The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer (15 page)

Jacques came on the line and I told him I was sorry to call so late.

He said he'd only be mad if I hadn't called, then he called me his "sweet baby" and I smiled, but didn't say anything. He said Leo told him why I had called, but that he was already prepared for this to happen. He told me that in the bra I was wearing the other night, the white lace one, he had hidden one of my Christmas presents.

I asked him to hold on so I could get it, but he said Leo needed the phone.

Shelley was waiting for him to call from some truck stop somewhere out of state. I guess he doesn't want to be around her right now. I hung up and searched through my drawer for the bra.

The white lace one is one of Jacques's favorites. It has a wire support and it makes my breasts look really nice. So I found the bra... thank God I hadn't had time to do my hand-washing!

Inside the fabric cup, I felt a package, about the size of a cigarette pack, but thinner. I'm so lucky Mom didn't find this. When I opened it, I realized that the wrapper was a folded, torn-out page from Fleshworld, showing a guy built kind of like Jacques, kneeling in front of a really pretty blond girl. I think she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen in that magazine. In the photo, this girl was almost naked with a parrot on her shoulder, and the man was kissing her feet like he adored her. At the bottom of the page, Jacques had written, "Thinking of you, fantasy girl."

Inside there were four Valium, two joints, a quarter gram of coke, and a silver wand. Brand-new and shiny. I became so excited, I almost forgot what time it was, and I heard Mom call my name to see if I was okay.

I flipped all but one of the lights off in my room, shoved the packet back into the bra, and slipped it under the bed. I put Donna's jacket across my lap and pretended that I had fallen asleep.

A moment later Mom came in, woke me gently, and told me to hop in bed. I was brilliant in the role of innocent, sleeping daughter. I kissed her and mumbled a little, and after she left, I waited almost forty minutes before leaving the bed. I brought all of the treats up onto the comforter and played in the dark, until it was safe to put a towel under the door and switch the light back on. I only used the night-light, because it was sexier than the bright one over my head.

I went into a deep, drugged, happy, thoughtful, nasty, and still-innocent fantasy. I'll have to tell more later... I feel so dreamy right now... I'm on two Valium, another line of coke, and half a joint. I splurged, but damn if I don't feel absolutely perfect.

I think I'll look at
Fleshworld
issues for a while before it gets light out. I'll either tell you the fantasy I just had, or one I get a new idea for from the magazines.

Night, night, L

Christmas Eve Day, 1987

Dear Diary,

I'm at the gazebo, trying to get the tune of Christmas carols out of my head. Mom has been playing them all morning. I like Christmas, but with my head feeling like it was, I could hardly stand any more of it. Dad caught me when I was leaving and asked for a dance with his favorite little girl. Dad and I hadn't danced in years, I don't think.

Memories of parties at the Great Northern, with the blur of streamers and buffets and crystal came into my head, the way I saw them as Dad and I turned round and round. He would spin me fast enough to make my stomach flip in the right way, and we would laugh and laugh.

This dance this morning was in the living room. The lights on the tree were already turned on so that Mom could bake in the true spirit of the season, and I watched the red and green and blue and white pass by me. I looked into Dad's eyes so that I wouldn't get too dizzy, and I saw his eyes light up, and a tear form, and then drop slowly down his cheek. The spinning slowed, and he grabbed me tight, held me as if he were afraid of something.

Mom came out of the kitchen and said that seeing Dad and me hugging in front of the Christmas tree was the best present she could ask for.

So many strange things happen in life. My life, I mean. Just hours before the dancing, I was in my room buried deep in a very, very different world. I hope I never have to choose between the two. Each one makes me happy for different reasons.

I came out here to write my fantasy out, but it is almost too cold and too pretty for me to think about it now. Here and now, at least.

I'm gonna head over to the Double R and get some hot coffee. Maybe I'll find a private booth.

Back soon, L

Christmas Eve Day, 1987, later

Dear Diary,

When I walked in here, the Double R Diner, Norma immediately poured me a cup of coffee. Perfect. I told her I wanted to do some private writing, some stuff for school, so I was going to the booth in back instead of the counter.

