I’m Losing You (24 page)

I've kept in touch with HARRY DEAN and he promised to introduce me to a number of well-connected cronies in the legit film world. {ROBERT EVANS is high on his list.} He's been supportive and non-judgmental and I adore him for that. He even came to BAILEY'S and we lap-danced, as a kind of a joke {I'll soon be working there no longer}. Afterward, he tried to tip me and that hurt. I told him I didn't want his money and I know HARRY DEAN felt bad with his FAUX PAS. Upon occasion, I still frequent the MONKEY BAR, VIPER ROOM and Sweets. The last time I visited my old place of employment, Rodrigo comped me drinks and the bartender {new there} recognized me from the Spice Channel! My first taste of the kind of standard adulation so common and everyday for LADIES OF THE LIST—Diary, I swear, as you're my witness—I'm on my way to the Pinnacle of the Elite!

Jabba and I have become roommates. Troy helped us move this weekend {he, director of
Dirty Squealers
and stage plays too numerous to mention. We've been seeing quite a bit of each other lately} to a tall apartment building on DOHENY, near SUNSET—a stone's throw from the ROXY. I cannot WAIT to walk from room to room, I LOVE the smell of new-paint and hygienic emptiness, so magically HOPEFUL and filled with promise. I can finally bring out Mother and Father; it will be plain to see I am truly making it on my own terms. I have become a Hollywood story! The doorman told us GOLDIE once lived here during her ascent {MUST include this effervescent dynamo in my next installment. Forgive me, GOLDIE, for I know not what I do! And by the way, may I borrow your husband?}—as did JAMI GERTZ, THERESA RUSSELL {an interesting anomaly; I wonder if NICOLAS ROEG is as old as HARRY DEAN}, LISA EILBACHER, COURTNEY COX and DAPHNE ZUNIGA. Also KIM CATTRALL {a fellow underappreciated Canadian, especially in TICKET TO HEAVEN {{CIRCA 1981}} },
PHOEBE CATES {KEVIN, I adore you!} and SHERILYN FENN. What a pedigree! From this aerie, Troy and I will plot our assault on Hollywood in all fields, anew! As Troy says, “The world is our keester.” {I love his sense of humor.} All joking aside, I remain Sincerely Yours—and with no regrets…
Kiv Giraux
.

G
OOD MORNING
: Boothing at Sweets were whitehot thesp Kiv Giraux and helmer Troy Capra. In case you didn't know, Troy and Kiv are thisclose. They've just completed their fourth feature together and next month Kiv begins her second book of
The Pantheon
series (St. Martin's), “a comparative study of starlets of the Fifties: starcrossed, middling and those destined for the Pinnacle.”
The Pinnacle?
Congrats, Kiv—looks like you're already there. {Okay, Diary, so I went a little over the top. But it's my DREAM and DREAMS should have no limits}

CALLING ALL ACTRESSES! Helpful Tips from Kiv:

HELPFUL TIP
#1: Don't smoke—it yellows teeth and skin and creates lines around the mouth.
HELPFUL TIP
#2: Keep lots of plants in the house. They help you sleep and even aid your disposition. Talk to them and stroke them while you water and feed! “Plants are people too” is a neglected truism.
HELPFUL TIP
#3: Don't forget to water YOURSELF. If you have a problem you can't resolve, by all means seek short-term help from a therapist so as not to have that problem fester.
HELPFUL TIP
#4: Don't let the bedbugs bite!

Phylliss Wolfe

Communion at Women in Film luncheon with the Usual (premenstrual) Suspects. Jodie's movie is deep in post; Katherine G just finished directing a sapphic short about a scripter and experimental
novelist (write about what you blow). Wants to arrange screening for Griffin and yours truly—because, I know, she thinks I have pull at Sundance. Pargita heard about the Sarandon thing and was all over me like a cheap muff-diver. Not a word on
Teorema
until the end:

I flashed a wan smile at the Sisters Quim, hating myself for that. Said “Yeah, we'll kick it” or some such rah-rah hip-hop horseshit. Holly Hunter was there and looked fabulous—Christ to Hell, I wish I was Southern::::::::::Dating again and it's flat-out weird. Does something to me
hormonally
; I go on these absurd little fantasy-jags. Like I'll be cleaning out my closet and suddenly start thinking, “Gee. Hmmm. I wonder where women store their bras while nursing?”::::::::::Pregnant again by fall, or bust! But who shall I turn to, when nobody seeds me—a butcher, a baker, a Jewish dealmaker? I
do
know she'll be a girl-child, willful and green-eyed and gorgeous. And I'll tell you something else, E. If she wants to join the circus, I
will
say yes, yes, a thousand times Yes. She will be the epic child of sky and of strada, my child and no one else's::::::::::My
Gelsomina
.

