might be a solution to the problem of freedom in mating. But then, if the foursome got tight enough, the people in it would want to be asserting their freedom from the group, and begin making it with yet others. My mind quickly raced to the logical extension and I thought, “What if everybody in the world were fucking everybody else, and we had no stupid distinctions as to ‘mine’ and ‘yours’, would the species then be totally one, or would it find yet more diabolical forms of infidelity? The problem, as always, returned to the basic question: “Is the human race basically fucked?” If so, then nothing we do can do anything but add to confusion and misery. In which case the only proper approach is laughter.
And so I continued to laugh. And Isabel was quite puzzled by my reaction. “By all means, call him,” I said. “I think it’s a perfect gesture.” But there was no malice in my cynicism, and for a fleeting moment I wished Regina were there to share the humor of the situation with me, for above all, she has a mind sharp enough to see the ludicrous.
In a while I left, with Isabel vainly making phone calls trying to track Harry down. Since I am involved with both of them in several business and personal enterprises, I knew I would be seeing them again, together and separately. I wondered whether she would tell him, and what his response would be. Life was very interesting the minute one understood it as theatre, and one’s overriding value became one of style and integrity.
I slept badly, and in the morning, before breakfast, there was a letter from Regina waiting for me, the first one since her return to the Coast.
four.
THE MUNUTE I saw her handwriting, my heart melted. In the middle of the most tortuous changes and seeming resolutions not to have anything to do with her again, a simple sheet of paper from California reduced me to jelly. I had been walking down the street a few days earlier, thinking of nothing in particular, when I suddenly saw Regina’s naked body in bed. She was lying on her side, and moving into a man’s arms. I could see her ass tighten as she brought her thighs up to his, and then her arms moved round his shoulders in order to bring his face to her lips. I froze on the spot, standing stock still on the sidewalk. A spasm of jealousy seized me like a foot cramp and I felt my face screw up in rage while my hands began to shake. Luckily, I was on Avenue A and 4th Street, where such behavior doesn’t seem odd to anyone.
I probed deeper to find out who she was with, and then realized that the man of the fantasy had to be a man that I put there. And I wondered why I was picturing her with someone else and not myself. Was I on a secret unworthiness trip, or working out yet another kink of the bi-sexual scene; or was it that I was afraid to let myself know how much I wanted to be with her? So long as I was jealous, I couldn’t feel longing or loss or love. So I put up the screen of suspicion to keep me from coming to terms with my actual feelings. And the minute I felt that, pang after pang of desolation shot through me, and I found myself calling out “Regina” on the street.
The letter had some chitchat about the state of the garden and the bell-clear days that were now visiting Mendocino, and lines speaking about her love for me and faith in my actually getting a relationship with her that had some permanence. I swung from elation to depression. Again I felt that hand of responsibility creeping toward my throat, the feeling that there was something I “ought” to be doing or feeling. I realized that this was at least half in my head, and that there were millions of people the world over who lived in complete solitude and lovelessness; and here I was complaining because this women wanted to make a life with me.
I looked around my apartment. Theoretically, I had everything I wanted. A big enough place of my own in the East Village, enough money to live on without having to work
And so I continued to laugh. And Isabel was quite puzzled by my reaction. “By all means, call him,” I said. “I think it’s a perfect gesture.” But there was no malice in my cynicism, and for a fleeting moment I wished Regina were there to share the humor of the situation with me, for above all, she has a mind sharp enough to see the ludicrous.
In a while I left, with Isabel vainly making phone calls trying to track Harry down. Since I am involved with both of them in several business and personal enterprises, I knew I would be seeing them again, together and separately. I wondered whether she would tell him, and what his response would be. Life was very interesting the minute one understood it as theatre, and one’s overriding value became one of style and integrity.
I slept badly, and in the morning, before breakfast, there was a letter from Regina waiting for me, the first one since her return to the Coast.
four.
THE MUNUTE I saw her handwriting, my heart melted. In the middle of the most tortuous changes and seeming resolutions not to have anything to do with her again, a simple sheet of paper from California reduced me to jelly. I had been walking down the street a few days earlier, thinking of nothing in particular, when I suddenly saw Regina’s naked body in bed. She was lying on her side, and moving into a man’s arms. I could see her ass tighten as she brought her thighs up to his, and then her arms moved round his shoulders in order to bring his face to her lips. I froze on the spot, standing stock still on the sidewalk. A spasm of jealousy seized me like a foot cramp and I felt my face screw up in rage while my hands began to shake. Luckily, I was on Avenue A and 4th Street, where such behavior doesn’t seem odd to anyone.
I probed deeper to find out who she was with, and then realized that the man of the fantasy had to be a man that I put there. And I wondered why I was picturing her with someone else and not myself. Was I on a secret unworthiness trip, or working out yet another kink of the bi-sexual scene; or was it that I was afraid to let myself know how much I wanted to be with her? So long as I was jealous, I couldn’t feel longing or loss or love. So I put up the screen of suspicion to keep me from coming to terms with my actual feelings. And the minute I felt that, pang after pang of desolation shot through me, and I found myself calling out “Regina” on the street.
The letter had some chitchat about the state of the garden and the bell-clear days that were now visiting Mendocino, and lines speaking about her love for me and faith in my actually getting a relationship with her that had some permanence. I swung from elation to depression. Again I felt that hand of responsibility creeping toward my throat, the feeling that there was something I “ought” to be doing or feeling. I realized that this was at least half in my head, and that there were millions of people the world over who lived in complete solitude and lovelessness; and here I was complaining because this women wanted to make a life with me.
I looked around my apartment. Theoretically, I had everything I wanted. A big enough place of my own in the East Village, enough money to live on without having to work
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