I can’t put the confrontation off any longer. