Lost Years (10 page)

Day-to-day diary, January 21: “With Bill to Beesleys'. Saw Barrymore house.” January 21 was a Sunday. Sunday lunch with the Beesleys had become a more or less fixed engagement. John van Druten and Carter sometimes came—though Carter was secretly unwelcome because he was allergic to dogs, so the dalmatians had to be shut away somewhere during his visit. (Dodie, of course, disbelieved in his allergy—like many Britishers of her generation, she dismissed allergies as an American superstition, with the single
exception of hay fever. In her opinion, Carter simply hated dogs, which was a permanent bad mark against him.)

The Beesleys were then living in a magnificent house on a hill above Tower Road—much too big for them. It had lawns, a garden, a tennis court and a pool. I think it rented for four hundred dollars a month, which seemed huge, in those days.

I can find no mention of Bill Harris having had lunch with the Beesleys before January 7, 1945; this was probably his second visit. The Beesleys liked him and on later occasions made opportunities for Bill and Christopher to have sex, by going out and leaving them together, or even by suggesting to Christopher, “Wouldn't you like to take a bath?” (This suggestion wasn't quite as shameless as it sounded, because it was a long-established custom that Christopher should be offered a bath when he came to see them. It was like offering a bath to a serviceman who is in camp. At the Vedanta Center, the bathroom was shared by several people, and an unhurried soak in a spotless tub was a real luxury for Christopher.)
¹²

The house which had once belonged to John Barrymore was somewhere in that neighborhood. Its most remarkable feature was a very tall totem pole in the garden. My memory is of a building like a cloister, with a row of dark small cluttered rooms which stank; the place was then unoccupied. It may have stood empty since Barrymore's death in 1942. I remember tales of the filthy state it had been in during his later lifetime—the rooms like sties full of drunken guests snoring amidst their shit and vomit. Maybe Alec Beesley had got permission to look around the house by pretending he wanted to rent it. Or maybe they were simply trespassing.

Day-to-day diary, January 22: “Tried to hitchhike north with Bill, and failed.” Bill Harris and Christopher waited on the Pacific Coast Highway, at the Channel Road entrance to Santa Monica Canyon,
for several hours, trying without success to thumb a ride. The war was still very much on, despite increasing prospects of peace—gasoline rationing was in force and nonmilitary traffic, other than local, was greatly reduced. Bill and Christopher were presumably hoping to catch a car which would take them to Santa Barbara at least, if not to San Francisco; and these were rare.

I find this episode (or non-episode) curious and puzzling. It doesn't seem to belong to the style of the Bill–Christopher relationship. To set forth impulsively on an unplanned indefinite hobo trip is something which the Christopher of six years earlier might have done with Vernon Old. Their journey across the U.S. by bus was a modified version of the hobo trip—Whitman, “We Two Boys Together Clinging,” the “Song of the Open Road,” etc. The Vernon—Christopher relationship aspired to be Whitmanesque—at least, Christopher certainly felt that it was or could be. He fell in love with Vernon as an embodiment of The American Boy.

But now, with Bill Harris, as a forty-year-old lapsed monk, Christopher is attempting a different, more mature style. Why did he suddenly decide on this boyish elopement? Was he trying to prove to Bill how young he still was? Was he running away from the Vedanta Center, or from Denny Fouts? If so, how long did he plan to remain out of town? I simply cannot remember.

It is also possible that Christopher already knew about Pancho Moraturi, Bill's Argentine friend, who was urging Bill to come and live with him. In this case, Christopher may have planned the trip up north as a last fling. He can't have wanted to carry Bill off from Pancho permanently. He must have known then what became obvious to him when he was rewriting his journals a year later, that his intentions toward Bill were not and never had been really serious.