Before taking my seat, I picked up my cup of coffee from the counter and noticed a very elderly woman sitting very quietly about two seats down. Her face was buried in a book bearing the name
Shroud of Innocence
. She turned the page, absorbed in the story completely. I saw by her plate that she had eaten a piece of cherry pie A la mode and was on her way to quite a caffeine rush.

I looked at Norma, who smiled, and I shook my head like, what a great character. A nice, kind-faced old woman, out at the diner for pie and coffee over a good book. I went to the back booth and got comfortable. I was about to get into the fantasy with you, but... Shelley Johnson came out of the back room.

Leo's wife is prettier than I had remembered. I watched her. I was very careful to study her body when she moved, her smile, her voice. I was suddenly going back and forth between feeling totally competitive to feeling like I had no chance at all over her. Then I heard her saying something about Leo to Norma. Something about how he's never home, and when he is, he just wants to get it on. I had won. I felt like a bitch for thinking it, but I thought, I've been doing it with him for quite some time now... I'll keep doing it if you won't.

I knew that wasn't what she meant, but I couldn't feel sorry for her, or I would never be able to see Leo again. I couldn't deal with that.

I watched as the old woman from the counter tried to make her way out of the diner. It was obvious that it was difficult for her, and I felt for a minute like I should get up and help her.. but Shelley did it.

Norma came over with more coffee and said that the old woman comes in a lot, but it is difficult for her to move. Her walker helps, but she is constantly struggling with each step, as I could probably see.

Norma said that there are a lot of senior citizens in Twin Peaks who have no one to take care of them. There is no place for them to go... at least not without heading into Montana. Most want to stay here. It's quiet. They're happy for the most part.

I started tossing this around in my head. A problem to solve. I would do more than just help the woman to the door! Uh-oh. Competitive Laura, front and center. I hadn't felt like this since elementary school. I was fired up about finding a way to help the senior citizens Norma mentioned.

I left a note for Norma when I paid the check. I said that I wanted to talk more about helping these people... I told her she could call me when she got a chance.

I'm going to try to catch a ride to Johnny's with Ed Hurley. I can see him outside the window. I hope he's going that way.

Speak soon, Laura.

P.S. It is late on Christmas Eve night. I'll say more later, but I heard about Norma's "upsetting phone call" earlier at the diner.

When I was with Johnny, I heard Benjamin talking to the sheriff or something. I got the whole story after that, because Benjamin was upset about it.

I know Norma won't be able to call me back right away because Hank, her husband, who I've never been really impressed with, killed a man on the highway late last night, coming back on the Lucky 21 from the border, I think.

Anyway, he's going to do time now for vehicular manslaughter. I'm glad he'll be away for a while. Norma always seems so upset by him. I'm sorry for Norma. Not for Hank.

January 3, 1988

Dear Diary,

Christmas was interesting. Dad took three days off and made it incredibly difficult, without realizing it, for me to get high. I had to fake premenstrual cramps so that he would let me leave and go to my room to be alone.

As I went up the stairs, I stopped because I heard Dad say, "But it's the new year... I'm on holiday... Why does she want to be alone?"

I could hear my mother explaining, in that kind, so very wise voice, that I was a teenager. "Parents are like the plague to teenagers, Leland... We're lucky she's even spent this much time with us. She was only out for three hours on New Year's Eve, and she was back before midnight to celebrate with us."

Mom was doing a great job, so I proceeded upstairs to my room for some privacy and a well-deserved line.

A line heals all wounds.

Bobby and I actually had a really good New Year's Eve, like Mom said, for three hours. Eight-thirty to eleven-thirty. We went out to the golf course, where about thirty other couples had the same plan: grab a blanket, and the drug of your choice (alcohol came out the winner, though Bobby and I smoked a joint), and curl up on the grass and watch the stars.

We were away from the others, but close enough so that as we were smoking our joint, we could overhear the other couples making New Year's resolutions, and New Year's wishes on the stars above us.

