His editors didn’t like the serious portraits of me, so he brought one of those arrows which go around one’s head, the kind Steve Martin made famous, and we took an hour’s worth of photos with my head being pierced by an arrow. At least I didn’t have to dress like Michael Jackson or Boy George. All in a day’s work for a budding celebrity.
Alice decided that she’s going to ask him to move out and go back to his apartment, which he’s sublet all these years. He’s going to be hurt and angry when she tells him, and Alice is going to go through a hard time, too. Six years of living together is a long time, and so much of her life has been wrapped up in his.
“Can I speak to your beautiful sister?” I asked Billy when I called. To me, Ronna will always be beautiful; she’s turned into quite a woman. The Stray Cats are at Sunrise Musical Theater tonight, and I thought about their song “(She’s) Sexy and 17”: I knew Ronna when she was both. (She still is sexy to me.)
We went across the street to the Audubon Tavern for hamburgers and Barqs, and I got to bed at 11 PM. During the night I heard a gunshot ring out, then a din of voices, then the sounds of sirens. I don’t know what it was about. But maybe this isn’t unusual in New Orleans.
Why did I have to be scared? The worst they could do was fire me, and while that would be awful, I also knew I could go to the media, who’d have a field day with this: “College Prof Fired On Account Of Love.” Sure enough, as I got home, the phone was ringing away.
Blair apologized for being a space cadet because he’d gotten drunk the night before and was then left alone while “this really luscious cool guy” he’s been hanging out with slept with Blair’s own friend, a girl.
In Surfside, I walked over to Danny’s for an early dinner. Who should sit down next to me at the counter but Isaac Bashevis Singer and his wife Alma. He looked very frail, and one of his shirt buttons was undone. I couldn’t figure out what to say to him and finally decided to let the man eat his matzo ball soup in peace.
On Friday night, Teresa went out to a bar with Judy and Juliana. She started talking to this guy, who asked her out for coffee and said he’d take her home. The guy was an amiable loser: “He didn’t even know what gentrification meant.” But what really bothered Teresa was that neither of her friends called afterwards to find out if she was all right.
Susan felt Sean was cruel to have disappeared and left me no way to contact him in the first place, and that he compounded his cruelty last night on WFLA by calling me with 50,000 people listening in on the radio, giving me no way to respond to him personally or to find out where I can reach him.
Off the air, the Sacramento interviewer asked me if I was getting “burned out,” and I said I wasn’t. But I can see how it happens. It’s hard when people expect you to be funny all the time. It’s work being a celebrity, and constantly having to be “on” is annoying.