On January 23, Christopher and Bill Harris were down in Santa Monica again. (I suppose they made these trips by bus. Christopher cycled sometimes, but only when he was alone.
¹³
Bill was now living on La Cienega Boulevard; more about this later.) That evening, at Denny's apartment, there was a party—Chris Wood came, and Stef Brecht ([Bertolt] Brecht's son) and Paul Fox, a friend of Chris's, who was a set designer and worked, appropriately enough, at Twentieth Century-Fox. Christopher and Bill spent the night in one of the back rooms of the 137 Entrada Drive building. I
remember Stef, in his formal European way, nodding toward Bill and then saying politely to Christopher, “I congratulate you, he is extremely attractive.”
¹⁴

I see from the day-to-day diary that John Goodwin was also there. It is odd that I don't have more memories of him, for he was often with Denny. My impression is that Christopher didn't really like John but was hardly aware of this. Christopher and John were outwardly friendly. John had actually encouraged Bill to have an affair with Christopher. And Christopher himself was, not very energetically, on the make for John—John pretended to be flattered by this, but didn't encourage him to go ahead. Nevertheless, I feel that Christopher was constantly being repelled by John's rudeness, selfishness and arrogance. Christopher hated little rich boys in his deepest heart, no matter how talented they were, or how physically attractive.

On January 24, the day-to-day diary records that Bill Harris “had date at Selznick.” Probably John Darrow the agent and ex-actor had arranged that Bill should see the casting director at the Selznick Studios. (John Darrow had had an affair with Bill, shortly before Christopher.) Nothing came of the interview, however.

On January 24, it is also recorded that there was Ram Nam in the evening and that Swami returned to the center from a stay at the ashram in Santa Barbara. Christopher still showed up to take part in these ceremonies, still spent time with Swami, but almost no memories remain of his life at the center during this final period. He was obsessed by Denny's Santa Monica world and by Bill Harris; and that is what has left its mark.

On January 27, Christopher went with Bill and Denny to the Follies and the Burbank, two burlesque shows. Here are some notes he made, either about these performances or some others he saw at that time:

January 28: “Lunch with Beesleys. Katharine Hepburn came in. Vigil 9–10 p.m.” Hepburn lived quite close to the Beesleys. She had walked over to see them. They didn't know her well. A link between them was the Swedish married couple who had once worked for Hepburn and now worked for the Beesleys. This man and his wife were nice looking, youngish, spotlessly clean, demure, lazy, expensive and devoted to vicious gossip. They told Dodie and Alec how eccentric, ill-tempered and domineering Hepburn was as an employer. They claimed that she walked about in the woods naked. I myself have no memory of Hepburn at this time, except that her freckles were very prominent and that she seemed friendly and pleasant.

January 29: “Drove with Bill to Robinsons, to leave Gitas. Spent the evening at his place.” This is a good specimen day to represent this period in Christopher's life—with one foot in the Vedanta Center and one foot out of it. These were newly printed copies of the Gita, which Christopher was taking to Robinsons department store. (I think there was a devotee employed in their book department who was going to push the Gita.)

The rest of the day was spent at Bill's La Cienega apartment. It seems to me now that La Cienega was perhaps the most romantic street in Los Angeles, in those days. It had an un-American air of reticence, of unwillingness to display itself Its shops were small and unshowy; its private houses were private. Also—and this was what really appealed to Christopher—it seemed to have a bohemian, self-contained life of its own. It was a “quarter,” which didn't make any effort to welcome outside visitors. Many of its dwellers were hidden away in odd little garden houses and shacks, within courtyards or on alleys, behind the row of buildings which lined the street. It was in one of these that Bill lived.

I suppose Christopher was now very much aware of Bill's impending departure and wanted to perform an act of sexual magic which would, as it were, stake out a permanent claim in Bill even after he “belonged” to Pancho. Anyhow, Christopher told Bill that he wanted to fuck him in every room of the apartment. (This probably consisted only of bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom.) Bill was quite willing—the idea of “staged” sex excited
him. They had often talked of unusual places where one might make love. On this occasion, their only daring move was to go outside the house—the apartment being on the ground floor—and fuck one more time in the courtyard, in the rain. The neighbors may well have seen them doing this. If they did, there were no complaints. When it was over, Bill and Christopher felt very pleased with themselves and each other. Bill even went so far as to say, “You know, if you were three or four inches taller, you might quite easily be Heathcliff.” “Heathcliff” was Bill's name for the ideal sex partner. But “Heathcliff”
had
to be at least a couple of inches taller than Bill.

