken up about the whole thing and we were up night after night, talking it all over. God, it was hell. Looking back, I can see I must have seemed a real bitch to him. Maybe I was.

Dad and Mom couldn't understand at all. Dad sat down with me for a quiet talk the way he did when things seemed to be getting out of hand. Most of the time he kept out of my private life, wanting me to work things out for myself, but once in a while he couldn't hold himself back. It was the same when I started smoking. Then, again, when I first started having sex. It was the same with drugs. He'd explain his ideas and it was hard to argue with him.

On the smoking thing, he talked very quietly to me in my bedroom, first asking if I smoked. There was no lying about it. I smelled of cigarettes all the time, I was getting up to a pack a day, and the teachers had told Mom I was spending time between classes in the smoking area. He was quiet.

“Listen, Kate. I know it's your life, but in a certain way your life is ours, too. We've spent a hell of a lot of time and effort getting you this far along, clearing up diaper rashes, pumping your stomach out when you drank Chlorodane, getting you through fevers when the doctor thought you had polio, keeping you from being run over, nursing you through chicken-pox, measles, mumps; the whole thing. We fed you vitamins, made sure you had all the shots to keep you from getting the worst diseases. You know you never had any other milk to drink except your mother's milk or goat's milk until you were four years old. I pulled milk from the teats of our goats every morning and evening.

“It really makes us unhappy seeing you do this to yourself. Do you know why you smoke?”

God, he could be so hard and mean in his quiet, tension-filled voice. I promised I'd stop but I didn't. He knew I wouldn't but he'd done what he felt he had to do. That's the way Dad is.

Then, with sex, he told me to be careful for health reasons, make sure the guy wears a condom. But he had to go on.

“More than anything else, Kate, sex is one of the greatest joys on earth, like Christmas. But it can be the same as having Christmas every day in the year if one becomes promiscuous. There won't be any thrill left.” He tried to talk to me about the difference between romance and sex, that when sex came in the door, too often romance went out the window, cornball things like that.

I didn't know what the word promiscuous meant. When I told some of my friends what he'd said, they thought it was cute, and awfully funny.

With the drug thing, they were having a big crackdown at school: even the president of the Board of Trustees' and the Headmaster's kids got busted. Sometimes I think there was more pot than cigarettes in the smoking area. This was the early seventies and we were all trying to catch up to the sixties. Dad cornered me in my room again. He pulled out a small bottle with about three ounces in it.

“Look, Kate, do you know what this is?”

He didn't wait for me to answer.

“It's Mexican golden, some of the best pot you'll find. A friend of mine sold it to me. He was going back to America and was afraid of customs.

“This bottle will always be on the top shelf in my closet in the bedroom. Any time you want to smoke, take some, but only smoke it in the apartment here, and with none of your friends around.

“The French are very tough on this stuff. If you get caught, since I'm not with a big company, we'll all have to leave France in forty-eight hours. I really don't want to do that. We like it here. You have to think about our lives, too.”

He considered pot, and all other drugs, a cheap shot at what can be earned the hard, real way by personal creative activity. He was convinced it stopped people, chemically, from making the tremendous effort to get a personal “high” based on their own capacities.

“You see, Kate, when I was an art student at UCLA, I read Huxley's
Doors of Perception
and was deeply impressed. I volunteered to participate in some experiments on LSD 25. That's what they called acid back then. They wanted artists, and paid us thirty-five dollars a day to be guinea-pigs. I did it twice. They injected the stuff into my arm. After about five minutes, I became aware of the clothes on my body. It was really erotic. I could hear the clinking of neon lights, and was fascinated by the shadow of a typewriter being used by a secretary across the room.

“They took me to the LA County Museum where they asked me to describe the paintings. The colors seemed phosphorescent and in different layers. On the way back to the university in the car, driven by the experimenters, I was suddenly on the edge of a bad trip and curled up on the seat.

“The cars out the window seemed to be getting bigger and smaller. It was only normal perspective changes but my mind wasn't up to that kind of rational realization.

“I went back one more time when they wanted me to try painting after the injection. I thought I was painting the most beautiful painting in the world and was so happy I cried.

“But after they'd cooled me off in a dim room for a few hours, I came out to look at the painting I'd done and it was just paints smeared together into a uniform brown, the kind of thing an untalented kindergartener might do.

“I think I learned something, Kate. What happens with those drugs is the thinking part of the brain is repressed so feelings are very strong. The ability to discriminate, to make decisions, to understand the nature of the physical world is distorted.

“Now, that's fine if you have an ordinary brain and don't have any plans for it. But you have a fine brain, Kate, and I'd hate to see you screw up the wiring, short-circuit yourself.

