Коллекционер
Chapter 2
I’vebeenatbottom.
I’dlethimhaveme.
ButIstillcouldn’tbeartoseehimsneakingoffwithsomeoneelse.Reducingitalltosex.Ishouldwitherupanddieinsideifhedid.
Iknowit’snotveryemancipatedofme.
ThisiswhatIfeel.
Sexdoesn’tmatter.Lovedoes.
ThisafternoonIwantedtoaskCalibantopostalettertoG.P.fromme.Quitemad.Ofcoursehewouldn’t.He’dbejealous.ButIsoneedtobewalkingupthestairsandpushingopenthestudiodoor,andseeinghimathisbench,lookingoverhisshoulderatme,asifhe’snotintheleastinterestedtoseewhoitis.Standingthere,withhisfaint,faintsmileandeyesthatunderstandthingssoquickly.
Thisisuseless.I’mthinkingofthepricebeforethepainting.
Tomorrow.Imustactnow.
Istartedtodayreally.I’vecalledhimFerdinand(notCali-ban)threetimes,andcomplimentedhimonahorridnewtie.I’vesmiledathim,I’vedutifullytriedtolookasifIlikeeverythingabouthim.Hecertainlyhasn’tgivenanysignofhavingnoticedit.Buthewon’tknowwhat’shithimtomorrow.
Ican’tsleep.I’vegotupagainandputonG.P.’sclavichordrecord.Perhapshe’sbeenlisteningtoit,too,andthinkingofme.TheInventionIlikebestistheoneaftertheonehelovesbest—helovesthefifth,andIthesixth.SoweliesidebysideinBach.IalwaysusedtothinkBachwasabore.