(The word fuck in the above paragraph is perhaps misleading. I don't mean that Bill and Christopher had five distinct orgasms on this occasion; only that there were five stickings-in and pullings-out. Bill later paid Christopher another compliment indirectly, by telling Denny all about it and saying how it had hurt. I think this was Bill's kind of politeness. Bill was a veteran fuckee, and getting hurt is usually due to inexperience.)

January 31: “With Bill to the framer's. He washed shirts, etc. The soldier came in.”

I have forgotten to mention that Bill painted, in those days. (Later, he retouched photographs and made various kinds of art objects.) He had done a self-portrait, I believe, that Christopher wanted as a keepsake—perhaps it was this that was being framed. But then again it seems to me that Bill was dissatisfied with the self-portrait and repainted it as a woman, whom Christopher decided to call Santa Monica. It is Santa Monica's picture, anyhow, which we have here in the house today.

I forget what the soldier's name was. He was one of Bill's lovers and he showed up with the obvious intention of getting some sex. Finding Christopher there, he sat down to wait until Christopher left. But Christopher wasn't about to leave. He glared jealously at the soldier and the atmosphere became tense. Suddenly Bill jumped up and ran out of the apartment and into the street. Christopher followed him. The scene was dramatic, because Bill was barefoot and had nothing on him but a bathrobe—however, no one on the boulevard appeared to pay much attention to this. When Christopher caught up with Bill, Bill was rather cross. “All this
love
—” he exclaimed, “I can't stand it!” As far as I remember, Christopher and the soldier ended by leaving the house together and going up to the soldier's place for a drink. By this time, Christopher was definitely interested in him, for he was sexy. But the soldier wasn't interested in Christopher, and nothing happened.

February 3: “Down to Denny's. Tom Maddox,
^[
15
]
Jeff
^[
16
]
and Curly
^[
17
]
were there. With Denny and Bill to see
Othello.
Bill and I slept at Bobo and Kelley's.”

Tom Maddox was a very good-looking young actor, of the type which is classified as “rugged.” His career looked promising at that time, but he never amounted to much. He was having a dangerous and exciting affair with Roddy McDowall, who was then in his teens.
¹⁸
According to Tom, Roddy was the one who had started it. Tom said Roddy was insanely reckless and got a thrill out of having sex with Tom in the McDowall home, while Roddy's parents were in the next room.

Jeff and Curly were two of Denny's sexual playmates, a pair of highly untrustworthy teenagers who liked pot and blue movies and who would have been quite capable of turning nasty at any moment and resorting to blackmail. This, for Denny, was a large part of their charm. I think they were brothers.
¹⁹

The performance of
Othello
(downtown at the Biltmore) starred Paul Robeson, José Ferrer and Uta Hagen. Robeson looked marvellous in his costume, indeed he was perfectly typecast, but I don't remember that he was more than adequate; he sweated profusely. José Ferrer was a newcomer then, and he probably seemed better than he was. I remember him being tricky and showy in the “Put money in thy purse” speech to Roderigo and getting a lot of applause. I think we were all grateful, out here in the sticks, for any halfway stylish Shakespeare productions. Such events were like signs that the cultural blackout of the war was coming to an end.

Wallace Bobo and Howard Kelley, always referred to as Bo and Kelley, had another of the upstair front apartments at 137 Entrada Drive. So they were constantly in and out of Denny's apartment and were at most of his parties. They were ideal neighbors, easygoing, helpful, ready to go along with any of Denny's schemes; difficult as he could be, he never quarrelled with either of them. Bo was perhaps
more “the man of the family”; he was the good-looking one, he worked at an outdoor job (it was either landscape gardening or a nursery garden), he was butch (though not excessively). Kelley (I have forgotten what his job was) made most of the decisions and was altogether more practical; later, when Bo became somewhat [unwell], Kelley looked after him. I don't know how long they had already been together—I think they had both been in the service; but you felt that they would never part. They were both full of fun and gossip and took great interest in everything to do with show business. They both loved to get into drag.