MEMORIES OF THE HARKNESS MONSTER
This week, Angelina Jolie announced she had her ovaries extracted because she has a genetic marker that indicates to doctors that she is more prone to cervical cancer than other women may be. Jolie had already undergone breast cancer surgery to extract pre-cancerous tissues. My heart swells at the sheer bravery of Jolie. One of the most beautiful women in the world is willing to risk early menopause in order to save her future from the crushing ordeal of chemo and possibly even radiation.
And then my heart swells when I think of the best girlfriend I ever had. The Harkness Monster is what I called that willful woman, a woman who was an animal rights activist, a no-smoking advocate who actually got punched-out in the old Sears store on Greenville and Ross when she demanded some schmuck put-out his cigarette, and a woman who had a lime green Toyota pick-up that bore a bumper sticker dismissing Toyota as a maker of bad cars. With her round glasses, The Harkness Monster looked oddly Japanese, and she was famous for answering her door in her underwear. She had a t-shirt that read FUCK as a way of putting-off men who wanted to use her for entertainment purposes, although when she wore it around me it meant something else entirely.
The Harkness Monster made beautiful lamps out of old tin cans. She had her entire house lit with track lights. She had a dog named Ranger who barked and growled at anyone but her--and I. She was the finest calligrapher in Dallas, and had an ongoing contract with Southern Methodist University to write graduates' names on diplomas--but when she signed my name to a party invitation, the unique design of the lettering was the earmark of a true artist at work. I will never forget The Harkness Monster. Friend, frenemy, lover, assistant, supervisor, craftswoman, artist and animal whisperer.
I met her at a party a neighbor of hers threw way back in December, 1979, and while Kim Malin, a friend of mine who also happened to be a Playboy girl of the month, was busily talking-off my ear, I felt instant attraction to The Harkness Monster. My attraction comes from the heart and soul. Lust is dust.
I talked to her, liked what I heard, and got her phone number. When I decided to have a party of my own later that spring, Harkness showed-up with a black-and-white TV "so I don't miss Dallas" and sat on the floor, spread-eagled with the television between her legs. She didn't socialize much. But I got the message. And I called her out.
The Harkness Monster didn't feel like a sexual being any more. Why? She'd had pre-cancerous tumors in her breast and ovaries removed. Although she was absolutely beautiful in a Harkness Monster way--green eyes, dusky skin, slender and light, she felt like it was the end of her life as a woman. She was hurting. For that, I liked her more. She was genuine, not a little girl out playing games. Reticent at first, The Harkness Monster gradually let me in. I worked at the nearby Albertsons, and in the evenings after work, I would bicycle over to her house and spend the night with her. Nude as a couple of clowns we watched Tom Snyder and The Tomorrow Show and slept in each other's arms when we fell asleep on the couch.
The Harkness Monster soon warmed up. As did I. I have always been a little shy with women at first. There are good reasons for that, but once the light switch flicks on, it is hard to turn-off. We had our songs: "Your kiss, your kiss is what I miss" was one. "The Long and Winding Road" was another. The Harkness Monster had been left behind a number of times.
The Harkness Monster was seeing several other men at the time, and I had to share her. This was not always easy, but because I really loved her right from the start, I knew she needed freedom and a way to get her chops back. She even slept with that neighbor-friend of mine. He thought he'd really pulled the wool over my head. I always know way more than I ever let-on to those who take me for a fool.
She worked as an artisan for a man named Joseph, but he was a complainer and rather vain to say the least. He wanted "something serious" with her, but she had more fun with me. It wasn't a relationship based on sex or sexuality as much as it was based on the much more solid ground of trust and mutual respect. When he decided The Harkness Monster was going to be "his hostess" for a party in the then ruined mess of Deep Ellum, she secretly sent me an invitation I still have to this day. Her calligraphy? Breath-taking.
At the party, however, I got into a sort of traffic jam: Two former lovers of mine were also present. Tracy, a talented artist, was there with the man she was then living with, and of course, Tracy flirted with her eyes. The only reason we had broken up was because I didn't feel ready to move-in with her. We carried on behind the scenes many times after the relationship was officially over. Then there was Ann. Also a talented artist. Ann and I shared one peak experience: making love in her apartment pool at three in the morning. All those women were sowing their wild oats. They were pretty, were experimenting with sex, and I had to go along to get along.
All three were in the same room together, but none of them knew about the other. Haha!
I simply kept to the strangers in the room, mainly because I was already good and unhappy that Joseph had put The Harkness Monster in such a position. She continued, however, to give me a big wink, over and over, and yes, it was quite funny.
The party was full of a bunch of over-inflated artists, three lovers and myself. The Harkness Monster was "the perfect hostess", and by the end of the evening, there she sat on a porch swing inside his studio as I looked on in private anguish. I was jealous. Wink-wink. Finally, I said, "I give up, I've had enough to drink to kill a horse."
I drove home to my apartment on Oram Street, feeling like I was going to have to go through another night alone without her. But when I drove up the driveway, I saw The Harkness Monster's lime-green Toyota in the drive. She was sitting on the stairs with a bottle of Reunite wine between her legs. The message was more obvious than a woman practically shouting at me while sitting on a music amplifier in a bar.
That's what I liked about The Harkness Monster: a surprise a moment.
The Harkness Monster was also still carrying on with her ex husband, mainly because she still loved him. She'd divorced him because all he wanted to do was sit around the house and smoke dope. Once he was on his own, he had to get to working, and The Harkness Monster helped him often, finishing swimming pools.
