December 27th, 1976

And so, where am I? I am weary and dead with work. Dying in the winter. Through dark dark nights. Plodding through days like a workhorse. Perishing. Gaining weight daily– blowing up like a poisoned dog. Where am I? Doing my December number and wondering if my January deal is next on the bill. Sitting in my living room with my dope and beer and television– putting myself out every night with my sad old mother’s image floating through my brain.

Gregg goes out tonight. To a private party at The Court Jester. I am invited. My collapse has seemed to hit a climax today. I stay home– smoke a little dope– start cleaning this filthy pit. Gagging over piles of dogshit I try to clean off the rug with a pail of water and a bottle of Top Job. The stench of ammonia and dog shit. Getting high anyway. Cleaning. Running the vacuum and sipping sherry. Not really drinking though.

The phone rings. Gregg from the Court Jester. Please come. Your ex is here. So I know what is happening. Big friendly scene at the bar with Richard. He’s asking about you. Bullshit! He’s putting the make on you like death– coming on like a hurricane and– for what reason– guilt? Fear that I may walk in suddenly? Trying to cover tracks for later when he knew I would find out– for whatever reason, Gregg calls and asks me to come. Goddam it! I am sick of analyzing my feelings. I am mad and jealous and hurt and neurotic and sick. Let me feel it. Jesus, panic through the bloodstream. How I hate them both. Gregg, you asshole– you always let me down. I don’t trust you.

Gregg comes home an hour later. Somber. I am on the phone with Arlene. My hostility must be obvious. He takes the dogs out and goes directly to bed. I end my conversation with Arlene abruptly and go into his bedroom.

“Ok, tell me about Richard…”

No answer.

“So tell me what happened– did you have a lovely evening with Richard at the bar?”

“I’m not speaking to you”

“Tell me, I want to know. Did Richard put the make on you?”

“This is going to be a difficult conversation since I’m not speaking to you.”

“I just want to know what happened”

“Why don’t you ask Richard then?”

“Because I think I can trust you.”

No answer.

Nothing. He refused to talk to me. I know him well enough to know that Gregg is not telling me something which he knows will piss me off. His inability to lie blatantly is distinct. His silence tells me everything.

So now I know.