NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
“That must be Max” says Diddlie as we walk across the H Bar parking lot. I look at a large step van, with ‘Planck & Sons Builders’ written on the side panel in a Germanic script seldom seen in this area. “Max Planck built the new foundations for Newton House” explains Diddlie. “He’s very big around here. Termites had undermined the original foundations and the new Quantum Cue was built. The upper stories of historic Newton House remain intact as part of the larger structure of Hoffman’s Bar and Grill. We all call it the H Bar,” says Diddlie as if she were leading a tour and went on with further historical background, alluding to Mary Thompson’s short monograph on Newton House which finally put paid to the myth that George Washington slept there, by showing that the building was not erected until 1801, while Washington died in 1779. Mr. Hoffman has posted a sign in the foyer offering a free drink to purchasers of this history who read it on the premises.
Diddlie explains: “Max has two grown sons, Niels and Werner, partners in the business, when they aren’t playing pool, or just disappearing for a while. You never know which one of them will show up at a job site and you can never get them both together” says Diddlie with a giggle. “There’s a lot of speculation in the neighborhood about those two.”
“Are they twins?”
“No, they don’t even look the same.”
We stand waiting in the foyer of the H Bar which opens to the Quantum Cue on the right, and the cocktail lounge on the left. “There’s Lark! She never called when they got back.” She points through the wide entrance to the Quantum Cue pool hall. That’s Max making a shot at the table on the left there.” We do not join Max, who has his back to us. He has taken to wearing black leather jeans since his visit to Prague and other points east.
“Who’s Lark?”
Diddlie grabs my arm. “Lark Bunlush. We were college roommates. We even shared the same guy for a while. Well for a couple of months. Then it had to end, pronto.”
“Must have been a tense moment when you two found out about each other.”
“No the tension came when he found out we were sharing him for the fun of it.”
“Oh were you comparing notes?”
“Yeah, well we did I guess, but that’s not what it was about.
“So who got him in the end?”
“It wasn’t a contest. We had a lot of fun. We wanted to be different. We both liked him. Guy sharing seemed like an exciting idea. Get away from possessiveness.”
“Is that what is called free love.”
“Love isn’t free, sweetie.”
“No, well love is a big topic.”
“We wanted a new experience.”
“Sexual experience?”
“That was part of it, but look, don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t trying to be mean or anything. I thought Lark was going to take off with him, but it never happened. Now she has been over to Europe with Max, and kept me out of the loop.”
“Are you still that close?”
“In some ways … it’s not like we are roommates but we keep up … have to talk to her.”
“What? You’ll interrupt the game!”
“No” she squeezes my arm and tugs on it for emphasis like a young girl. “Not in front of Max, and not here. I mean later, in private. That little weasel’s up to something. I just know it.”
We stand watching for a few moments. Max misses a shot, then Lark walks over to the table. Six shots later, Max is confronted with the cue ball and bare green felt.
Diddlie moves slightly behind me as she speaks. Her voice has gone soft, as if not to be overheard. She presses against me trying to conceal herself and not block the passageway. “Come on I don’t want them to see me yet.”
Lark Bunlush, also wearing leather jeans, is leaning back on the bar facing the pool table and resting the cue on her shoulder. Lark’s full figure shows through her white Shetland sweater. One narrow length of pure black hair is thrown back from her forehead fanning out over the thick wavy grays.
They don’t see Diddlie. It is our turn to be seated. We walk away from the Quantum Cue towards the bar in the cocktail lounge and sit down. I can still see them now and then, moving across the mirror in front of us among the necks of bottles: Jeremiah Weed’s Country Peach Sweet Tea, Beafeater gin and Laphroaig. Diddlie tells me more about her roommate and confidante at Glamour College in Vermont, during the late sixties. It was Lark.
“Lark founded and edited Shrink Rap Magazine while we were students, but I didn’t get involved in that part of her life. She gave it up when the magazine was sold to a conglomerate, and they hired Rand Farctoid. Her name is still on the masthead though, as a contributing editor.” The bartender glances at Diddlie as he moves past quickly with beer bottles in hand. Diddlie remarks that Lark keeps her dislike of Farctoid to herself, but sees disdain in Lark’s demeanor when she is around Rand. Lark has told her Farctoid is too ready to make money by selling sensational stories that don’t reveal anything important in Lark’s mind. She adds “Fartoid’s skill boosted the circulation of Shrink Rap to where it is now.”
