May I make a suggestion? I think what you need is some time in the open air, time to think, time to relax, time to reactivate your old interest in horseback riding under a clear and unpolluted sky. And, coincidentally enough, there’s a place right near where you are now that I happen to know of, and I can’t think of any spot in the world that would be better for you.
It’s the Bar-Bison Dude Ranch, and the mailing address is Altamont, New Mexico. Unlike so many resorts where you would have men constantly chasing after you, this is a genuinely relaxing place. Do me a favor. Hell, do yourself a favor. The minute you put down this letter, pick up the phone and call Bar-Bison and make a reservation. And go there right away.
I promise you it’ll do you a world of good.
37
c/o Gumbino
311½ West 20th St.
New York 10011
July 26
Miss Mary Katherine O’Shea
and Miss Barbara Judith Castle
Bar-Bison Dude Ranch
Altamont, New Mexico
Toothsome Merry Cat and Succulent B.J.:
I am enclosing some correspondence from and to my wife, Fran. I think these letters are self-explanatory. Perhaps the summer will turn out to be more entertaining than you may have guessed.
Ellen was here recently and sends you both her love. Alison is due shortly with what she describes as an erotic painting for our apartment. And I had a letter the other day from Dawn and Naughty Nasty Nancy. It looks as though Camp Whatchamacallit is working out well, although Dawn had a fairly hysterical scene with a lifeguard. But rather than spoil it, I’ll let her tell you herself when she sees you.
While nothing’s certain in this vale of tears, I think you can expect a visit from my wife before long. You professed to wonder what she was like, and now I think you’ll be able to find out. The name Merry Cat may be familiar to her, so herself might start calling herself just plain Mary, and B.J. can get used to Barbara. We all have to make occasional sacrifices.
Oh, hell, I don’t have to teach you angels how to scheme. Like teaching birds how to fly.
The ball’s in your court, kittens. Have fun.
38
c/o Gumbino
311½ West 20th St.
New York 10011
Hi, Uncle Larry!
This is secret agent Barbara speaking. Say hey, next time you give the Dolly Sisters an assignment, make it a tough one. We were all excited and couldn’t wait for your better half (hardly!) to get here. We kept hatching one outrageous plot after another and secret agent Mary would whisper something to me and we would both burst into a fit of hysterical laughter and before long they were all giving us funny looks. Even the horses thought we were crazy.
And they were right!
All seriousness aside, Uncle-Poo, we checked the registrations and saw she was really coming and really started in hatching schemes, figuring that this would be a real test of our Notorious Powers of Seduction.
And then there was nothing to it.
Larry, that woman is a lesbian. That woman managed to live twenty-nine years of her life without ever suspecting the truth, and it evidently took a cock up her ass to give her the idea, or at least that was what she kept talking about, how men give you sweet talk and pretend to be in love and all they want to do is bugger you and split your asshole open. Of course she found a more genteel way to say it, but that was what it added up to.
Merry Cat made the original pitch. She started off telling Fran how she didn’t like the way all the cowboys bothered her (which they don’t, the schmucks are all either faggots or else they just want to marry rich divorcees, or both) and Fran came right back with a line about how men are all beasts, and from then on it was almost a question of who was going to seduce whom.
Merry Cat wants to tell you the rest of it, so I’ll say au revoir. “Au revoir.” There, I said it. Your turn now, Mary Katherine.
This is Mary Katherine O’Shea speaking. Talk about insatiable dykes! She was here for a week and wouldn’t leave us alone. She ate all her meals between our legs. I’m not kidding, Larry. It’s the truth.
Do you remember the other letter you wrote us? Telling us not to worry that we were lesbians? I think we may have been ready to do a wee bit of worrying in spite of what you said, but the week with your spouse really set us straight. Ooops! Sorry about that.
But it did. That woman is a dyke and she’s as different from us as, oh, night and day, since I can’t think of anything more original just at the moment. She has this hangup where all she can talk about is how rotten men are. By the time she was ready to leave, it really got to me. I felt like going out and fucking one of the horses.
I’ll bet she never fucks a man again as long as she lives.
She talked about Steve quite a bit, and also about you, and it was slightly weird pretending we never heard of any of you people before, but she never caught on, even when B.J. slipped and told her what school we were from. It didn’t even register. She didn’t say much that was interesting, except one time she said, “Larry knew about me all along. He used to pester me to find out if I ever made it with a girl. I guess it was always obvious to him.”
Oh, one other thing. She’s going to divorce you, but she’s into this Women’s Lib thing to such a degree that she won’t accept alimony because it destroys a woman’s dignity. I don’t suppose that will make you shed tears!
Send us more assignments from time to time. We love our work, and we love you.
39
Cuernavaca
Mr. Laurence Clarke
c/o Gumbino
311½ West 20th Street
New York, New York
Lorenzo, mi amigo—
You’re not going to believe this. Damn it all, you are simply not going to believe this.
I’m getting married in the morning. Here, in glorious Cuernavaca. Me. Steve. Your old buddy, the permanent bachelor.
And it’s all your fault, you sweet old sonofabitch.
That’s not the part you’re not going to believe, although God knows it’s unbelievable enough. The capper is that I’m getting married to Lisa. Your ex-wife. That Lisa.
Well, in this case you can’t be pissed, can you? I mean, I waited until you were done with her before I picked up on her. You can’t be pissed this time.
As far as I’m concerned, you’re Thomas Edison and Marconi and all those cats rolled into one. Because I took your advice again, Larry, and this time I made it work. Turned her on but good, flipped her over, rammed it halfway to her small intestine, and pinned her steady while I pumped it to her.
Screamed her head off. I thought we would have Mex cops all over the bed. But I kept it up just the way you said, and lo and goddam behold, Larry, if it didn’t work like a charm.