KILLING JANE FONDA

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Twelve

The Blossom of Terry Robbins

Terry Robbins’ Kerouac good looks concealed a violent man blossomed in the glow of Billy Ayers’ radical sunshine. JJ, another Weatherman leader had ushered him through his second puberty under Bernardine Dohrn’s sexual maxim to smash monogamy—a campaign to destroy sexual hang-ups, eradicating petty things like marriage and relationships. Boundless orgies, she said, would strengthen them the way intentional street fights smashed passé prohibitions against violence, ergo she believed Weather-women had to sleep with Weather-men, men had to sleep with men, and women had to sleep with women and so on. The edict flipped off such bourgeois moralities. Bernardine Dohrn took it on herself to personally smash Robbins’ virginal awkwardness, transforming him. The promiscuity of females following the letter of her law buried Terry, the introvert, in mounds of vagina, and gave birth to a violent radical.

In late 1969, Terry terrorized a federal judge’s family, firebombing his home for presiding over a Black Panther court case; then hatched bigger plans on behalf of the collective—to hit targets that were not merely symbolic affronts to societal norms, but would yield sizable body counts. The inequitable fisticuffs with Ayers left Robbins severely depressed. Then one-night Terry confided to his girlfriend that he and Billy should fuck to maybe cast some peace over their brittle relationship and perhaps implant Ayers successfully on the coattails of his own rising star.

“Do you think he’d dig it?” He asked his main girlfriend that night in early February in a post sex revelation while still inside her. She turned her ear into the pillow pressing her head deep into the flattened down encased in delicate white cotton and closed her eyes tightly.

Katy lay still. Terry Robbins raised himself up on his arms seesaw like. “What the fuck baby?” He said.

“Hey—” He said. “The only thing better than making love to you would be killing the right people,” He pulled out of her and rolled to sit up in bed. He nudged her gently, hoping she “got” the compliment.

Lately, Terry did little that didn’t shock her. He had been beating her regularly, in front of Ayers once too, who was also the only Weathermen to ever step in. Billy pulled him off her in a parking lot once after knocking her to the ground, and warned him, “You’re going to fucking kill her one day.” Now, lying in bed she fought her tears because weeping would piss him off and he’d kick her around. She shut her ears to him, ignoring the self-aggrandizing monologue going on beside her. “Could please Billy,” he said—Terry remained privately self-conscious of his manhood. “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight that counts, but the size of the fight in the dog,” He said coyly, looking down at his small flaccid form in the dark room.

His girlfriend did not move.

She made her decision then. Terry’s ever increasing violent nature amid rumors of the New York collective’s plan to bomb May’s department store sometime in March snowballed into fear for her life if she stayed.

She decided to leave him, and the Weathermen.

She did.

A week later in a meeting with Diana Oughton and Cathyln Platt Wilkerson tried convincing her to stay. She refused. She knew if she returned they’d kill her. It was obvious the two women had fallen under Robbins’ spell, without a doubt sleeping with him. Cathyln and Diana moved quickly to fill the void her departure left, and in a way, fill their own complex emptiness. She’d seen Cathyln’s work during wargasms, mating with three or four different men a session. Terry, a Weather ordained, became a “power fuck” for her, exalting her closer to Bernardine Dohrn, who had the power, a power the Weathermen said that “flowed from her [Bernardine’s] cunt”. As for Diana, Terry substituted for Billy Ayers’ increasingly longer absence from her touch. They’d been lovers since 1965, their relationship already questionable by the time of the monogamy dictum. Hell, the country was barely out of the Sixties, free love and LSD and the like. The murky Weathermen inter-relationships required candid omniscience to belabor; what ordinary person should care to bother? One day soon however, the matron Dohrn, and the chosen three: Diana, Terry, and Billy, would complete a surreal power triangle.

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