I’m Losing You (15 page)

And now, without further ado, it's time for…

GIRARD'S LIST—PANTHEON OF THE ELITE
!

With this New Year, I restate my goal: to forge a career in the vein of the following: MICHELE PFEIFFER, UMA THURMAN, LAURA DERN, ANDIE MacDOWELL, SANDRA BULLOCK and LINDA FIORENTINO. {JULIA ROBERTS, you MAY return to the List in coming months but I CANNOT for some reason relate to you just now {{could it be the dream I had of you and your brother, ERIC? He was falling from a rock and you would not extend a hand—would not let bygones be bygones}}. I DO love you for your camera-beauty {{you are like the ceramic white-and-gold plastic horses I kept on my bureau as a lonesome child}}, your regal independence and ability to unapologetically command a male star's fee so important to all of us working {{and unworking!!}} actresses. Did I mention your quirky taste in men, which is exactly MINE? For me, LYLE is neck and neck with TOM WAITS. I know you were meant for each other and hope you will find your way back again; it is hard to be strong in the ceaseless glare of Media; love is always better the second time around.} If I fail to achieve in my own trajectory as artist, surely it will only be for having set my markers too high—of that, I cannot be ashamed.

You'll Never Eat Me During Lunch
…

Park City exhausting but worth it.
Janie Wong Eats Cum
was beyond anything I'd hoped for (title refers to gang graffiti; Nexus had to censor and will release as
Janie Wong
). Funny, fierce and made me cry—three days in the snow with Pargita (Snow): she's the one, the one, the one! And, E, the most
unbelievable
thing is I actually own a painting of hers! As Orson Welles said, it's all true. I evidently moved into her loft in the East Village about a hundred years ago, inheriting a canvas she left behind in the fury of decampment after her split with Kelvin Grotto. He, the Mad Collagist of NoHo. I remember finding it in the closet—Pargita said she
deliberately
left it but I kind of doubt that—E, you will never believe—it's the oil on the wall of my study. Haven't you seen it? Do you know what it's
of
? It's the image of the accompanist—the piano player standing at the window in Pasolini's
Salò
! You know: the pianist goes over to the window and you think she's taking a break or something but she just steps out to her death, walks into the air like a sleepwalker. Pargita Snow left it and I've always hung on to it. Not too bizarre. I offered to return, and she refused. Made a few calls—it's probably worth about twenty-five thousand. She is
obsessed
with Pier Paolo and was planning a movie of his life called
The Agony of P
³
. She tried to get Malkovich interested and you know, I think he'd be great for the dad. Serendipity doo-dah! Kismet and kizz me too, oh cum-drunk Janie Wong! The girl is
wild
. Smoked tons of hash (been twenty years) and went midnight range-riding with Oliver Stone and a horde of Nexus execs (I call 'em “Nexex”). Heard all kinds of gossip: like Arnold Vega's fucking his fourteen-year-old stepson! (Put that in your Prince Albert and smoke it.)
And
…that while she was making her documentary, Gaby Silverman masturbated a prisoner—a multiple murderer, no less! Did some masturbating myself, won't say with who::::::::::Here I am again. Boy, some cliffhanger. You won't get it out of me; let's just say he's famous and young enough to be the son I never had…and
you
, sweet guy Friday, would gleefully rim Al Sharpton after a marathon run for a chance at
thirty seconds
of tongue-in-cheek with unsaid paramour. Oh what the fuck, it's Cat Basquiat. There, I said it. Now, unstick your tongue from the floor and keep typing. Sez he wants to see me when we're back in L.A. but there's::::::::::Eric, do I have a Calliope today? That
new pill is giving me cotton mouth. It's called Zoloft; Katherine Grosseck's on it too ‘cause she's been having love problems—that's right, with my very own editor. (Not too incestuous, this town.) She calls it “Zoloft, been good to know you.” Don't you just
love
it? That's why she's a writer and I'm a talker. Or am I?

T
O:
SHARKEE
@
CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU
(S
TOCKER
V
IDRA
)

F
ROM:
DOLPH
@
AOL.COM
(K
ATHERINE
G
ROSSECK
)

Am cut to the bone. What did I do to invoke such rage? That was a
love
letter, anyone could see! The only “hidden agenda” was how I hate that you're in Ohio, Vidra—hate being apart. Staring at the stupid laptop for hours, wondering where I went wrong, pathetically looking for my hidden agendas. So
tired
of being the victim…sitting here with my Wheat Thins, Cherry Coke and Percocet, Powerbook a gray grave, headstone scrolling its digital glow-in-the-dark epitaph. Does that make you happy? Isn't it obvious that I feel
nothing
toward Donny? And I was teasing about Phylliss. Hanky-panky with Phylliss Wolfe? Jesus, Vidra! “Dolphina will swim away” was flirty and frolicsome; to you, it was a “passive-aggressive doomsday scenario.” Hel-
lo
?
Are
you seeing someone else? Kinda sounds like it, no? Like you're looking for the egress. If it's true, Vidra, let me know; I'll stay on my perch awhile before climbing down. Tough finding trapeze work these days.

