Drama tells the titillating story of bad karma and kinky sex among the thespians of the Alfred Jarry Theater. Jonathan, a playwright associated with the theater, lives with his director and lover, Kristine. But soon this stable arrangement collapses. He has an affair with a deviant actress, Karen, who has just left her husband and is seeking sensual experiences of extreme debauchery wherever she can find them -- no matter whom she destroys, including herself.



Publié par
Date de parution 07 janvier 2013
Nombre de lectures 15
EAN13 9781608729456
Licence : Tous droits réservés
Langue English

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Michael Hemmingson
This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press. http://www.olympiapress.com
There has been a wound, and I realize now that it i s very deep. Instead of healing me as I thought it would, the act of writing has ke pt this wound open. —Paul Auster The Invention of Solitude Yeah...and...so? —Nicky Silver Fat Men in Skirts
ACT I. “The Torrid Affair”
ONE It starts, sort of, with an e-mail Kristine Wilson sends to Jonathan Morely:Do you want to have a torrid affair? Her user name is JadeCookie. There's a night, later, in her car, when Jonathan r eaches over to kiss Kristine. She turns her face. He kisses her on the cheek. Her che ek feels fuzzy.
She is directing a play he's written calledDrive Anywhere. The next night, they have a few beers at the bar ev eryone at the The Alfred Jarry Theater hangs out at. Then he is in her car again ( a beat up Ford that doesn't seem to work too well) and Kristine says, “Let's go to my p lace.” “Okay.” “You've never been to my place.” “Where is it?” “Not far.” She has a one-bedroom cottage that, she tells him, she used to share with her ex-husband Kyle, who is a resident actor at The Alfred Jarry Theater. She parks the car and takes his hand and leads him into her home and says to the air, “Jonathan Morely.” “Yes?” “Nothing. I just like saying your name.” It is a very cozy little place spare of furniture, a lot of bookshelves over-filled with hardcovers and paperbacks, and a small adjacent alc ove where a Macintosh computer sits. “Do you want some wine?” she asks. A white cat jumps onto the screen door, and crawls through a hole. The cat stops and looks at him. Kristine returns with two glasses of wine. “That's my cat. Her name is Kat, spelled with a K.” “Seems like she was being chased the way she came i n,” Jonathan says. Kristine sits next to him. “No. She just pretends s he's in some kind of great adventure.” “What genre?” “She thinks she's aspy,a secretagent,being chased by thebadguys.” Kat walks into the kitchen, and eats cat food from a bowl by the stove, then walks into the cat box under the sink and does her thing. It is a warm summer night. A breeze comes in throug h the screen door. He feels awkward. He knows why she wanted him to come here, but he doesn't know what to do. Kristine isn't making any overt gestures, giving hi m any looks, sending him the signals that saytorrid affair now. “The play is going good,” he says, to say something . His play. She nods. “It's going to be real good. But I'm a little nervous.” “Why?” “It's not the kind of play I usually direct,” she s ays. “So dark, so violent, so poetic. I think you're an awesome playwright, but I've said t his a million times in email.” Adding: “Among other things.” He finishes his wine. Was that a hint? Why is he ac ting so timid? He should just take her. He should lean over and grab her, kiss her. He touches her shoulder-length blonde hair. She is staring at him with her large blue eyes. “I usually do a Tarot reading for every play I direct.” “You know how to do Tarot cards?” She smiles. “I used to do it for a living.” “You're joking.” “No. I worked three years on a phone psychic line.” “Then you must be reading my mind,” he says.