“Where’s that?”
“It is big enough to keep going, and it has a website.”
She goes into Lark’s history, explaining that Lark’s early marriage to Harper Nightingale, while still a student, was complicated after graduation from Glamour. They moved to Fauxmont. The first and only child didn’t come for many years. Lark did graduate work at Prestige U, where she attended Theo Tinderbrush’s seminars, and became his teaching assistant.
Diddlie grew up in Fauxmont. She returned after college, delighted that her friend had moved in nearby, but had difficulty staying out of their heated dispute over who the father was. As the boy grew, his resemblance to professor Theo Tinderbrush grew stronger. The distinctive high forehead and jutting chin, and the thick and floppy reddish brown hair were nothing like Lark’s jet black hair or Harper’s square and symmetrical face with curly black hair. Harper was unable to ignore these anomalies. Lark and Harper separated around the time Boyd was five, but after the boy started high school they got back together. An event Diddlie finds impossible to understand. Harper said it was for the boy’s good, but Lark told a different story every time the two friends discussed it, leaving Diddlie puzzled. At the moment, Lark appears to be close to Max Planck, sharing his taste for leather gear, booze and pool. Where is Harper?” I enquired. Diddlie thinks he is at a business conference in Singapore, but isn’t sure. She is convinced that he is seldom home with Lark, who it seems, is seldom home herself.
The boy flunked ninth grade and Harper and Lark separated again. At that point Harper told Lark that Boyd should go to a military academy to learn some discipline. Lark was appalled, accusing Harper of neglect, and pointing out that the discipline problem, if there were one, would never have arisen if Harper spent more time at home. Harper then asked Lark when she was last at home, which provoked Lark to throw Harper out. He had no intention of moving out, but did leave on a business trip to Hungary the next day. When he got back a week and a half later, having stopped off in London to see friends, Harper found Lark had moved his things into a rented flat, and changed the locks to their home. Their story runs in alternating currents of hope and despair through Diddlie’s concerned attentions.
Having started, Diddlie can’t stop talking about Lark, her favorite subject. As she speaks faster and faster in her excitement she chokes on a French-fry but goes on to tell me about one of Lark’s memorable outrages. It occurred after the first break up with Harper. There is a pause while her jaws rest behind her napkin. She swallows, takes a deep breath, smiles and cheerfully excuses herself. Putting her hand on my arm, Diddlie leans closer and continues in a newly confidential tone about Lark’s visits to the Library of Congress when researching a paper. Lark had admired Neptune’s statue as she walked by the fountain in front of the Library of Congress’s Jefferson Building, facing the Capitol. One night, without telling Diddlie of her plan, she painted Neptune’s balls yellow and his cock blue, and signed her work ‘Minerva’ in orange on the dark back wall. The rest of the statuary remained covered in its weathered bronze stains before the grandeur of the Capitol dome.
The morning after the paint job, a newsworthy association of scholars had gathered in front of the fountain to have their picture taken by a celebrity photographer, and word of Larks’ paint job spread. The photographer had to arrange his subjects in front of the fountain blocking any view of the desecrated statue. The paint job became a story on local news. This presented a dilemma for the media who could not show pictures of the offending paint-work on their television news broadcasts. For a few flickering moments, Washington’s attention was focused on carefully edited images of Neptune’s Court, and other powers in the city were ignored. Lark was annoyed by the fact that no one could see her work on TV. The story disappeared before she could step forward for a newsmaker interview. She had no occasion to make her larger point on camera, about sexism, or the prevalence of violence over sex in television entertainment.
Months after the event Theo came back from a lecture tour in Germany and gave her a copy of the German tabloid, Der Spiegel, with an illustrated story about vandalism at the Library of Congress. No mention of Lark, or her publicity stunt, just the paint job. “Those pictures should have been published here” she complained. It was then that Lark had the idea to start Shrink Rap.
Diddlie and I eat at the bar. I finish but Diddlie’s plate is still full as she has so much to say, leaving herself little time to eat. While she was speaking I kept an eye on the mirror behind the liquor bottles. Now I can see Liberty and Gale Trip coming into the room. The two women come over to chat giving Diddlie time to finish the rest of her lunch. I learn that there is nothing but uncertainty surrounding the bug case. Liberty said they just finished a discussion with some ‘suites’ up in the Heisenberg Rooms. She wanted to interest them in marketing the Aphid Fuzz label internationally.
