While getting dressed to meet Jeanette for a new Britishmusical that opened on Broadway last week and then dinner atProgress, the new Malcolm Forbes restaurant on the Upper EastSide, I watch a tape of this morning's Patty Winters Show, which issplit into two parts. The ɹrst section is a feature on the leadsinger of the rock band Guns n' Roses, Axl Rose, whom Pattyquoted as telling an interviewer, "When I get stressed I get violentand take it out on myself. I've pulled razor blades on myself butthen realized that having a scar is more detrimental than nothaving a stereo.... I'd rather kick my stereo in than go punchsomebody in the face. When I get mad or upset or emotional,sometimes I'll walk over and play my piano." Part two consists ofPatty reading letters that Ted Bundy, the mass murderer, hadwritten to his ɹancée during one of his many trials. "'DearCarole,'" she reads, while an unfairly bloated head shot of Bundy,just weeks away from execution, ɻashes across the screen,"'please do not sit in the same row in court with Janet. When Ilook over toward you there she sits contemplating me with hermad eyes like a deranged seagull studying a clam ... I can feel herspreading hot sauce on me already....'"I wait for something to happen. I sit in my bedroom for close toan hour. Nothing does. I get up, do the rest of the coke—aminuscule amount—that's in my closet left over from a lateSaturday at M.K. or Au Bar, stop at Orso for a drink beforemeeting Jeanette, who I called earlier, mentioning that I had twotickets to this particular musical and she didn't say anythingexcept "I'll go" and I told her to meet me in front of the theater atten to eight and she hung up. I tell myself while I'm sitting aloneat the bar in Orso that I was going to call one of the numbers thatɻashed on the bottom of the screen, but then I realize that Ididn't know what to say and I remember ten of the words Pattyread: "I can feel her spreading hot sauce on me already."I remember these words again for some reason while Jeanetteand I are sitting in Progress after the musical and it's late, therestaurant is crowded. We order something called eaglecarpaccio, mesquite-grilled mahi-mahi, endive with chèvre andchocolate-covered almonds, this weird kind of gazpacho with rawchicken in it, dry beer. Right now there really is nothing edibleon my plate, what there is tastes like plaster. Jeanette is wearinga wool smoking jacket, a silk chiʃon shawl with one sleeve, wooltuxedo pants, all Armani, antique gold and diamond earrings,stockings from Givenchy, grosgrain ɻats. She keeps sighing andthreatens to light a cigarette even though we're seated in thenonsmoking section of the restaurant. Jeanette's behavior deeplyunsettles me, causes black thoughts to form and expand in myhead. She's been drinking champagne kirs but has already hadtoo many and when she orders her sixth I suggest that maybeshe's had enough. She looks at me and says, "I am cold andthirsty and I will order what I fucking want."I say, "Then have an Evian or San Pellegrino for Christ sakes."
