After sleeping very soundly for perhaps half-an-hour I awoke mind awhirl a few minutes ago at quarter past one. As I’m out of cigarettes, I lie in bed smoking a cigar and scratching here. Multicolored paisley crawls across the spread, blue smoke swirls above.
A telephone call placed earlier to V.J. was rewarding in that it didn’t cause me to totally re-evaluate my regard for the person. (Apologies Mr J. for such a dreadfully condescending statement but an explanation follows) In short, the effect of the man as a person of feeling, i.e. some feeling for me, didn’t vanish. He recalled details even I didm;t remember remarking, for instance regarding my approaching vacation - when will it be? (He seemed pleased at the possibility of my return flight to Philadelphia routing me through Chicago, where he will be from late December - all this I weigh, since the possibility of a public figure are so extended and I know the traffic of persons in their lives must be very rapid indeed - but the man sounded sincere - and, being a cynic, I take with a grain of salt.) He asked in rapid-fire succession questions concerning my immediate occupations :
- Was I at home?
- Oh at the Warwick - where, in the lobby? (relieved perhaps that I was in a private telephone booth)
- What are my days off?
- When will I be in New York? (vague regarding a meeting on my visit to Flora, to go to Johnny Beardsley’s party next Thursday - but call, we’ll be in touch before then…)
- Do I see Miss Merman?
- My Telephone number, misplaced, give again - repeated a couple of times very accurately
- Would love to be in Philadelphia on Friday (actually the reason for my calling, as that was pending at the time of his departure Monday night) but sounded doubtful…
Etc. but warm and to repeat my original impression, infinitely winning.