Bobby turned onto his side and put the joint in my mouth. I took a hit, and I remember thinking, "He's going to say something serious here... I can feel it." He took a quick hit and held it in, looked upward, exhaled... looked back at me.

"Laura?"

"Yeah, Bobby." I was feeling warm and good. I love pot.

"Laura, I'm sorry things are the way they are sometimes... between us. I mean, I wish we were both, I don't know."

"Bobby, c'mon. I was listening to you. Go on."

"I can't speak for you, but I feel like sometimes you and I are so close. Even when we aren't sleeping together. We're just close..." I turned onto my side and leaned my head on my hand. We hadn't talked in ages. We were even stoned, too. "Go ahead. I agree."

"Other times - I don't know what the hell is what. It's like I'm doing all my life stuff... all of Bobby Briggs's stuff... but it doesn't affect me like maybe it should. You know?"

I wanted to understand, so I gave it a shot. "You mean like, there's a part of you who goes to school, does chores, goes to work part-time, or whatever, but the other part, the part that feels things and cares about things, is inside somewhere asleep?"

"Yeah... yeah, you sorta got it. But I'm skipping my whole point here."

He offered me the last hit off the joint. I decided to take it and hit off it while he held it in his fingertips. I love the way Bobby's skin smells. I took the last hit, and he went on.

"I was thinking that you and I are together just because it was where we expected we'd be. Is this making sense?"

I nodded. I knew what he was saying.

"I just don't want us to be together because of a deal we made because of the... I mean, Leo and all the 'snow' around his place. Sometimes I don't think that matters, and other times, I think that if you had to choose between the snow and me... Well, I think I'd lose.

I looked down at the blanket we were on. I tried to see its pattern in the darkness, but saw only the vague shadows of the black-and-red plaid I knew it was. I picked at the wool nervously. Finally I was able to look up at him.

I told him that sometimes I would choose the coke over him, but that
I would sometimes choose coke over anyone.
I told him I didn't want to hurt him, or anyone else. I just feel that sometimes I am better company to only myself, because of what is happening in my life, than I am or would be to anyone else.

He told me that he could understand that, maybe, but he wanted to know if I thought the coke was the problem.

I told him, very quietly, that I started really liking coke because I didn't have to think about "the problem." I told him I liked pot for the same reason.

I remember saying, "I can't tell you anything, Bobby. I just can't. I understand if you want to leave me because of it, but I just can't tell you or anyone." I knew that the coke was a problem, but it was nothing next to BOB.

He didn't say anything for the longest time. Then, he kissed me. He kissed me for a long time, and when he stopped, and looked at me, he said I didn't know all of his problems either, and that he would try and understand the times I didn't want to jump up and down with joy. Something like that. Then he said that he felt we belonged together, at least right now he felt that.

Things were strange for the rest of the night. Not bad strange, just different from the way Bobby and I usually were together. We made out for hours, and then, and I say this with all honesty, we made love.

No games, no control, no ego, no bad thoughts or thoughts about anything except what was happening. It was amazing. Both of us agreed.

I knew I loved Bobby at that moment, and I know I love him now. I just wonder if I can let myself feel any of these wonderful, pure feelings without getting myself in trouble with BOB.

Why do I always, always have to second-guess my life and my feelings? Why can't I just love him, fight with him, kiss him, etc without worrying that I'll die because of it?

Why do other girls get to have happy lives? Why can't I just tell him the truth?

YOU DON'T KNOW THE TRUTH.

You're here.

SMART GIRL.

What do you want?

JUST CHECKING IN.

Fine. I'm here. You checked in. Now go.

I SAW YOUR LIGHT ON SIX NIGHTS IN A ROW.

So did anyone who walked down the street.

LAURA PALMER... BE NICE.

You never taught me that.

NICE. DEFINITION: DON'T BE RUDE.

I'm to the point where I don't care anymore, BOB. Do whatever you need to do.

I DON'T NEED ANYTHING.

How nice for you. Now get out of my head!

I WANT THINGS.