“It's not like that. It's more—intuition. I bet you have some psychic ability. I feel that you do.” “I've been told—” “What?” “That I do.” “Can you read my mind?” she says. “You want...another glass of wine.” “Well,” she says, “I guess I do.” “You have cards here?” he says. “Tarot cards?” “Yeah.” They re-fill their wine glasses and she takes him t o her bedroom. She says her cards are under the bed: “To maintain their connect ion to the vibration of my body.” She has a large futon with a fluffy comforter. They sit on the futon. She says, “You shuffle the cards.” He does. Kristine spreads out a white kerchief, pla cing stones on each corner. “What are the rocks for?” he asks her. “Balance.” “How long do I shuffle the cards?” “As long as you want. Have you been thinking about the play?” “Yeah,” he says, wanting to say:And you. He is really asking the cards: Am I going to fuck her tonight?He is thinking about the play, too. “When you feel ready,” says Kristine. “How do I know when?” “You just know.” “I feel ready.” “Cut the cards.” He does. “Here,” holding out her hand. She takes the cards a nd places them on the kerchief. “This formation is called The Celtic Tree. Interesting,” she says. “What?” “Interesting.” “What is it?” “Things will go well,” she says. “A lot of power, a lot of energy.” “It's a good reading?” She looks up. “A very good reading.” He kisses her. Or she kisses him. In any event, it happens. There are fireworks. She pulls him back on the bed, on top of her body. They kiss for a long time. “I didn't think,” she says. “What?” Catching his breath— “I didn't think you'devermake a move,” she says. “I was waiting for you.” “Oh come on.” “I was.” “Please.” “What?” “Please,”she says. “I'm not aggressive. Getting you here is about as aggressive as I get. My move was to get you into my house. Your mov e was next. But here we are.” “Here we are,” he says They kiss more, and undress. Her body is thin and w hite, she has small breasts.
She moves to suck on his cock. She likes sucking on his cock, and we will, gentle reader, later discuss her obsession with sucking co ck. She says, “I want you in me,” getting on top of him. “I think I have a condom in my wallet,” he says. “It's okay. When I went to the bathroom, I put in s permacide jelly.” “I don't mean that.” “What is it?” “We don't know each other.” She leans down. “I trust you. You seem very healthy and safe.” “How?” “Intuition.” “Psychic powers.” “Oh yes,” she says. “The Tarot cards told you.” “They told me a lot.” “Like?” “Like how good we'll fuck,” she says, reaching down to guide him into her cunt. “I haven't been with anyone in almost a year,” he s ays to her. “Why?” “I don't know,” he says. “I haven't.” “See. Healthy and safe.” “Have you? Has it been a long time?” “Two months.” “With your ex-husband?” “We're still married,” she says. “The divorce hasn't gone through.” “Was it with him?” “No.” “Who?” “Does it matter?” He says, “No.” “Be quiet now,” she says. She is loud as they fuck, buckling on top of him, c oming twice, reaching down to kiss him, perverse noises coming out of her nostrils. Sh e gets on her back, he put her legs on his shoulders. She has a smile on her face, eyes closed. She looks beautiful under him, as she had on top of him. Her cat, Kat, sits on the floor, watching. He comes inside her. She falls asleep quickly, deeply. He can't sleep. I t is always the same, with new lovers: he can't sleep that first night, that first week even. It takes a while to be comfortable. He gets up, goes to the bathroom. It is hot. His naked body is sweating. He looks in her fridge, finds a half gallon of milk. H e drinks some milk. He loves milk. He walks around her cottage. This is indeed a very nic e place, nicer than the stuffy sublet he has downtown. He closes and locks the front door . He wonders how she can fall asleep with her house open to the world. The cottag e is snug and safe in a secure area, away from the street, with a few other cottages nea r. But still. Kat has been following him. He feels like he doesn't belong here; and at t he same time, he knows that this will soon be his home. He has always trusted his sense o f destiny. Maybe he's psychic after all. He goes back to bed, cuddling next to Kristine's ve ry warm body. She is lightly
