Elegy Page #6

I've always surmised,

for example,

that D.H. Lawrence, when he was writing

"Lady Chatterley's Lover"...

"Who am I for you?",

she asked me one day.

I was to afraid to ask

who I was for her.

How long could it have lasted?

Surprise.

Yes. Let me... wow!

Thank God for Carolyn.

Carolyn is my only point of contact

with the self-confident man I used to be.

How was that play?

Which play?

The one you took George to.

Oh, unremarkable, just...

Here I go.

Oh, hit and run.

Just the way you like it.

Good thing I don't have pets.

Only you.

Which one was Carlos Alonzo?

- From high school.

- What was his thing?

What did he want you to do?

He liked...

to watch me menstruate.

What?

- He liked to watch me menstruate.

- I don't believe this.

The respectable Cuban-American girl

whose parents worship Ronald Reagan,

who enforce an 8 o'clock curfew on their

daughter, in summer time, no less,

there she is in high school,

aged 15...

I'm so sorry.

That makes all the difference.

- I think you're being ridiculous.

- How did you manage it?

David...

I'm really curious.

What do you do?

You find yourself having your period,

pick up a phone, you ask him to come over?

"Hey Carlos, I'm starting."

And then he appears,

all Cuban and "respectable",

And the pair of you retire to the

bathroom where you have the ceremony

of the pulling down of the tampon.

Yeah, it's just like you were there.

Just filling in...

the missing...

just filling in the blanks.

Which blanks?

Five. Now we're down to 3.

Because of the two guys who...

I have to go, sorry.

What is this?

- What?

- This.

You're f***ing other women.

I had two husbands who

f***ed other women.

I didn't like it then, I don't

like it now, least of all with you.

You have everything with me David.

Pure f***ing.

No hidden agendas,

No icky entanglements.

How could you do this?

There aren't many like me.

I actually understand you.

I am one in a million.

How could you possibly f***...?

I don't know whose that is.

Why don't you put it

on a bagel and eat it.

I have a pretty good idea.

I'm sure you do.

You know my friend

George O'Hearn, the poet?

George uses tampons?

Since when?

No, listen. George...

has the keys to this apartment.

He gives poetry readings, he meets girls.

He can't bring them home,

to his wife in New Rochelle.

And since he's always short on funds...

- And since some of them are married...

- George fucks all these women in your bed?

Not all, some.

He uses the bed in the guest room.

His marriage isn't paradise.

Probably a bit like mine and he

wasn't desperate enough to get out.

I don't believe a f***ing

word you're saying.

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