Was meant to have dinner with John, but didn't have my phone and so didn't know he was held up with some 'clients' and so left and missed him entirely. Now have ten messages from him and when I spoke to him he was very melancholy and meaningful and made me just as glad to have missed him, especially as tomorrow is his birthday. Felt wretched and so agreed to watch fireworks from some mogul's roof on Wednesday. Also, must find a nice gift; he gave me a first edition of Noblesse Oblige and a bottle of Pol Roger. Maybe I'll make him a cake, as by dint of careful hinting I've learned he likes yellow cake with chocolate frosting and strawberry jam between the layers. That would be warm and friendly but not, I hope, romantic. Oh, dear. For the world's unlikeliest femme fatale, I'm managing to hurt a lot of fellas these days.
(Suspect I'll erase that bit if I ever tell anyone about the blog.)
Liz and I had loads of refills to do after the sale weekend. Were worked off our feet, as we're already pretty busy with our usual regimen of reading the Post aloud, working out choreography to different songs on the playlist, and exulting over whatever point I've recently scored over that bartender.
Must write that womanizer I know and get a copy of Volume I of collected Paris Review interviews, as I'm dying to mark it up. Dot. Parker's is one of the smartest things you've ever seen; she gets facile on politics but otherwise, jinx, it's fine. Hate petitioning Jim about this sort of thing as he's so peculiar with women and loves having the upper hand and will deliberately wait several days to respond and then I'll just be able to sense the smirk through the computer - but when all's said and done he's got a swell soul, and I'd love a gratis book. Especially as I know just what a cinch it is to stick something in a manilla and dump it in an outbox in that place.
Now it's nearly ten, but I don't think that's too late for cold Chinese. Do you?
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