snoring. He wishes he could sleep. In the morning, she wants to fuck again. She lies o n her back with her legs spread open, her hand between her legs and two fingers circling around her pussy. “How do you feel?” she says “Good,” he says He gets on top of her. Her cunt is strong and musty . It all seems so alien. Her hair is a mess. After, she takes a shower. He goes to the f ridge and drinks more milk. He returns to the futon, closes his eyes, his body tin gling—he needs sleep. She is back in bed, dripping with water. “We have rehearsal this afternoon,” she says. * * * He stays the next night. They have dinner, they fuc k twice, and they talk in the darkness of her bedroom: “Why a year?” Kristine says. “I don't know. I haven't met anyone.” “I don't believe that.” “It's true,” he goes, kissing her. “Why two months? She goes, “Well, it was six months before that, whe n Kyle and I split up.” “It wasn't anything serious?” “No. Oh, no,” rolling her eyes. “Can I ask who with?” “If you want.” “Okay. Who with?” “With Dave,” she says. “Dave?DaveDave?” “Yeah.” Dave is the artistic director of The Jarry, and he' s also cast inDrive Anywhere. Jonathan had been submitting his plays to Dave for two years before one was finally chosen. He remembers, over a month ago, sitting in on auditions in the theater, and Dave came in. He said he felt he should play one of the characters inDrive Anywhere. Kristine had nodded and said, “Yes, you'd do good i n that part.” Dave smiled. Jonathan thought: You can do that sort of thing when you're the artistic director. “I've heard things about Dave,” he says. “Like?” “Like he sleeps around.” “Well,” Kristine says, “he does.” “But you're not sleeping with him anymore?” “No. He wants to. But no. I'm sleeping with you now.” “Oh.” “I only slept with him twice. Both were mistakes re ally. The first time, we were at this friend's place, a few of us, we'd been drinking a l ot, I couldn't drive home. I had to share a bed with him.” “Convenient.” “The next thing you know—” “I get the picture.” “I figured why not, it's recreational, and it's bee n a while since I've been laid.” “You made him wear a condom, I hope.” “A slut like that,” Kristine laughs, “of course!” “Of course,” he says.
“I didn't know the trouble it'd cause. Word got aro und. You know how gossip goes, especially with this theater. Or any theater. Peopl e were whispering: 'Oh, Dave and Kristine slept together!' It got back to Kyle, and he was pissed. He and Dave don't get along well. They used to be good friends, but then— well, Kyle did get Dave's girlfriend, who was my best friend, pregnant.” “The plot gets complicated,” Jonathan says. “Lisa used to live in the cottage across the way, s ometimes with Dave, when Dave felt like he wanted a steady girlfriend. One mornin g, I'm taking a bath, just before rehearsal for a play both Kyle and Lisa are in, and Kyle comes into the bathroom and he goes, 'I have something to tell you. The guilt is t oo much and I have something to tell you.' 'What?' I go, knowing it's going to be bad, t he way Kyle was talking, his tone. He goes, 'I've been sleeping with Lisa.' So I went, li ke, 'Oh,' because I'm not all that surprised, Kyle and Lisa got along well, and Lisa, well, Lisa is like Dave—a lot of fucking. 'There's more,' Kyle goes, he says: 'She's pregnant and she says it might be mine.' 'It might?' I go. 'She doesn't know who the father is for sure, but she says it could be mine.'” “Who were the other candidates?” “Dave, Jake, Steve—a few others.” “Okay.” “I mean, I get this news, and I have to rehearse wi th these twothatAnd later day. thatI'm supposed to do laundry with Lisa. So I did laundry with her, and I'm evening looking at her stomach and I'm thinking: 'She might be carrying my husband's child.' 'Are you mad at me?' Lisa asks me when we're foldin g clothes, and I say: 'No, I'm not.' I wasn't. In fact, I was relieved. This was the excus e I needed to get out of this marriage. I'd been looking for an excuse, and now it was hand ed to me.” “You didn't want to be married?” “No. Not for one minute. I had no idea why—well, my parents were pressuring me. This was when Kyle and I were living in Arizona. I'd been living with Kyle for a year, and my parents were going, 'You should get married.' I' d just finished graduate school so I figured: 'Okay, why not, I'll get married, I have a Master's degree, marriage just seems like the next step in life.' On my wedding day, I w anted to run. My parents got this whole huge stupid wedding party assembled, I wore my gran dmother's godawful big white wedding gown and everything. I look at my wedding d ay photos and I see myself smiling and looking happy but inside I was screamin g: GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE! I didnotever loved him. I care forwant to be married to Kyle. I didn't love him. I n him. But I've never been in love with him.” “But you married him.” “Yes. But now he's been having an affair, he just i mpregnated my best friend, so this seemed like a good time to end it. That night, I sa id: 'Kyle, I want a divorce.' He said okay. 