MEMO
: To Oceanspray Strongboy Sam

NBC's doing Daddy's series,
Palos Verdes
. The announcement buoyed him—for a few days, we were a happy TV family again. He snuggled you. But now he's back to five
A.M.
workouts and coming home so late. Did you know your daddy was cross-eyed when he was just a tiny boy? They corrected it with surgery before his teens but I think Jeremy actually feels he “passed something on,” though the doctors say there's no connection
whatsoever
. One of those crazy
macho things—he's convinced your sightlessness is on account of his weak genes. We both went and saw a therapist, Mitch Markowitz, recommended by—guess who?—your godmother, Holly Hunter (who's coming all the way from Warsaw to see you soon, ya know). A
very
empathetic man. There's evidently a long waiting list (he's married to a famous “shrink to the stars”) so we were lucky Holly got us in. Sure helps having a godmother who's an Oscar winner. Ain't nothin' but a g-mother thing! Jeremy was uncomfortable being there and I thought he (Dr. Mitch) did a bang-up job at setting him—setting us
both
at ease. I think he'll draw Daddy out of his shell.

Wouldja like to be in motion pictures? Or do you just want to swing on a star? I'll be taking you on casting sessions soon—to give you the lay of the land. Shelby says I should wait awhile but I'm feeling housebound and want my Gregor Samson to see the world. Gregor Samsa was a big old bug. Phylliss Wolfe hired a director for
Teorema
named Pargita Snow.
Par-gi-ta Snow
—isn't that strange and lovely? Seems I'm the only one who never heard of her; then again, I'm the only one with a big butterscotch ball in her lap, too. Holly's dying to meet you, did you know that? She might have to go to Boston first, though—maybe she'll bring some baked beans for the Beanbag.

T
O:
SHARKEE
@
CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU
(S
TOCKER
V
IDRA
)

F
ROM:
DOLPH
@
AOL.COM
(K
ATHERINE
G
ROSSECK
)

Crying for two days…Pink Dot keeps delivering blue ice masks. Haven't left the house—all dressed down, with no place to go. Dreamed I was in the hospital (for some reason, it was the Writers Guild) and they were tying me to the gurney. I asked why and they said because of your “restraining order.” My dreams always did tend to lean toward the literal (littoral?). Have you forgotten St. John's, Vidra? You said you'd kill yourself if you ever hit me again. You promised and you never reneged…but can't you see, Vidra, how this is the same? Out of
nowhere
? It's been so wonderful—until now. I'm beat up all over again—

That's Anne Sexton.

T
O:
SHARKEE
@
CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU
(S
TOCKER
V
IDRA
)

F
ROM:
DOLPH
@
AOL.COM
(K
ATHERINE
G
ROSSECK
)

The Dolphin lies at the bottom of her tank, tangled up in blue fisherman's net, with her Dolores O'Riordan.
Does anyone care…Does anyone care…Does anyone care
…

***
The THIEF of ENERGY

A two-hour, in Benedict. A mid- to well-known screenwriter named Katherine Grosseck. It seems apparent, from
Buzz
magaine and other gleanings/cullings—and copious ads in
Variety
and
The Hollywood Reporter
—that she is more than likely to be nominated for an Academy Award for
Imitations of Drowning
, the filmed bio of Anne Sexton (poetess) that starred Emma Thompson. Not very many people saw it (including me!) but I told her I loved it anyway. No harm done. They are all such egoists, but pretend to be humble. They'd never ask, ‘Oh really? Which part did you love?' instead taking your comment as one of countless myriad laurels thrown at their well-deserved feet. I think she's an important person for me to connect. I told her I wrote, and she seemed interested rather than on the dismissive. She's cute (gay, I am sure) and I think with some money reserves, but maybe saving it for the Big Purchase because the house, though rustic, is a tad dilapitated. There
is
a creek, though, and the most beautiful old green Jag in the Garage—two flat tires. I want it!

She screened her calls during the rub, and one came in from Jodie Foster—I egregiously pantomimed if she wanted me to leave the room but she shook her head so I kept on. She put it on the speaker. I think she got off on that, like people do—you know, playing the
pragmatic syabarite mogul in front of me, Gina Tolk, lowly flesh kneader. (It made me think of
I Love Lucy
when Lucille Ball was rubbing John Wayne. Wanda and I watched that together, a lasting, laughing memory of my beautiful sis.) Katherine and Jodie were talking about some script, obliquely kissing each others asses (they wished), that predictable, always fascinating Tinseltown dance. Later, I circumlocuitously asked what she was working on, and she said, ‘A few things.' She wrote something new called—I don't remember the name, but it was Italian adaptation. Carte blanche, I asked if she knew those from the creative side of
Melrose Place
. She didn't, she said. She asked why and I said some of them were clients. I further inquired if she knew anything about
Palos Verdes
, newly created by one of the architects of
90210
and
Melrose
, named Jeremy Stein. She said she was ‘confined' to features and I sensed it wasn't the appropriate moment to pursue—her energy suddenly diffused, becoming straggly—and I hoped she didn't take my query as too much the grievance-based non-sequitur. Though she could not have known any details as they were not forthcoming! I'm glad not to have continued in the line of questioning re: Chris Carter, forty-year-old executive producer of
The X-Files
—or wife Dori, too, a scenarist.

Last part of rub was intense. Took as much energy from her as I could, and it just drained and drained, like venom from a snake. I took energy from her sexual organs—maintaining professional propriety at all times, I firmly pressed down on the lower stomach close to Pubis, while telling her to breathe deeply. I think too she was loaded. I know I could have done stuff to her but would like a possible mentor-like relationship so didn't want to indulge any hijinks; they tend to backfire. By maintaining pressure, I believe I gained access to areas of her disipline (film structure, dialogue, arc of character) that will be useful, even temporarily, as it is tapped—pure, without extraneous neurotic bullshit she carries around in daily life. She was relaxed afterward and pleased enough to make another appointment. She is entering my webb.