I am far too busy feeling sorry for myself to write a fresh post. It occupies all of my free time. You’ll have to make do with another journal entry from 1992 when I first arrived in NYC. I was young, full of hope and not angry at the universe. The good old days.
July 14, 1992
Joan and Joel [Note: An older, wealthy couple who “adopted” me. Long, separate story.] took me out for my birthday to a nice restaurant on 89th and Broadway. I forget the name. They both keep telling me I’m working below my potential. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?! I don’t know how to do anything! After dinner we took a cab across Central Park to the East Side and went to their apartment for drinks. It’s spectacular. You can see the Park from their dining room window. There’s a baby grand piano in the living room and Joel played Duke Ellington’s Satin Doll while I drank a tumbler of scotch. It was a great birthday but it got better.
I was standing on the corner of 72nd and Central Park waiting for the light to change. I looked to my left, then to my right and guess who was walking towards me? Bonnie! How weird is that!? Her mouth dropped open in dramatic fashion when she saw me. I told her Joan and Joel had just treated me to dinner for my birthday. She wished me happy birthday and kissed me. She tasted like wine. She insisted on buying me a birthday drink at Café des Artistes, so we walked there and sat at the bar. She introduced me to some producers and theater people. That woman knows everybody in this town! I had another scotch and she had red wine and ate an artichoke.
We left, hailed a cab and as soon as we gave the driver our destination (her apartment) we fell into each other’s arms. We banged our teeth together when the cab lurched forward. It hurt but we laughed. She was in the Times yesterday about doing the new façade of Town Hall and was leaving on Thursday to supervise the landscape installation at Calvin Kline’s Long Island estate. I told her she should take me with her and she said, “Believe me, I thought about it.” But she said she’s got a lot of work to do and wasn’t sure it was appropriate. I told Ellis about all this and he said I should marry her.
Bonnie might be older but, boy howdy, she’s spirited. Every time I fool around with an older woman I’m astonished at how willing and knowledgeable they are as compared to the pretty, young, reserved waifs I’ve been involved with who know NOTHING about the science of lust. We rolled around on the sofa for a few hours. We’d stop and watch the Democratic National Convention for a bit, make fun of the speeches and then get back to work. I like how she wraps her body around me. She’s small so I can toss her around like a toy. She said she likes how I “handle” her. It was refreshing to have a hand down my pants that wasn’t my own. I almost finished during Mario Cuomo’s nomination speech but I made her stop because I didn’t want to make a mess all over her nice, leather sofa. I wish women were as easy to please as men. I did my best but she never got there. We were dressed and about to leave and I grabbed her, bent her over the drafting table in her living room and rubbed against her. It was fun. Like an amusement park ride. She didn’t seem to mind although I kind of wish she would’ve put up a bit of a fight. I’ll have to ask her how she feels about that.
I was there pretty late. She said she really enjoys our time together but we both agreed that as soon as we found someone in our own age bracket, the party would be over. I’m in no hurry. More birthdays like that, please.
I went for a bike ride over the Brooklyn Bridge, across West Broadway and into Tribeca. I love riding around Tribeca. It’s all warehouses and butchers. It reminds me of Cleveland and dad. There’s no traffic and the streets are still paved with cobblestone. It’s tough on my bike but it’s such a nice, quiet, empty neighborhood on Saturdays that I can’t resist. The bad part is that there’s nowhere to buy a Saturday New York Times. They should get some Bodegas down there!
[Note: 1992 was long before Tribeca became a highly desirable neighborhood. The real estate vampires hadn’t gotten their meat hooks into the meatpacking district yet.]
I rode north into Soho and finally found a newspaper. Soho is utterly confusing to me. I get lost all the time. I found a sidewalk table at a cafe on West Broadway, ordered a beer and shrimp salad with Thai dressing and read my paper. Halfway through my salad, Klinger walked by. He had mentioned that he was going to Paris this week. I said, “I thought you were in Paris?” He looked around, threw his arms up and said, “I AM in Paris!” See that…it’s all about perception. That guy makes me laugh. He was on his way to Fun’s apartment and couldn’t stay. She’s pretty. I wouldn’t have stayed, either.
I finished my salad and bummed a cigarette off the waiter. Austin and Ed walked by when I was halfway through my cigarette and the editorials. Austin said, “I thought you quit smoking?” I said, “I DID quit smoking!” I think those guys think I’m an idiot. A group of pretty, spoiled, rich girls sat at the table next to me so I had to stay longer than I had planned to eavesdrop on their conversations.
I had to pass through the Chrysler Building the other day. It’s ground zero for the art deco movement. Just look at these elevators. They’re spectacular works of art!
According to the literature, they’re inlaid with Japanese ash, English gray harewood, Oriental walnut and Cuban plum pudding wood. Do those woods even exist or did they make all that up? It’s no matter. They’re lovely.