Thirty - Jill Emerson [61]
September 6
I know it’s just a reaction to the speed. At least I have the intelligence to know that much. But what good does it do me to know it?
I wish I were dead.
Was dead. Were dead. Who the hell cares?
I just drag myself around. All I can think of is what a fucking mess I’ve made of my life. What a complete mess.
Jason Silverblatt called. I couldn’t talk with him. I simply couldn’t bring myself to talk with him. I can manage a trick because that’s automatic, but I couldn’t talk to my lawyer. I told him to call back sometime.
I wonder if he’ll waste his time with me. Lawyers must be used to dealing with crazy people. They must have this sort of thing all the time.
Something Liz said. I should get a good settlement from Howard because I gave him the best years of my life. What a worn-out expression!
But it’s probably true. The best years of my life. The best years of my life are over now.
What’s left?
September 9
I’m a little better.
Silverblatt says we can get alimony of around ten thousand dollars a year or we can get a full cash settlement of somewhere between twenty-five and fifty thousand dollars. That seems much too high to me. Why should Howard have to pay me that kind of money? It would be different if I had his children. But I don’t. And I’m fully capable of supporting myself. In fact I think I can probably earn more than he does.
I didn’t know what to say. Silverblatt also said he thought we should settle as soon as possible, and should go for the cash, because if Howard happened to smarten up and find out what I am doing for a living and spend a little money on detectives he could probably divorce me right off the bat and not pay me a cent.
I suppose I’ll tell him to take the money. But I don’t even know what I’ll do with it.
September 12
Liz says a John of hers is perfect if I come into a lot of cash. He’s a broker and he does fantastically for her, and another John took some of her cash and put it into an apartment house in Borough Park that she never sees but gets money from four times a year.
September 23
Went shopping, bought clothes I’ll probably never wear. Why bother?
Oh, it’s something to do. I didn’t feel like a movie.
Wow, what a glamorous life.
October 2
Saw David on the street today. I don’t think he saw me, or if he did he didn’t recognize me, which is possible. I have changed since I knew him.
I really thought he and Arnold were dead. That Eric had killed them. I couldn’t ever figure out a reason why that might have happened, but I believed it.
I wonder why they disappeared.
I almost went up and said something. Like hello, for example. But I don’t know, I didn’t really have anything to say to him. What was there to say? There was a time when I really would have wanted to spend more time with those two, but they weren’t around then, and now—
I have to feed Herringbone.
Herringbone is my kitten. I’ve had him for a week and I’m doing everything possible to spoil him. It’s amazing how intelligent cats are. When I brought Herringbone home he was six weeks old and small enough to fit in an evening bag, but he knew instantly that he was supposed to pee and crap in the litter pan. And he never makes a mistake.
Herringbone doesn’t have any balls. If a cat has balls when he grows up he runs around pissing on everything and it stinks. The faggot at Precious Felines explained all this at great length. He was a good deal more cultured about it, let me add.
I wonder if he knew I was a whore?
Of course I don’t wear a sign. Nor does he wear a sign announcing that he’s a faggot.
Anyway, you have to castrate cats to make them behave. Same as men, I guess.
Why did I write that?
Oh, stop looking for hidden meanings, Giddings. Haven’t you figured out yet that the more you learn about yourself the less you like yourself?
This is boring. I’ll go feed Herringbone. He loves me and I love him.
Everybody needs somebody, right?
October 12
You’ve come a long way, baby
To get where