It’s going to be a gorgeous Spring day. I have the day at home to myself. Richard is upstairs taking a shower. I am having coffee and cigarettes– in a quiet reverie of contentment.

I am amazed by the psychic changes I have gone through with Spring. The nervous stress I have contended with for months has vanished like fog. The sun has come out. I feel generally alive and excited again.

Richard continues to talk seriously of leaving Washington– of moving to Florida. I listen anxiously. The images develop across my inner screen. I see a house in Miami– much like Sandy and Bill’s. A large lush green yard filled with brilliant ripe tropical plants. The house is flat and shaded– Inside: the furnishings of a Manhatten apartment– paintings and wallpaper. I see a bright Florida room with plants exploding in the sunshine– a parrot in a cage.

I see myself running out in the mornings dressed in a tan suit– driving to my job at the newspaper. I see myself working for a newspaper and studying Journalism at the University of Miami. I see myself maturing into a prosperous writer– a male Germaine Greer.

Richard, of course, has become wildly successful. His salon has one of the best names in Miami. His sudden fame often takes him to New York and California on trips and assignments. Many of his customers are wealthy New Yorkers and it’s not uncommon for the two of us to fly to New York for the weekend.