Katherine Grosseck

T
O:
SNOWITE
@
MSN.COM
(P
ARGITA
S
NOW
)

F
ROM:
KGB
@
AOL.COM
(K
ATHERINE
G
ROSSECK
)

Lovely Pargita Meter Maid (AKA Her Snow Whiteness)…What the fuck am I doing here? I mean, besides going to dailies and
jacking the director's ego. Well, that's what I get for exec-producing.
Hate
Toronto, always have. The only thing good about it is Leonard Cohen, and he's from Montreal, n'est-ce pas? Though I have to say the movie's looking good. Laura Dern is some kinda wonderful. (Did you ever see
Smooth Talk
, the thing she did with Treat?) Anyhow, Laura saw
Janie Wong
and
flipped
when I told her we were an, ahem, item. It's kicky being on the street with her—she's mobbed by kids because of
Jurassic
. Laura is
really
smart and apparently heard all about you from Jodie, which had me freaking for like maybe a second. (Did you and JF ever make out? Oh, never mind.)

T
O:
SNOWITE
@
MSN.COM
(P
ARGITA
S
NOW
)

F
ROM:
KGB
@
AOL.COM
(K
ATHERINE
G
ROSSECK
)

Writing you is almost good as sex—in my head, I call it “flesh crocheting”—must be Cronenberg's influence. (We had dinner with him and he's sweetly super-normal. Long live the New Flesh!) I like how you never write back ‘cause you're the Big Nonverbal Image-whore. Did you know that I'm wearing your plug? Well, I am. My very own Snowmobile—Her Snow Whiteness's Eighth Dwarf…

T
O:
SNOWITE
@
MSN.COM
(P
ARGITA
S
NOW
)

F
ROM:
KGB
@
AOL.COM
(K
ATHERINE
G
ROSSECK
)

So
unfair
you're in Rome and I'm still here. When what I really want to be is…
stuck in the middle with you
. I wanna buy a castle for us in Ireland—in Cunnymara, by the sea. Do that whole resident tax thing and live there six months each year like the big bohemian lezbo artists we are, would you like that, Geet? I wonder if Cheryl sold their place when he died, did you know the Michael O'Donoghues? They had a castle in Connemara. Galway, I think…I could finally read
Finnegans Wake
and we'd paint and make movies and go on cliff-walks and get sandblasted by scary Celtic winds. Oh my Pargita—
Oh my Pa-pa
…I ride your clit on the cardiac rapids—me, sure-footed, obedient pack-mule of your canyons. The Snowmobile is deep within: I wear it for ATM and groceries and teeth-cleaning—all the sweet mundane Muzaky chores of everyday life. There I stand at the twenty-four-hour Ralph's, on line at the cashier, a stab and a shiver while the pimply Latina says
Have a good one
. Do you know how I fall to sleep at night? I imagine myself
flying to Italy, snuggled in First Class booties, slipping into ROMA/AMOR like a burglar, spy in the house of Love. Racing up Spanish Steps, heart in mouth…then
your
heart in mouth, copper arms again, splayed under mine, those fingers I dream of gripping the iron headstand, all your smells an altar. I turn onto my stomach. Your hand with those fingers, those rings I gave you, moves up thigh to cork—Eighth Dwarf out, yanked from dreamy sleep, then out
I
come and nod away in the arms of Manchild—sure beats the shit out of counting sheep.

You won't believe this. Laura and I had dinner with Dana Delany and we were talking about how we want to write this book on all the kinky massages we've ever had. I tell them about the time that girl Gina walked in on us—do you remember? Gina Tolk? With the Sheryl Crow mouth and the white trash New Age vibe? How she used to pull out this big frog paperweight and sit it between my tits like some crystal succuba? So Laura brings up the thing about me being impersonated (she heard about it from Jennifer Jason—they both see Calliope Krohn-Markowitz, the shrink who was attacked) and suddenly Laura goes
Oh my God
! She says Calliope has a glass menagerie of paperweights she keeps in the office and Laura's favorite one—the
frog
—was stolen by the girl who assaulted her! We
screamed
. (It seems a few weeks after the attack, Laura asked where the paperweight was and Calliope told her what had happened.) So Dana says we have to call, like,
now
. We leave a message for Calliope and she phones us back in twenty minutes. I describe the masseuse physically and the shrink says it sounds like her so we actually call the police, on a conference! Me and Dana and Laura and Calliope and the LAPD! Isn't this
fantastic
? Make a great script:
The Women
meets
The Hand That Rocks the Cradle
. You know, if they arrest her, she just might slander us on
Court TV
. “And what did you see when you entered the room, Ms. Tolk?” “Why, the screenwriter—Ms. Grosseck—eating the shaved holes of the director—Ms. Pargita Snow…” “And where were they positioned, Ms. Tolk?” “The
holes
?” “The ladies.” “Why, on the bloodstained futon, counselor.” “Objection!” “And what was the condition of the futon, Ms. Tolk?” “Objection, Your Honor! The futon has been described!” “Overruled! Answer the question, Ms. Tolk…” “Could you please repeat—” “
What was the condition of the futon
?” “Objection!” “The futon!” “Why, it was—” “Suh-STAINED!”