by any other name

 

Electra’s dictionary & Film Noir/notes to celf; the bridge to Paradiso/(shortshot of Electra writing into her phone waiting at the airport for Jörn)

 

As I wait for him at the airport, I think of that night

It was a full moon that night

“How did you beat the odds?” I remember, he asks me. And felt him take it from me “....what did you do different?”

“I invented secret hallways in my mind to escape into….”

 

were it enough

                               ….to be seen

 

and 

would that this be a portal to the intangible 

yet only

the pirate and the dove vampire database; red herrings

 

Walking behind him over the miles, over the landscapes, Elan would look out into a vast and strange horizon; the wide scope, stretched-out and stamped into her retinas like a ghostly picture....

like a picture it would forever lay indelibly in her mind; preserved within the recesses; past, present .... to glimpse from out of the soot— 

~such as this hopeless anomie that is now, that is this~ 

He would take her with him during those weeks he did the trading and they would alter going on foot if they traded the horses

she longed more and more to know his thoughts 

to know his mind to what lay behind those sparks of brilliance to that den inside 

carrying the heavy bags on their backs, the motion of the swing of her hips in step with her foot as it would land on the earth when she walked with the weight of the sack she carried on her back .... 

Electra’s dictionary/the following scene; (past the noir) confessions, deflections

 

~“Give your evidence,” said the King; “and don’t be nervous, or I’ll have you executed on the spot.”

This did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread-and-butter.”—from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll~

it is later, after the video zoom chat with Paulina—which I suppose I would rather not go into for more than one or two reasons, like so many things that I find it hard to speak of, write of

like so many things on my mind and too hard to let myself even to feel —even as I know they are there; the haunting seems more endurable than having to survive the agony of the aftermath once aired and the consequences of climbing back out of the clinging bog that has often threatened to topple any resolve to —go on

it is easier to —instead, I guess —to speak of other things —as I do.... instead; easier to deflect. And to shift and veil behind; to obscure because.... I guess, I find it terribly hard to say some things even to myself, nor even let myself ....look at full-on.... and best to mind —not— to let it show

sometimes I flee

as if the devil is chasing me....

and so.... it is when I go straight after the meeting to draw a bath — I suspect Jörn sensed it because he saw me leave as soon as it was done — 

and in my wild haste I forget to shut the door behind me.... realizing I must need a bath and —kicking off my shoes with an urgency and removing my jeans, to drop, discarded onto the bathroom floor.... but stop and in some strange daze now, I just stare at nothing —still leaving on his shirt and tie that just an hour or so before he put on me in front of his closet and so I stare without seeing what I look at as I just blankly watch the water fill, leaning into the frame of the bathroom doorway and .... it must be because I am sleep deprived that my thoughts go faraway and don’t notice when Jörn appears and walks over to me. He touches me and makes me jump with a start. And when I turn, I forget to expect him to be still dressed that way; as Greta; he wears a cerulean mini dress that reaches mid thigh with fishnet stockings and go-go boots from the shipment and it is hard not to stare at him with his face made up expertly like a drag queen; his hair softly loose and ....caught in an unguarded second I reach to touch it.... touch his hair ....caught up in something there and.... without realizing I stare into his eyes —drawn to him....

awkwardly I move away. I go to the bath tub and look for the patchouli oil and pour some in and lean down to watch the water fill

He says,

“come here....” in that way and when I don’t move and just look into the water, this time more softly I hear him say,”kim hit....”

I guess maybe it is something; just something different this time in his voice that makes me stand up and without looking at him, I just go to him

But he says,

“look at me,” and pulls my face up to him. He asks me ....something .... noticing my reticence but I don’t answer and so, instead, he asks me something else that I don’t expect .... 

and then—he blurts it all out at once as if he’s been holding it back—he just says it all at once, 

“was it because you wanted to protect your mother from him ....because you thought if he beat you .... he wouldn’t beat her ....and—was it also because she disappointed you by what.... she —did— duva, it wasn’t just your sister who did that— was it? ....she did it ....too — but she is who confused you and you knew it was wrong and you couldn’t tell anyone.... because you were trying to protect her —duva, is that why.... ? you needed somewhere to tell.... but she found your diary —that is why you first created the dictionary.... isn’t it—Electra.... Oedipus?”

I feel sick 

his questions stun me and I get dizzy 

Sometimes it seems that —that closet overflows

the doors nearly bursting apart —as now with the weight of all the skeletons, it falls and bursts wide open and every inch of my skin seems to be scorched and on fire, in shame .... so long inside it feels too much to stand up, so long —holding it in to keep it from showing

and I know .... he knows that because he says this to me now as ‘Greta’ ....that this way ....he ....can 

and maybe that is why 

I search myself and ask myself: did I suspect he knew? did I not know....? no.... I really did not— I mean, I hoped he did not —and hoped he would not ever 

wished he would not ever

have to .... know

I can’t look at him, and the walls seem to warp and cave, their soot running off and all over my skin

....I did not expect such questions. Nor that he had, by now.... guessed ....as much as he has. and so ....it makes me wonder how long he has known. how much he knows. and why.... he still .... is there.... 

Why .... he is still there ....why is he.... ? why has he not .... gone

now knowing what he knows; what no one else has ever known....And maybe it is the relief of letting go of the burden.... I begin to shake 

and it is somehow no longer a shock to look at him ....now.... this way, 

even as he does not make a pretty woman but this does not lessen the impact he has to disturb me and instead I find I am, in that moment, quite suddenly more aware that there is something ....I feel.... 

”kim hit....”he says again, pulling me towards the bath, he shuts off the water, “you’re shaking, duva—let’s get into the water,” he says,”låt mig tvätta dig.” 

He turns off the lights and lights two candles and in the dimness, he undresses me, undoing the knot of his tie that I wear, when he undoes the buttons of his shirt on me, starting from the bottom, he pulls my face up to look at him, “look at me,” he says.... and when I do, he watches my eyes and face and then he touches me under the shirt —he says something ....but I don’t know the words or what they mean, but it is something I hear in the meaning in his voice that forces out the breath I have been holding and blurs my eyes and then it is the surprise of his touch that over rules everything ....even the dueling, chastising censorship of those demons within my walls, those cruel demons with their thorny fingers that never give me a moment’s peace, but for now, they seem to have lost their power, I don’t hear them ....just Jörn as he says those unknown words again and take a breath and breathe .... breathe in his familiar smell mixed with the scent he wears, I lean into him and looking up at him ....feel the need to place my hand intimately on him.... touch him —and the feeling rushes over, I climb onto him and press myself to him.... by the sink, on the edge of the counter

burlesque; the importance of being Elton

“Are you sure Lisa’s there?” I ask Jörn 

“I heard her talking in the background— he had his phone on speaker....” 

“Oh. Hmmm.... What about the secret distillery basement?”

“No, she knows about it, she was talking about it the first day when she was here, you just don’t remember,” he says

“Oh. Right. I forgot....” but then I say, “what about the extra guest room down the hall that’s become the dumping zone?”

“She knows every room in the house, duva, remember she ordered all the furniture and planned and designed the color schemes and I’m sure she has all the specs still on her computer to refresh her memory.”

“Well, actually I was thinking about the closet.”

“The closet?”

“Well, the reason nobody likes that room is because it’s so ordinary looking and boring, which is the reason it’s become the dumping zone where all the junk gets tossed into, but —more to the point: the closet is possibly the worst feature. It reminds me of the closets of half a dozen dreary apartments I’ve lived at in Michigan.”

“It looks like what closets look like,” he banters not getting my point

“Yeah, it does so —yeah—it could be anywhere, anyone’s, right?”

