Free Flirt: The Interviews by Lorna Jackson Page B

equal?
    â€”Faulkner wasn’t a real good story writer, he wasn’t a real master of that form. Carver wrote better stories than I do. I generally don’t feel competitive with other writers. I know lots of writers who write really well and when I see them writing really well, I don’t often think to myself, “they’re better than I am.”
    â€”So, you’re not competitive?
    â€”And I never think to myself, “I’m better than they are.” Updike is probably a better sentence maker than I am, but I don’t think he writes about as interesting a set of things as other people, including myself.
    â€”But you’re not competitive.
    â€”He’s such a lapidary master of making sentences, I think sometimes that can be a delimiter of what he is able to take in. Mavis Gallant, probably, writes better stories than I do. With Alice, there’s just no use. She just is a better story writer than I am and is better at it, and I’m sorry she is, actually, I wish I were as good as she is but I’m just not.
    â€”Thank-you for taking the time for this.
    â€”Well, thank-you. It’s been a pleasure. Now, will I be seeing you in Vancouver next week?

    â€”Oh. I’m not sure. I live on Vancouver Island. I left Vancouver, you’ll remember, and I rarely get back. Occasional upscale hair cuts. I might be there, yes. I could be.
    â€”Then you’ll come up and say hello if you are, won’t you?
    â€”I will say hello.
    â€”Do that.
    â€”I will.
    â€”Good.
    â€”I’m grateful, Richard.
    â€”Me, too.

I Flirt with JANET JONES-GRETZKY
    â€”Your hands are bigger than Wayne’s.
    â€”Oh my gosh, you noticed that? Don’t say I’m taller, just don’t. He hates that. Wayne has a great deal of pride and he’s extremely competitive. He doesn’t like to lose, even to me. I’m going to pour more water on the rocks. I like it very hot. Cute bracelet you’re wearing; my daughter makes those for her friends.
    â€”What’s that smell?
    â€”I’ve added several drops of eucalyptus special for saunas. We find it really soothes muscles after a workout and it clears Wayne’s sinuses. Sometimes, we add sandalwood, and the kids like a lemon milk we get from Australia. They say it smells like Easter, but we don’t see the connection.
    â€”You’ve done remarkable designing in here. The cedar actually seems more Louis XV than Finnish.
    â€”Oh my gosh, that’s what Jarri Kurri says when he visits! “Yawnet” – that’s what he calls me! – “Yawnet, what have you done to my country here? What’s about the arches and the swirls? What’s about the cherubs?” he always says, and I’m, “Jarri, please, relax, it’s my style!” He’s a lovely, lovely person.
    â€”You like athletes.
    â€”I love athletes. And dancers. People who take their bodies to the limit. But athletes especially. Oops. Sorry. No no. Your leg’s fine there, I’ll just scootch over a bit. You have very plump calves, very nice. You must work out. How old are you, if you don’t mind the question?
    â€”You were engaged for three years to Vitas Gerulaitas, the Lithuanian Lion. Long wavy blonde hair before stars were allowed to, an enormous twinkle. Only six feet tall, but he appeared much longer. In the late seventies, I watched tennis in Vancouver. Because I lived only blocks away and
adored his company, I lunched with my father at the Vancouver Lawn Tennis club once a week. My dad was a great player, adored Arthur Ashe and Rod Laver but didn’t go for the new style of athlete, those who earned millions but couldn’t behave on the court or off it. I was living with my first serious love, a guitar player from Wawa, Ontario. He, too, was Lithuanian and I teased him with Vitas. My boyfriend’s hair was bad brown, short and already thinning. His skin was not tanned and