'I want you to move out.' He said okay. He di dn't have to move his stuff far—he went across the courtyard to Lisa's place. I mean, if they were going to be a family. For a while, he was all happy about it. 'I can get into the idea of being a dad,' he was saying. Of course, everyone was treating me so nice , like I was the hurt victim, and Kyle and Lisa were the bad guys. But I was just: 'Well, I'm finally out of this marriage and thank goodness!'” “Had Kyle had an affair before?” “Never. Not that I know of. He's very honest. He wo uld've told me. I had an affair, though. A year before this incident. Anyway, so Kyl e finds out I slept with Dave and he's pissed off. He'sjealous. 'We're getting divorced,' I tell him. He goes, 'I don't care who
you sleep with, but did it have to be him?' I go: ' It happened once, it was a mistake, it won't happen again.' So a week goes by and Dave cal ls and he says to me, 'Everyone's angry at us, I think we should talk.' So he comes o ver here and we have some beer and we talk about how angry everyone is with us, how wh at we did was a mistake, how it'll never happen again, and we wind up fucking again.” Jonathan has to laugh at that. “Itisabsurd,” Kristine says. “That morning we're both feeling a little awkward. In fact, when Dave and I went down to the theater, we ran in to you on the street. This was about—yes, two months ago. Remember?” “I do,” Jonathan says. He does recall, it'd just be en a quick passing—he was in a hurry, Dave and Kristine were walking the other way . “That's when I knew I wanted you.” “No.” “Yes,”ing with Dave when I wantshe says. “Because I said to myself: 'What am I do Jonathan?' It was a revelation. So I told Dave: 'It won't happen again.' And it hasn't. Sometimes he tries—at the bar, at parties. He comes up to me and he says: 'Why don't we go away?' and I say: 'No, Dave, no.' I don't kno wwhathe's thinking.” “Maybe he's in love with you.” “Dave doesn't know what love is,” she says. “I mean , I've never seen him in love. I've seen him with a lot of women, and except for m aybe Lisa—no.” TWO That Saturday seems like a good day, to Jonathan, t o drop acid and go to the beach. He has about twenty hits of LSD in his fridg e. He has been dropping at least once a week the past two months. Jonathan loves aci d. He loves the beach. He loves combining the two. He goes to Black's Beach, a nude beach, which isn't easy to get to —you have to walk down these steep cliffs. He spend s a few hours lying in the sun, and wandering around, and having a good acid trip, and having good thoughts: thoughts about Kristine and his play and life. For a while, he had been living like a hermit, as he has done often, writing plays and poetry, working d umb jobs, getting fired from dumb jobs, not having much of a social life. Now his soc ial life is looking pretty decent. He wishes to be with Kristine right now. He wishes she were on the beach with him. She's told him that she sometimes comes to Black's Beach, with other members of The Alfred Jarry Theater. Black's Beach is best during the wee kday, it's not so crowded; usually young people from the near-by university and die-ha rd, past middle-aged nudists, most of whom are men and are gay. On the weekends, it's packed with naked bodies. Jonathan has long gone past his gawking-at-naked-wo men phase, and his embarrassment to find very secluded areas. He likes to find a spot to put his towel down where few people are, and he likes his solitude—rea ding a book, listening to a tape on his Walkman, going out into the water. On days like this, when he drops acid, he just likes to wander around and think. He's thinking a l ot about Kristine Wilson and their blooming love affair, and his play, and his poems, and the essays he'd like to write, and
how he probably should find a job soon before all t he saved money he has (which isn't much) goes away, and how there are things moving around by his feet and legs. He's in the water, almost dick-high to the water, and he lo oks down, he sees these black moving shapes. Stingrays, and a lot of them. “Oh sh it,” he says, and makes his way out of the water cautiously—telling himself that stingr ays don't sting as long as you shuffle; brush against them, they'll move away: step on...


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