My visceral reaction – speeded heartbeat, trembling hands – reminds me of how he felt when I first looked at Barbara's bare breasts n Max Rakoubian's Fesse photograph. It's as if I've suddenly been transported very close to this woman who has attained a mythical status in my mind.
I take the pages to my bed, lie down, and start to read. Barbara's journal, it's soon clear, is not merely a recording of events, but an extremely personal diary meant for no one's eyes but her own. No entry dates are given, though she always jots down the day of the week. Some entries are terse, while others are long and, sometimes, quite eloquent:
Monday
Bad dream. Went riding two hours then drove out to see J. Lousy time had by all!
Tuesday
Played tennis with Jane. Mopped up court with her! Lunch with W. Left him feeling empty and scornful.
Wednesday
First appointment with Dr. R.. He seems a gentle soul. Felt strange to lie on his couch. Felt at a disadvantage. Different than when we met at the school.
Laid everything out for him, all my insecurities. No idea what he thought. Probably hated me for being so troubled in my privilege.
Afterward rode for an hour, then spent an hour currying and cleaning tack.
Stupid party at L amp;D's. Dumb conversation. False laughter. We're all so bored with one another.
Hope tonight I don't dream the dream!
Thursday
W called early, dished L amp;D's party for half an hour. Couldn't stand talking to him, couldn't wait to get him off the line. Why do I put up with him? Basically we can't stand each other, so what inner emptiness drives us to bother?
Afternoon: screwed my brains out with J, then felt lousy. He picked up on it, said: ‘You know, cutie, we're two of a kind.’ Hate it when he calls me that!
Friday
Second session with Dr. R.. This time more relaxed. He asked for my ‘erotic history.’ Gave it to him no holds barred! Told him about J. No reaction. Then when I said I was afraid of J, I could feel him tense up.
Kids' cute new tennis coach turned up wearing short. Nice boy, nice legs, seemed lonely, also a bit in awe of how we live. Afterwards I brought down glasses and pitcher of lemonade. Kids worshipful toward him. What must he think of us? Important not to make him feel like a servant.
It's not hard for me to date these entries since I know from Dad's agenda that Barbara commenced therapy on Wednesday, April 23.
Her entries continue in this vein until Friday, May 9. Then something occurs that alters the scope of her journal, and justifies her hiding it inside one of her equestrian trophies:
Friday
Difficult session. Dr. R silent. Turned to him: ‘I need you to react!’ R asked why I needed that, what emptiness I hope he can fill.
‘Emptiness in my wound,’ I tell him. The word just popped out of me! I was really surprised. Still no reaction, so I raised the level of the game. ‘I need you inside me, in my-,’ and I touched myself down there. That got his attention!
Drove straight from medical building to Elms. Found J in office, grabbed his crotch, told him, ‘I want you to screw me till bells ring in my ears!’ J told me he was busy, I'd have to wait. ‘No way! I'm not waiting,’ I said, squeezing him hard. ‘Okay, okay, mercy, mercy!? But in bed I wasn't merciful at all!
Late afternoon, resting in my bedroom, I heard kids playing tennis with T. ‘Love-fifteen!’ ‘Love-thirty!’ ‘Love- forty!’ ‘Game!’ Hey, I thought, I could sure use some of that love!
I made up a pitcher of lemonade and took it down to them. Three guys, two of my own flesh, shirtless wonders all. T looked scrumptious. I changed into togs then we played a set. We hit the ball hard and sweated like beasts! Great turn-on. Hope kids didn't pick up on it. They're so innocent. ‘Watch out! He's beatin’ you, Mom!’
In the end, I took him 7-5. Afterwards we sat around, then I invited him into the house to shower. He was shy at first, then agreed. I showed him the guest room bath, handed him some towels, we looked at one another, and I couldn't resist. Two minutes later, we were all over each other. And all the time through the open window, I could hear the kids splashing around in the pool, their cries echoing ours!
When we were done, just lying there, he got very tender with me, so tender I started to cry. ‘Whatsamatter?’ he asked. ‘oh, nothing. Just that you're so sweet and I can use some sweetness these days.’ He kissed my breasts like they were precious jewels. ‘I've dreamed of doing this since I first laid eyes on you,’ he said.
God! Till today I never thought of him as lover material, even though I did find him cute. We showered together and I went down on my knees on the tiles and took him in my mouth beneath the spray. ‘No one's ever done that with me before,’ he said. ‘Plenty more where that came from!’ I told him.
No wonder Robin couldn't get through hi smother's diary and didn’t want to show it to Mark! It's hard enough for me to read of Dad's growing obsession with Barbara in his truncated case study and to hear from Izzy Mendoza that he wanted to divorce Mom and run off with her. How much worse for Robin to read this. How could he bear to?
On May 16, my biting, indeed mean-spirited caricature of Mark Fulraine was published in our student newspaper, The Hayes Eagle.
On Monday, May 19, Mark, encountering me between classes in a corridor at school, called me ‘Jewboy’ to my face.
On Friday, May 23, before a hundred or so witnesses, we met to settle our differences in a grudge fight in the lower school gym.
Reading Barbara's account of that day brings back a jumble of warring feelings – anger, indignation, fury, pain, outrage over what Robin told me, and also a measure of regret. The latter makes me want to forgive everyone involved, including myself. This feeling, which I struggle to understand, is based on a conviction that all of us – me, Dad, Mark, Barbara, and Tom Jessup – were caught up in a web of conflicting passions that today, through the prism of twenty-six years, seem but tenderly trivial:
Friday
R arrogant today. Did he know our boys were to fight? If so, he didn't let on. But I had a secret and inwardly I reveled in it. T's been training Mark to box, and there probably won't be a fight anyway if I hadn't pushed Mark to call out R's son!
Unable to wait till Mark got home, I went out to The Elms. Afterwards J put on a robe, lit up a cigar, and said he wanted to see me prance.
‘Prance? Screw you, buster! This lady prances for no man!’
‘I could make you, cutie,’ he said. ‘Just you try it,’ I warned. Then we both started laughing. We're so ridiculous! In the end, I agreed to prance for him if he'd promise to jerk off in front of me while I did. ‘Deal!’ he said. So screaming with laughter, we both did our salacious thing.
Driving home in the rain, I suddenly thought about Belle and started to cry. Why did God take her away from me? Was it because I was bad like old Doris said?
Later: At six the boys arrived home with T. Mark had a black eye and cuts on his cheeks. He went straight up to his room. Robin told me he got a bloody nose. ‘But you should've seen the other guy, Mom. Mark knocked him out!’
T upset. ‘I'm ashamed I was involved,’ he told me. ‘Was it a fair fight?’ I asked. ‘Fair as I could make it.’ ‘Then you've got nothing to be ashamed about.’ He stayed for dinner, then, after A came by to pick up the boys for the weekend, we went upstairs and screwed to oblivion.
Afterwards he told me: ‘You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you.’ I told him I appreciated that and that what I needed tonight was a warm body with maybe a little lust thrown in.
Prance for him! Reading this, I feel sorry for Barbara for the way she allows herself to be degraded by Cody. It's not hard for me to feel her agony over Belle or understand the desperation that drove her to seek out a new lover. I only wish Dad could have responded to her with more sympathy… though perhaps the coolness she describes is only in her mind.
Monday