If I have to call him, I try to leave a message, take care of it
indirectly: I talk to my agent and ask her to call him. He always
has me come in. I go in with a list: the things that must be
taken care of. I pull out the list and say: this is a list. I cross
things off the list as we discuss them. It is never less than four
hours, six hours. I try to get it done. He must tell me this and
that. He loads me down with gifts: books. They are cheap gifts
from a publisher, but nevertheless: they are special, precious,
what I love, not thrown at me but given carefully, in abundance, he introduces me to new writers, he gives me beautiful books, he thinks about what I like and what I don’t like. He
keeps me there. My list sits. We walk out together. We get to
the corner. I go to shake his hand. He kisses me fervently. I
walk on, alone.
*
He takes me to dinner, it is the same. Romantic. He talks. I try
to end it. He talks on and on. I shake his hand. He kisses me. I
walk on, alone.
*
140
The meetings go on for months. I go to his office. He keeps me
there. Everyone leaves. He tells me sexy stories, his lovers, his
adventures. I have my list out. He talks about writers. He
gives me books. He talks about himself, endless. It is dusk. It
is dark. There is a sofa in his office. He brings me over there. I
don’t sit down. I keep standing. I am formal. We walk out
together. We walk several blocks together. He does not acknowledge any of my moves to go. Finally, I go to shake his hand.
He pulls me. He kisses me. I walk on, alone.
*
It is dark. It is night. We walk several blocks together. It is
time for him to turn off to his apartment. I don’t shake his
hand. I start to move away fast, almost running, and say
good-bye once I am moving away. He grabs me and pulls me
and kisses me. I walk on, alone.
*
I dread the meetings, always four hours, six hours. Every smile
is a lie. He publishes my book with some money behind it, a
token of his esteem like a fine piece of jewelry would be. The
book is savaged. I am humiliated, ashamed. It keeps him away.
It is the one good thing. He could probably have me now. I am
too ashamed to pull away. He could wipe his dick on me now.
Why not?
*
He bought the next book before this savaged one was published. It was a token of his esteem, like a fine piece of jewelry would be.
I work feverishly to meet my deadline. I have one year. He
leaves me alone. I am desperate for money. The landlord sets
up a new exhaust system for the restaurant downstairs. The
windows are closed. I am still cold all the time but the windows
