Bruce Wagner - I’m Losing You

You’ll love this: after I’m off the phone, Katherine tells me she got this call from the police because some psycho impersonated her (why hasn’t anyone impersonated me , E? That hurts). This crazy girl went and saw Calliope, pretending she was Katherine — and assaulted her, physically! The motherfucker assaults my shrink! Definitely a new wrinkle in the stalking game. I instantly phone Calliope back to commiserate and she said she was fine, just bruised. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me — guess it’s too pervy a thing to start talking about, therapist-to-patient especially. Plus, Calliope never talks about her life. It made me feel so shitty and weak, this stoic brilliant woman in her sixties actually getting fucking attacked and there I am calling from planes, trains and automobiles, whining . I literally puked when we hung up, hard knees on those hip cold green Spanish tiles. Thought of my father the whole time. Nice, huh?

Cat came in, very sweet, to hold my clammy brow — I’m not even sure if his friends know we’re doing it. We’re not demonstrative, we’re furtive. Hotter that way. Here’s a little bonus for you, E, ‘cause you’ve been such a good dog: he likes it when I lick his butt. It tastes like Equal!::::::::::Katherine was loaded and flirting heavily with Pargita — seems they’re about to have a scene (if they haven’t already). I think K’s actually pissed Vidra never phoned congrats for the Spirit Award, though K denies. Unfortunately, her award won’t help a rat’s ass if the Gisela pyramid goes all-fall-down. First Gucci, now Gisela…is the Vatican behind it or what?

Hello, Columbus

TO: SHARKEE@CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU (STOCKER VIDRA)

FROM: DOLPH@AOL.COM (KATHERINE GROSSECK)

Tupac Sharkee…

Never got the flowers — did you send them to the Studio or the house? We were very drunk, me and Buck and Becky and Parg, trolling Cat’s garden in the moonlight, and Phylliss wasn’t in the best shape, either — I couldn’t believe she called and woke you up like that. Worse, that she didn’t come find me posthaste. Oh, did I tell you? When I walked to the podium at the Spirits, the plug gave a tiny tug and I thought it was you, calling long-distance. I’ll show you the tape and you’ll see the funny smile on my face.

A week of deaths. First, Phylliss’s father — as you know, there was no love lost. The piece of shit molested her until she was nineteen; I’m sure it’ll be in the book. She told me how he took her to see La Strada when she was twelve — I thought that was pretty intense. How she related (natch) to the Giulietta Masina character, Gelsomina. Right when Anthony Quinn’s killing the acrobat (I always thought it was so weird it was Richard Basehart), Phylliss’s dad is feeling her up! She told me this after I got her drunk at Club Bayonet. The irony being, La Strada is the reason she wanted to make movies (her production company is Gelsomina Films). Did you know she hung with Fellini during Don Juan ? That’s how she met Sutherland — Donald’s been in three of her movies. Then one of the Gisela “principals” was murdered, in Rome; we’re not yet sure if this is a problem vis-à-vis Teorema . (Aren’t I compassionate?) Still think Penumbra is something we could step into, worst case scenario. Phyll will find a way. Lastly, Pargita’s dog got run over by a unicyclist on the Boardwalk. Cindy Sherman gave it to her and Parg sobbed for three days, inconsolable. Finally dragged her to Jones, where Rosanna Arquette soothed, her own mutt having been eaten several years before by coyotes the night she broke up with Peter Gabriel.

Doing production rewrite for a Jodie movie (she’s acting only); it’s fast and will put major loaves on the table. If Teorema gets pushed back, I’m looking through the trunk to see if there’s something I can do for cable. Maybe direct. It’s shoot or be shot.

I wasn’t comparing you and Proust, Vidra. I thought you’d love the quote. It honestly did remind me of the way you metaphorize. Thought we were moving out from underneath our “moon of misunderstanding” but there still seems to be a sliver hanging over our heads, by just a thread. Be gone, foul silvery strand — can’t wait till morning comes. In the meantime, may God praise little girls and Molière, and dolphins with big ol’ toothaches…

P.S. I think Phylliss and Cat Basquiat are actually fucking. (But you probably already know this. Don’t editors know everything?)

Sight Unseen

Baby Boy Blue…

Casting begins next week for Teorema …

Holly and Phylliss took us to a “Church of Religious Science” called Agape. They pronounce it uh- gah -pay — I think it’s Greek but don’t know what it means. The “tent meeting” is in a big warehouse on Olympic, across from that restaurant, the L.A. Farm. It was fabulous ! It’s non-denominational, though one can’t help notice the preponderance of beautiful, upscale blacks and folks from the Business too, like Dyan Cannon and Ben Vereen (both live in Malibu; he looks very well). Services opened with a half-hour meditation, which we missed. Then there were announcements and music, and everyone sang a song like it was summer camp and there was such refreshing politesse: special ushers made sure there were seats for all. A handsome Reverend Michael came onstage to speak and the words rushed out so fast he sometimes got them wrong but no one seemed to care. He’s black and one of the founders. He’d just returned from India and spoke in such a charming manner, I was instantly taken in — serenely disentangled. The Reverend said people were always asking if there was life after death but what they should be asking was, Is there life before death? I liked that! I could tell that you liked it too, precious ‘shroom, and so did your soft Lily the lion-girl cub; she purred while you smiled through her whiskers. And yes, you listened very intently to the sermon — I had an eye on you while we recited the affirmation, now pasted to your crib:

I AM A RADIANT CENTER OF DIVINE PEACE!

I EMANATE ONLY VIBRATIONS OF PURE LOVE AND INFINITE JOY!

I LIVE TO CO-CREATE WITH PURE SPIRIT ALL THAT IS BEAUTIFUL!

I AM HERE TO EXPRESS ORDER AND HARMONY IN A MOST UNIQUE WAY!

THIS DAY I ELIMINATE ALL THAT WOULD ENCUMBER MY EXPRESSION!

I LET GO OF ALL FEAR, DOUBT, AND RESTLESSNESS!

I DECLARE THAT I AM WONDROUSLY SUPPORTED BY PURE SPIRIT!

EVERYTHING ALWAYS WORKS TOGETHER FOR MY GOOD!

I LIVE FOR GOD IN EVERY AREA OF MY LIFE!

I NOW GIVE THANKS AND LET IT BE!

AND SO IT IS! AMEN!

Saw Hassan and Rubie there as we were leaving and promised to have brunch. Hassan is kind of a minister there; Agape has its own school and you can learn to become a Practitioner — a kind of reverend, yourself — in what they call the Science of Mind. There’s an entry-level class: “Core Concepts and Meditation in Universal Principles.” It’s a fifteen-week course (forty-five hours), and Mom just might do it!

*** The THIEF of ENERGY

Jeremy took me to the Ivy, then to the Peninsula. I waited in the bar while he arranged a room and a cute old man said he wanted to put me in the movies. His energy was brittle and spongy; desperate like the old sometimes are, and used. He introduced himself as Bernard Ribkin, quickly adding that his son was ‘the ICM chief‘—with this, I just about fell off my chair. I revealed nothing, of course, playing it close to my gorgeous Mi$$oni vest. Then Jeremy appeared and curtly nodded in such a way I couldn’t linger; his peremptory fashion brooked no protest or rejoinder. I had wanted to bring grandpapa into my web, for future usage, but was forced to regard the encounter as a fleeting energetic omen rather than something immediately exploitable, in any kind of pragmatic utilization.