JANUARY 25
The Brazen Head has spoken. Sweet Christ in Heaven, are there other men obligated to live as I do—restricted everywhere by women?
I doubt if she was even listening to what I said, went on reading the financial page. I should have made a sarcastic comment. Has First Charter gone up today? Good earnings report, no doubt. Rumors of a merger, excellent, excellent!
Why don’t you open an office, Bianca? You have the heart and soul of a broker. Bianca Summerfield. Stocks & Bonds. Member New York Exchange.
Have I begun to hate her? Yes, I have. God help us both. And yet this isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t what I expected.
JANUARY 26
Saturday. Bianca tutoring all afternoon. Two schoolgirls in baggy sweaters, sleeves pushed up to the elbow, the current fad. They stared at me, I stared right back until they dropped their eyes—the most satisfaction I’ve had this year. Was very anxious to stay in the front room so I could look at them. Bianca guessed it, asked if I wasn’t going out for a walk. She’s so delicate. Didn’t want them to understand why she wanted me out. So I said that I was about to leave—giving it the right emphasis, suggesting I might not come back. She just shrugged and looked bored, obviously doesn’t care if I live or die. So put on my jacket and went out. I should have said something to the girls as I went by the table. Hoped they’d glance up from their books but suspect they were afraid to. Don’t know why I despise them. They act so innocent but then something turns up in the papers like last week where one of these little innocents was “taken into protective custody” because police discovered she was earning about a thousand dollars a week between the time she got out of school and the time she came home for supper. Found a shopping bag stuffed with money in her school locker and a pillow case full of dollar bills hidden in her closet at home. Money everywhere! The little pig was rolling on her back squealing with pleasure every afternoon in somebody’s apartment or hotel room, earning more in five minutes than I make by working all day. Yes, but if you’d see her at school you’d assume she was a sweet little girl. Same as those two Bianca tutors. They’re probably up to the same tricks. Well, if I had them here right now in this room I’d teach them something they’ll never learn from B.
No urge to sleep. Have got myself upset again by thinking about this afternoon. Now what? Sit here until dawn? I’ve done that too often. Lights twinkling on the bridge. See if I can get some music on the radio.
Not able to sit still. Can’t quit thinking.
JANUARY 27
So much for trying to apologize to Bianca! I was a fool to bring up the subject, also shouldn’t have asked if they were coming back next Saturday. Dirty bitches.
JANUARY 28
Monday. Rumor about us having a second supervisor has started up again. Supposedly the first of the month. If true it means I’m being passed over because I’d certainly be informed by this time. Ought to find out how these matters are decided because I’m convinced there’s more to it than examination scores. You need influence in order to get ahead. Old Clegg so many years at that same wicket, same classification. No reason for me to go on and on like that. I’m intelligent and ambitious, plenty of good qualities, so should be promoted. My main problem is getting to know people, get acquainted with them. Usually I have an impression they talk about me after I leave. They think I’m conceited, perhaps, when just the opposite is the case. It’s my expression.
Anyway, the key to my particular situation must be Mr. Foxx. All right, get acquainted with him. Make an effort to do so. Find a reason to visit his office. Also, as a matter of general principle: Quit Wasting Time. Bring yourself into focus, decide who you are & what you wish to become. Do you want to spend 20 years on a stool like Clegg and wear a paper flower? Join the American Legion or Elks Club and. collect postage stamps? Get mixed up in Vladimir’s socialistic jargon? It’s easy to wait around thinking the situation’s going to resolve itself. Or go on pretending like Magnus that one day you’ll find a treasure in a box. No, thank you. No, no, no! I’m not going to let myself be deluded.
So forth and so forth until the rainbow cracks, shatters, comes tinkling to the ground. Don’t feel well just now. Not even positive where I am. My name sounds odd. Lightheaded. Maybe I ought to rest awhile. Remember reading how some famous man wrote to his mother that he had everything a human being could desire—a life in which he could exert himself and Grow day by day, in fine health, without passion or confusion, without troubles or agitation, like a man beloved of God who’s completed 1/2 of his existence and who because of past suffering has been tried in preparation for future suffering. If only life was that simple for me! I’ll make plans but they won’t work out. Hopes snap like sticks. What else should I expect? With nothing at the start how could I have less when everything’s finished? No answer. Nothing except silence.
JANUARY 29
Profile bad. Chin watery. I’d look more forceful with a beard, but of course would lose my job. Not one man at the office with a beard. Mr. Foxx has a small mustache, also a couple of men on the second floor, and Vladimir. I have a feeling Fensdeicke wants to make V shave it off. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if she’ll suggest it to him. Possible. He’s afraid of her and she knows it. So far she hasn’t dared, but I think she will. Smile, remark how nice he’d look without his mustache, shifting the clipboard from one arm to the other so he can’t miss the threat. After that she’d like to cut off his balls. I just wonder if he knows. He doesn’t say much. I admire his courage. Maybe next year I’ll grow a mustache. Think it over. Don’t want people laughing at me.
I spend too much time looking in the mirror—positive indication of failure. I should learn to Act, worry less about my appearance. I have a good reputation, conscientious, always pleasant, never curl my lip at anybody. Too much so. People think of me as a vegetable, assume I don’t mind the abuse. They think I’m not aware of the hurts, the insults, everything else. But I realize how I’m being treated. Oh yes.
JANUARY 30
International police working undercover have reports of worldwide ring of exotic prostitutes. Apparently there’s an elaborate brochure with descriptions & photos of the Merchandise. All you need is a thousand dollars cash & then just take your pick. Fly to Hamburg or Trieste or Copenhagen or anywhere on earth and do whatever you feel like doing. That’s how some people live. They get a taste of life that Earl Summerfield won’t ever know a thing about. But why not? Why can’t I live like that? Bianca’s the only woman I ever had. She used me. Got what she wanted. I hardly enjoyed it even at first. Didn’t much enjoy kissing her—lips too thin. Remember the first time I kissed her being surprised by the hard, closed teeth. I guess I’ve never impressed her very much. If I was important she might be different. Too late now. Caught in this uninteresting life. Caught.
JANUARY 31
Quite a discussion at lunch about the latest crime. McAuliffe claims to know a detective who told him she was tied to a chair in a peculiar position so the first thing police saw when they broke into the apartment was It. The things that happen between their sex and ours, impossible to believe. Guess we don’t belong together. Or do we?
Half hour wasted imagining. Police take pictures of those crimes, keep them on file, McAuliffe might be able to obtain permission for us to have a look. But if he did I wouldn’t go. I’d be ashamed.
Why does he like to talk about them? Why do I listen? I feel like vomiting but I always listen. Last Tuesday at lunch talking about that medical student going back to the room where there was a post-mortem, pulled aside the sheet and climbed on the table. Same as if she was asleep says McA. If a woman’s asleep or dead she doesn’t judge you, no need to be afraid.
Past midnight. B’s probably asleep by now. If I slipped in cautiously—perhaps.