are gone. Passion gives the illusion of an absolute, but then the eyes open, and there is no absolute union. My eyes are painfully open, and I want to escape. But Provincetown—this is no place in which to find new passion!
AUGUST 14, 1941
Terrific happiness tonight, all anguish dispelled. I talked to Gonzalo, gently, almost in the words I use here, quietly, movingly. I found that he not only understood everything about Helba, but that he had the lucidity I begged of him. He said he had no guilt towards Helba, that his only crushing guilt was not being able to work, to earn a living, to take care of her, because of the paralysis of his will, his laziness. When I said, “She will separate us,” he answered me so seriously and wisely about his independence, his differences from Helba, I felt all my fears dispelled.
A strange night, for when he wanted to leave, I didn’t want to stay alone, so I walked out with him. At eleven o’clock the town is quite dead. Gonzalo urged me to play Beano, although I had been losing for weeks. To please him, I played. I played indifferently, sadly. Then came the lottery, and my name was called. I won ninety-five dollars! Gayety! I gave Gonzalo half because he had forced me to play and brought me luck. I planned to send Hugo the rest so that he could come for the Labor Day holiday. We went to the Flagship for the first time at night and drank three whiskeys each. I carried it well, but they closed at one o’clock in the morning, and I had to go to bed. I fell asleep immediately in a euphoric state, but awakened early to send Hugo the telegram and the money. A turn of luck, faith.
AUGUST 16, 1941
The night Gonzalo and I went to get drunk at the Flagship, there stood at the bar a magnificent man. So magnificent, so arrogantly handsome, a blond Nordic Viking, that I made fun of him to Gonzalo. I said: “There is the gallo, the cock. Such wonderful Don Juan plumage.” But I did feel: here is a MAN. The MALE.
The next morning he arrived at the beach, walked in front of us. He expanded his chest, held himself as if in a state of euphoria. I was still mocking his magnificence. But as he passed, with a free, large, lyrical walk, he smiled at his male companion, so brilliant a smile, so wild, so sensual, that I felt a pang. He was the Sun Man smiling. He stretched himself near us. Beautiful skin, not pale but golden. Curled golden hair. Something so noble, royal, that it shattered all the rest of the people around us. From the first I felt him aware of me as I was aware of him. I wondered at his solitude. I felt: he is foreign to America. He does not mingle with them.
The next morning I awakened so gay, so irrepressibly expansive. I met him on the street. I smiled at him. I broke away from dinner with Virginia and Bob DeNiro and their friends and ate alone at the Flagship in hopes of meeting him there. I ate alone and was exalted by the music and candlelight and thought: if only the people were interesting. There is nobody but him. How well he answers what in me wants music and dance. There is music in him. Yesterday: same place at the beach. When Gonzalo moves away we smile at each other. Walking home: as I reached my place, he reached his a few doors away, moved forward extending his hand, introduced himself. We talked a little while. “I knew you were European,” he said. His teeth were dazzling. His smile exactly like my father’s, with the milk tooth protruding mischievously. I said, when he asked me what I was doing, I was having dinner alone at the Flagship. He said: “We’ll have it together.”
Beautifully dressed in my Morocco-blue jacket, in the candlelight, we created a sensation together. All the women were pursuing him. “But American girls,” he said, “I can’t be with them.” A delightful gay dinner. He is Viennese, and a singer of opera. Subtle and full of nuances and beautiful manners. He flirted so delicately. Said I had a beautiful figure. And I discovered he had been observing me all along, everything I did, that Gonzalo read the newspaper at the beach and deduced that we were married. At nine-thirty, having to meet Gonzalo, I left. He was disappointed. “I thought we could go to the White Whale nightclub together.” I said I would try to join him at eleven when Gonzalo leaves me. At eleven Gonzalo left, but two things deterred me from going: the fear of discovery (the nightclub is right next to Gonzalo’s house, and he prowls about when he can’t sleep) and the feeling I should not appear, leaving the taste of brilliance at dinner and then making Edward Graeffe feel my presence. He missed me.
