So we all went upstairs, and God, we spent hours up there drinking. In fact, I even called San Francisco from his house. I have no idea what his aunt must have thought after that—long-distance phone calls on her phone bill. We all got loaded, and Neal and I got into a horrible fight and had this mad wrestling match in her hall. He knocked me down; but no sooner did I hit the floor than he fell down and started kissing me. It was like something out of the movies. Everyone was loaded; everyone was really drunk, and totally out of line. Alan Ansen put some operatic music on, and he was singing the soprano while I was trying to sing the bass. Anyway, just nonsensical things, but we had a fantastic time. It was quite a night.
Jack and I took a bath together while we were there. I was desperate to take a bath, because there was no place to take a bath at Allen Ginsberg’s apartment. I went into Ansen’s bathroom, and Neal was gonna take a bath with me, but then he got involved with Ansen or something. I wound up in the bathtub by myself, and then a few minutes later Jack came in. Jack decided he was gonna take a bath too, so we took a bath together. Which was it, we just took a bath—nothing else.
On that second trip to New York, Jack and I were starting to become involved with each other—not as lovers, but as persons. It began at that New Year’s Eve party that John Holmes wrote about in Go. I was already starting to lose track of Neal—he was always busy doing something. Neal had run off with that girl that Jack liked, and I never found out what happened. Jack and I became dancers that particular night; and ever after that, we would dance together every opportunity we had—as long as we were loaded. You see, Jack didn’t dance, and I wasn’t the world’s greatest; but when we danced together, when we were loaded, I swear to you that we became the most fantastic dancers.
Jack Kerouac “Nijinsky dancing” with unknown woman, Lowell, Massachusetts, 1962. (Photo by William Koumantzelis.)
Jack would throw me up in the air and catch me. I became the most graceful person in the world. Yeah, I was a ballet star, and he was a Nijinsky! We were fantastic together! He loved it, and so did I, because our confidence used to soar when we danced like that. We didn’t care who was watching. Jack, as everyone knows, was no extrovert in that respect; and believe me, neither have I ever been. I never want to be the center of attraction anywhere. In a group, a room full of people, I just want to sit back and listen. But in that respect, Jack and I would become extroverts, and happily, when we danced. We just thought we were so good. In fact, this dancing bit became like a little secret between the two of us. We really knew how great we were, and we didn’t care where we were. When we got loaded, and Jack would ask me to dance, we’d just start doing the Nijinsky moves all over again. We really did it, and it was like the world disappeared. That’s something I’ve never told anybody.
I don’t know if there was a secret desire in both of us that we could really dance as well as we thought we were dancing, and I don’t know to this day if we were as good as we thought we were when we were together—or if it was all in our heads. People always talked about how awkward Jack was; and when it came to real dancing, traditional dancing, Jack could barely get by. I mean, he’d do a one-two, one-two type of thing—if anything. That’s what was so fantastic about his suddenly turning into Nijinsky that night, at the New Year’s Eve party. It was as though the world melted away for us, and we just became the only two people there. The really fantastic twists and turns and bending me back—and swirling me around like we were on the huge floor of a ballroom—it was always like that with us, from the first time we danced to the very last. Whenever everybody was busy and we were loaded and there was music on, we just sort of melted into a dance. Whether anybody really paid attention to us—or whether they thought, Oh, Jack and Lu Anne are dancing again! and ignored us—I really don’t know. But I do know, in our heads, we thought we were Astaire and Rogers! And as we saw it, we really were.
A lot of what happened after that night is a blur to me. The day after the party, Neal found this couple somewhere, and they had some opium. None of us had ever heard of opium—smoking opium—except maybe in the movies. Of course, everyone smoked marijuana, which was a big thing then, especially among the hipsters in New York. But opium, my God! Anyway, he dragged this couple up to the apartment, and we smoked opium with them—Jack, Allen, Neal, and myself. That was the first and only time I ever smoked opium. I really don’t remember much about what happened to Neal or the others, or what anyone was doing, after we smoked it.
Jack Kerouac and Hal Chase, Columbia University, circa 1944. (Photo by John Kingsland.)
PART FOUR