“You know, after that experience, it was almost two months before I could work up the enthusiasm necessary to do any valid painting. Remember the word ‘enthusiasm' comes from the Greek for ‘with the gods.' It takes real discipline and involvement to paint well and I'd almost lost that.

“I wouldn't touch any of that stuff again for love or money. It's only a way of saying you don't have any confidence in your own identity. In a certain way, I think people who become dependent on drugs are like alcoholics. They have so little self-respect, they want to escape from themselves. It's a form of psychic suicide.”

He stared at me with those marbled blue eyes of his sunken under his chimpanzee brows. But he convinced me, and I stayed away from it all. I might be one of the only ones of my generation who got through the test-by-fire without getting burned.

That's the way Dad is. He'll be so laid back most of the time, sometimes you think he just doesn't care. But he respected us. He wanted us to make our own world but he didn't want us to get hurt.

When I told him I wanted to divorce Danny, I knew I was probably in for a bad time. He came to visit, and I spent about half an hour trying to explain. He sat on a little stool with his legs spread apart, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He watched every movement in my face or else he just looked down between his legs. He didn't say a word until I was finished.

“Do you think Danny loves you?”

“Yes, I think so, but …”

He held out his hand lightly.

“Does he love Wills?”

“You see him, Dad. You know he does.”

“Do you have reasonable sexual relations? I don't mean whammers every time, but good married sex?”

I didn't think he'd ask that. Mom would never ask anything in this area. I took a deep breath.

“I guess, compared to most other women I've talked with, we have as good sex as most.”

“Do you have orgasm?”

He looked me straight in the eyes.

“Not always. But I can get it off myself when I want. I don't need Danny for that.”

I never thought I'd be able to talk about this with either of them.

“He doesn't beat you, or drink secretly, or take drugs or anything, does he? Does he have other women?”

“No to the first questions. The last one, I don't think so, so far. I think I'd know.”

“So it just comes down to your being bored with him. Do you think you'd be bored with some other man?”

“I don't know. Dad, I've been all wrapped up with Danny since I was sixteen. I don't know how I'd feel around another man.”

“Maybe you ought to find out, before you do anything drastic, Kate. Remember you're going to hurt both Danny and Wills, probably yourself as well, if you do go through with this divorce. These are some pretty nice people. Make sure.”

“But, Dad, you aren't really asking me to go out and have affairs are you? I don't think I'd like that.”

“Well, then why not make the most of what you have? It isn't the worst situation in the world.”

“You aren't asking me to live my life out with a boring man?”

“Lots of other people do. Men live with boring women and women with boring men. Sometimes boring women live with boring men, that's the way it is.

“You know, Kate, you can't say you didn't really know Danny when you married him. You two had been like married for two years before you actually went through the formalities. It was a free choice. You must have had some idea.”

I grew quiet. I knew I had to stick it out some more. I didn't want to. I wanted to take Wills and just split. Dad then asked me if I'd spoken to Camille, my younger sister.

“She's had a lot more experience than you, Kate, even though she's five years younger. There's something of the street-fighter in her. Ask her opinion about what her life's like. She's free as a bird. I'm not sure she can really fly but there's plenty of sky around her. Ask her what she thinks.”

I hadn't talked with Camille about anything. She's so aggressively positive about things and, like Mom, always sounds as if she's living in some high-school play. But it was an idea.

Wills came in and grabbed Dad by the hand and pulled him out into the yard to be pushed by him on the swing. I've pushed that swing so often I've developed monster shoulder-muscles. I spread out on the couch and cried for the first time in weeks.

Well, I did divorce Danny. It was messy, and the lawyers were the only ones getting anything out of it until Danny and I sat down and worked something out ourselves. I didn't want alimony, only what Danny could afford for child-support. We'd split whatever we could make on the house, but it wouldn't be much.

Danny lost his job at Honeywell Bull, as did a whole lot of other people, and he returned to selling steel, but with another company. He moved back to Venice, a small apartment.

I figured the only way I could support myself and Wills was to finish my degree and earn a teaching credential.

It was an uphill battle at my age with a child, but I enrolled at ASU, Arizona State University, and wangled a couple of jobs on campus. One was in the geology department, where I thought briefly of becoming a geologist, both because it paid well and because so many of the geologists were men. There wasn't much female competition, either. The other was in the German department, where I was in charge of putting out their bimonthly periodical. I learned plenty about writing and publishing—although I almost got fired when they discovered my written German wasn't as good as my spoken.

I enrolled Wills in a nursery school on campus and paid his bill by putting in a few hours a day there. I was very busy, but also surprised at how well I could do in my classes now I was motivated.

Dad and Mom came through with some money once in a while to help cover the bad spots, but in general, I was on my own. I was growing more and more confident, both as a student and as a woman. I began going out and liked being able to pick the men I wanted instead of being locked in with one.