The next morning he was watching for me on his porch. I said I might be free to go to the beach with him (it was Helba’s turn to be taken to the beach by Gonzalo). But Gonzalo came. I insisted that he had come with me for four days, that it was Helba’s turn, and sent him away. My heart was beating. Edward had waited longer than he had said he would wait. I knew everything as it would be. It was a fantasy I had often indulged in. A beautiful man, the sand dunes, the sun, sensuality and no sorrows. This fantasy I would have liked to fulfill with Gonzalo. But we never did. Since St. Tropez I wanted it.
Edward flung his long legs, singing. His gorgeous torso naked, his golden curls shining, his steely blue eyes gay. Euphoria. A long tramp through the sand dunes. I had grown a little shy. His big hand now and then falling on my shoulder or neck. It was romantic, to an amusing degree. I in my St. Tropez pareo, Hawaiian seashells on my hair and neck. In the heart of the sand dunes, he threw himself on the sand. I fell at his side. Lying back, he began with the most delicate caresses of my fingertips and wrist. Such delicacy. And now and then he smiled at me. Slowly I got undressed as his hands searched for buttons and bows. Afterwards, his nakedness as he stood in the wind, laughing. Truly godlike in his physical magnificence. The waist and hips slender, not thick, the torso marvelously ample, shoulders wide. A golden blondness. If only I didn’t have the usual stage-struck feeling, it would have been magnificent.
Last night, a secret meeting at the Flagship. He will make his debut in Siegfried at the Metropolitan. Taking a bath, preparing for him, I laughed to myself: Siegfried was lacking in my collection. I must have all the mythological figures: the son of the Inca Sun Gods, the Lord of Essex, the Demon of Literature. A sensual, romantic fantasy fulfilled. His free, swinging walk, a conqueror. Man of aristocracy. And power. He was once the leader of the Olympic skiers and nearly married the daughter of an English Peer.
Next morning he waited for me. I was not free. Gonzalo took me to the beach. On returning from the beach, I found Luise Rainer and Dorothy Norman looking for me. With other friends we drove around and stopped at the Flagship for coffee. I went to get Graeffe because he knew Luise. We had a most animated party, with everybody watching Luise and asking for a photograph. Luise and I had one intimate talk while I changed into my dress. She said beautiful things about my writing. Someone in the street said: “They are sisters.” Then they drove away.
It is strange to choose someone blindly, intuitively, and then to begin to discover the world he lives in, the details one likes. In this brilliant moment he fitted in so well. “He looks like a god,” said a French singer who had come with Luise. Physical royalty. The blue eyes charged with lightning, the teeth incandescent, the golden curls so smoothly brushed. His hands are long and aristocratic, smooth, well-groomed. He dresses beautifully. He carries a Spanish leather hunting bag, with its niche for bullets and a beautiful net pocket which he fills with oranges. A thick wide leather belt for his money and keys.
“My father was a general.”
How like a fantasy to have him for a dancing partner, talking by candlelight, listening to music. Now and then he sings a fragment. A rich, colored, free voice. Another Caruso, people have said. He is thirty-two but he looks manly, a man really, with poise, savoir-faire, polish, finesse, humor. He is playful. He remembered a few Spanish words (his mother was from Malaga); when we parted he thundered after me, amplifying his voice: “El Barón de la Mantequilla saluda la Condesa de la Santa Burro,” rolling the words as if he were saying: “La Duchesse de Guermantes…” We laugh a great deal. He is exuberant, gay, poised, joyous. Luminous, brilliant atmosphere. The nightclubs are transfigured by charm and desire. As we dance I feel against his leg, in his pocket, the hard little French leather case of his watch. He laughs and says: “It is only my watch. I regret to disillusion you.” But soon, when he has taken out his watch at my request, he ceases to disillusion me and we have to stop dancing. The misty lights of nightclubs. Mystery. When we move from one to the other, he has to go ahead to see if Gonzalo is not about. People are stunned by us. The homosexuals had all tried to interest him (because when he first came he was with a male friend).