“You suggest we do a zoom meeting in a closet?” he scoffs 

“Do you have a better idea?”

“A closet? Duva—“

“Yes— look, I can say that it’s a promotional idea. Something we’ve come up with and are trying it out. Since Paulina wants to continue to be involved in the company—as you know—he wants to remain in charge of the website because that’s what he did before it changed hands to —you— I mean ‘Greta’— he seems unwilling to let Cabaret go, if you want my opinion— he’s going to be like a pimple on your ass, you know—and he’s extremely territorial, especially about making the decisions about what goes in the catalogue!”

“Why do you care? It doesn’t matter to me. I just need the front for storage space. Just let him, if he wants to do the work—“

“No, Jörn—you said— I mean— well you said because I used to run a boutique— well I just assumed you wanted my input.... and.... so.... you should know — um— that I placed this really big order and—well— Paulina was not exactly pleased that she—he—I mean— wasn’t consulted first.”

“You placed a big order?”

“It was when I was waiting last night, I got bored and.... so, anyway....”

“Hmm,” Jörn only says 

“Are you mad? Was that wrong?”

“No—I ....what kind of order?” he asks 

“It’s just —some idea I got for a new line that I told Paulina I wanted to call ‘Le chevalier’....“

“Hmm...” he says again and at first it is all he says. After a silent pause he asks,

“what kinds of clothes did you order?”

“Oh, well—you know.... shirts with a lot of ruffles.... like Oscar Wilde dandy clothes, you know, like those ‘poet shirts,’—some waist coats with velvet britches, long brocaded coats—like—kind of Louis XIV style but with a modern look.... I found this on a search I was doing because I was losing my mind watching the monitors for hours with nothing happening. These were cool, I thought, so, why not?— they’re all by an unknown designer— I mean, as I noticed the Cabaret catalogue only had femme fatale things mostly there’s a whole other genre that is being overlooked and I thought— well—and I was thinking ‘Elton’ wouldn’t be dressed in tights and stilettos, would he?”

He laughs,

“now I know why Paulina wants to see what you look like!”

As we are now sitting up in bed I watch his face carefully and becoming worried, I say,

“why—wh-what does—that mean exactly?”

“Never mind—let’s focus on the zoom meeting, we don’t have much time—we need to—well, besides having to throw our act together, I don’t know what we can do about you—and as you point out, the shipment that came will have more than enough for Greta —but we still have no idea where to do the zoom meeting....hmm, really ....le chevalier....?”

I try not to read too much into it,

“So, what about the closet?”

“What about the closet?”

“For the meeting.”

“You are seriously suggesting we do a zoom meeting in a closet?” he is not impressed

“Well, just listen a minute— we can throw some Christmas lights around it—I noticed that there were boxes of feather boas in the shipment that came, we hang some of them around with that fake leopard jacket I saw, hang one of those little black dresses with rhinestones that I saw was in there too and—set up some high heeled shoes on the shelf—you know, I think we had a lot of extra red Christmas lights, didn’t we? we could use those—I mean, it’s a small space but we can dress it up like a Cabaret and say we are working on a promotional campaign called ‘Party in My Closet’ for the obvious euphemism of the closet, but —it now it just occurred to me we can say it’s our way to do our part to ‘chase the Covid blues away’ since everyone is pretty much depressed and stuck in forms of isolation. Tell him we think it would be good to promote sales, say we were thinking to do a ‘party in my closet’ contest for customers and we thought it might work to boost morale —uhhh.... whatever— what the fuck,” I say because he’s laughing at me, “ok. Never mind, forget it. I know it’s stupid—sorry, it was just the first thing that popped into my head .... so.... maybe you have a better idea where to do a zoom call where Lisa doesn’t know.”

“Is this the window designer coming out in you?”

“Hey, I was good.”

He gets up suddenly and yanks me out of bed dragging me to his closet,

“Good or bad, I can’t think of anything better—and we’re out of time. We’re doing it.”