Thank you, Aurelie.
That was really amazing.
And thank you for teaching the class that
made this novel, because I definitely wouldn't
have written it without you.
And thank you Ander for having me, everybody here.
I just had such an amazing time at the U of A,
and the Poetry Center in particular
is just such a wonderful place, and I'm so happy to be back.
So also thank you early for kind of setting me up,
setting up the story.
This is my novel, and you can tell it was written by a woman,
because it has a picture of a woman's face on it.
So here to balance it out for this prose series.
So I'm going to read a section, two sections from when
the narrator--
I'm not going to say protagonist, because that's
kind of up to you.
But the narrator has already sort of become semi-famous
with her boyfriend, Jim.
The first time someone recognized us on the street,
I burst out laughing.
We were with Trish, and we were all
drinking Bloody Marys in an outdoor restaurant.
"You're that couple I love," said
the girl who looked about 16.
"That's us," said Jim.
"Why did you guys stop posting?
I'm like devastated."
"We were like living," said Jim.
But it got us thinking.
We started having these regular sort of meetings in bed,
on our laptops, art directing what we would post about,
what we were doing, which probably
motivated us to go out more.
We lived out endless cliches, juice bar freaks, Vegas day
gamblers, Burning Man tradesmen, business planners and meetings,
art stars interviewed on every relevant site, junkies strung
out at every relevant party.
I couldn't get enough of the sponsored events.
Sometimes there were dance parties,
but we never danced, just stood behind the DJ booth
with the other celebrities.
Other times they were at museums or restaurants,
and we'd mingle and get our picture taken.
At a gallery opening in Silver Lake,
I recognized a socialite, Kira Conner,
who was turning into an art collector
now that she was in her 40s.
I always respected her for some reason.
At the bar, I got her attention by complimenting her clothing.
"I know who you are.
I've been meaning to get in touch with you," she said.
"Me?"
"You're dating what's his face," she slurred.
"Enjoy it while you can."
"I'm enjoying every minute of it," I said.
"You can never really live as much
as you'd like to while you're able to."
"Jim's of the same mind," I said.
"Who is this guy anyway?
What does he do?"
"Didn't you know who he was before you knew who I was?"
"No, I didn't."
She held my hand.
Remember that.
Jim walked up behind me, so I knew she'd
seen him coming before I did.
She took the drink out of my hand and finished it.
"Would you like another, darling?"
Jim asked.
"Always," I said.
"It was lovely meeting you," Kira Conner
said, walking away before I could introduce her.
"Do you know who that was?"
I asked.
"No, do you?"
"Yeah, she's like my hero."
After that, we went to a nightclub downtown
and watched a massive crowd jump up and down
to minimal techno beats from a balcony with bottle service.
"Maybe we should dance," I said.
"I don't dance," said Jim.
"You know that."
"I don't either," I said.
"But I don't really know what I do."
"We should fuck in the bathroom, then go back to the hotel.
I'm getting bored of LA.
Aren't you?"
"Totally."
I meant it when I said it but hadn't been thinking it before.
At our next meeting, we hired a manager
who would take us all over the country
so we could get paid to host parties in other places.
It would be easy.
We had so many friends in so many places and now a ton
of endorsements.
One day I woke up and we were in another hotel room
on a tour that started up the coast and then crossed over.
Every night we were sharing our feelings
with strangers in San Francisco, Seattle, Portland,
speaking with everyone who wanted in,
or who were jealous of us, or just as happy.
Every night I walked to the ice machine
from each room making fists and whispering, yes, yes, yes.
It was all so easy and only getting easier.
This was really my life, and I was really in love and rich,
and I'd never go back to where I came from ever.
We were on the road in Montana when
I thought some things about Jim bothered me enough to mention,
and I was struck with fear that our relationship was
like others.
How stupid could I be?
I had left everyone I knew behind for this one thing,
and I was banking on it being supremely different
from the rest.
I walked to the ice machine upset,
and my anger turned into self-pity.
How could I be unhappy now when things were so perfect?
Obviously, that meant I would always be unhappy.
And after thinking such a dark thought,
I found myself smiling.
It was a good thing, at least, that I hadn't gotten so lost
in love and fame that I couldn't come across these feelings
of my very own.
And then later she and Jim break up,
and it was because of an affair, she's
very jealous of the new woman.
Every day I got messages from people
I knew in high school, or college,
or from my old friends.
I knew exactly where Julia was whenever
I wanted to, for example.
She had a kid, and she was angry at the father.
Every day someone else found a way to find me.
Sam said, "looks like you're doing good,"
and I didn't even want to know what that meant.
What part of this looked good?
What part did people see who weren't already involved?
My best friend in high school, Alberto, the one gay kid,
emailed me constantly.
He was going to come to one of my killer parties
one of these days.
He always knew I'd make it.
I got messages from guys who remembered having a crush,
or ones who had never met me but now had a crush,
or people who thought I was the ugliest, most disgusting thing
they'd ever encountered.
Nothing from Lucinda, who was chopping meat
with a new knife as her boyfriend watched.
Today there was no party, just a rest
in a tiny New Mexican hotel.
I learned to masturbate in the bathtub because of touring.
I couldn't masturbate without pornography
and without picturing Jim though.
Sometimes the scenes were elaborate,
his hands tied over his head, me straddling his face,
his disproportionately large hands holding my waist,
me clutching his throat as he shut his eyes
and opened his lips, his shoulders
jerking upward in spasms.
I came out of the bathroom to see
Mack on his laptop, Jim gone.
I popped my towel-wrapped head against a thickly painted wall
and opened my own computer.
Strange how only the shittiest hotels have free Wi-Fi.
Still shaking the water from my ears onto the folds of my robe,
I looked at Lucinda's blog.
It hadn't been updated.
I googled her name and clicked news.
The first item listed a few hours old about a party
that she had attended.
After the atmosphere, photos came with sure explanation
about my and Jim's relationship, or breakup, and our reunion.
The following were definitely taken by Jim.
When did he have enough time away from me
to be alone with her long enough to take all these pictures?
Even when Lucinda wasn't smiling, she was trying not to
and looking at the photographer, then rolling her eyes,
something I could never achieve.
Jim was amazing in that he could make a nobody a star.
I used to have boyfriends in high school
who were older and dropouts and who had nothing better
to do than to be near me and to fuck me.
It felt like I was pushing them away, playing hard to get,
and it felt like I didn't like sex
as much as they did, because they would bring it up.
It's hard to admit this, but none of those feelings
were real.
I was just as interested in them as they were
in me, if not more so.
They probably cheated on me with people their own age,
or were cheating on people their age with me.
And they probably weren't as excited about sex with me
as much as they were excited about sex with a high school
girl.
I was busy with homework, or grounded,
or just hard to reach because it was
hard to reach high schoolers back then,
before cell phones or email.
And everything was perfect, because it
was like I was a glamorous, energetic woman
with sex-crazed men buzzing around me.
Maybe that was the case, and either way, things
can't stay like that.
And I'm not even sad about that part changing,
just sad that now I'm the one who
wants what's hard to get, especially
since I know how stupid it is.
I want something I don't want, which
is people asserting an idea I have about myself,
stroking my ego, and touching me with the sole intention
of pleasuring me.
What a stupid thing to want since people who do
that are gross.
People who watch and do not want to be watched, people who
listen and do not want to talk.
People who live vicariously are just perverts,
and no one should want them around.
Thanks.