I remember the shimmering nights we spent walking through nearby parkland in Lakewood. I remember our private jokes. I remember her angry stubbornness. I remember saving countless animals from destruction. She'd made a life for herself as a legal assistant for a federal judge. She had a big house. To watch her wake from her spell and regain her womanhood was astounding to me.
And then my heart swells when I think of the best girlfriend I ever had. The Harkness Monster is what I called that willful woman, a woman who was an animal rights activist, a no-smoking advocate who actually got punched-out in the old Sears store on Greenville and Ross when she demanded some schmuck put-out his cigarette, and a woman who had a lime green Toyota pick-up that bore a bumper sticker dismissing Toyota as a maker of bad cars. With her round glasses, The Harkness Monster looked oddly Japanese, and she was famous for answering her door in her underwear. She had a t-shirt that read FUCK as a way of putting-off men who wanted to use her for entertainment purposes, although when she wore it around me it meant something else entirely.
The Harkness Monster made beautiful lamps out of old tin cans. She had her entire house lit with track lights. She had a dog named Ranger who barked and growled at anyone but her--and I. She was the finest calligrapher in Dallas, and had an ongoing contract with Southern Methodist University to write graduates' names on diplomas--but when she signed my name to a party invitation, the unique design of the lettering was the earmark of a true artist at work. I will never forget The Harkness Monster. Friend, frenemy, lover, assistant, supervisor, craftswoman, artist and animal whisperer.
I met her at a party a neighbor of hers threw way back in December, 1979, and while Kim Malin, a friend of mine who also happened to be a Playboy girl of the month, was busily talking-off my ear, I felt instant attraction to The Harkness Monster. My attraction comes from the heart and soul. Lust is dust.
I talked to her, liked what I heard, and got her phone number. When I decided to have a party of my own later that spring, Harkness showed-up with a black-and-white TV "so I don't miss Dallas" and sat on the floor, spread-eagled with the television between her legs. She didn't socialize much. But I got the message. And I called her out.
The Harkness Monster didn't feel like a sexual being any more. Why? She'd had pre-cancerous tumors in her breast and ovaries removed. Although she was absolutely beautiful in a Harkness Monster way--green eyes, dusky skin, slender and light, she felt like it was the end of her life as a woman. She was hurting. For that, I liked her more. She was genuine, not a little girl out playing games. Reticent at first, The Harkness Monster gradually let me in. I worked at the nearby Albertsons, and in the evenings after work, I would bicycle over to her house and spend the night with her. Nude as a couple of clowns we watched Tom Snyder and The Tomorrow Show and slept in each other's arms when we fell asleep on the couch.
The Harkness Monster soon warmed up. As did I. I have always been a little shy with women at first. There are good reasons for that, but once the light switch flicks on, it is hard to turn-off. We had our songs: "Your kiss, your kiss is what I miss" was one. "The Long and Winding Road" was another. The Harkness Monster had been left behind a number of times.
The Harkness Monster was seeing several other men at the time, and I had to share her. This was not always easy, but because I really loved her right from the start, I knew she needed freedom and a way to get her chops back. She even slept with that neighbor-friend of mine. He thought he'd really pulled the wool over my head. I always know way more than I ever let-on to those who take me for a fool.
She worked as an artisan for a man named Joseph, but he was a complainer and rather vain to say the least. He wanted "something serious" with her, but she had more fun with me. It wasn't a relationship based on sex or sexuality as much as it was based on the much more solid ground of trust and mutual respect. When he decided The Harkness Monster was going to be "his hostess" for a party in the then ruined mess of Deep Ellum, she secretly sent me an invitation I still have to this day. Her calligraphy? Breath-taking.
At the party, however, I got into a sort of traffic jam: Two former lovers of mine were also present. Tracy, a talented artist, was there with the man she was then living with, and of course, Tracy flirted with her eyes. The only reason we had broken up was because I didn't feel ready to move-in with her. We carried on behind the scenes many times after the relationship was officially over. Then there was Ann. Also a talented artist. Ann and I shared one peak experience: making love in her apartment pool at three in the morning. All those women were sowing their wild oats. They were pretty, were experimenting with sex, and I had to go along to get along.
All three were in the same room together, but none of them knew about the other. Haha!
I simply kept to the strangers in the room, mainly because I was already good and unhappy that Joseph had put The Harkness Monster in such a position. She continued, however, to give me a big wink, over and over, and yes, it was quite funny.
The party was full of a bunch of over-inflated artists, three lovers and myself. The Harkness Monster was "the perfect hostess", and by the end of the evening, there she sat on a porch swing inside his studio as I looked on in private anguish. I was jealous. Wink-wink. Finally, I said, "I give up, I've had enough to drink to kill a horse."
I drove home to my apartment on Oram Street, feeling like I was going to have to go through another night alone without her. But when I drove up the driveway, I saw The Harkness Monster's lime-green Toyota in the drive. She was sitting on the stairs with a bottle of Reunite wine between her legs. The message was more obvious than a woman practically shouting at me while sitting on a music amplifier in a bar.
That's what I liked about The Harkness Monster: a surprise a moment.
The Harkness Monster was also still carrying on with her ex husband, mainly because she still loved him. She'd divorced him because all he wanted to do was sit around the house and smoke dope. Once he was on his own, he had to get to working, and The Harkness Monster helped him often, finishing swimming pools.
I remember the shimmering nights we spent walking through nearby parkland in Lakewood. I remember our private jokes. I remember her angry stubbornness. I remember saving countless animals from destruction. She'd made a life for herself as a legal assistant for a federal judge. She had a big house. To watch her wake from her spell and regain her womanhood was astounding to me.
posted by Faceshaker at 9:32 AM
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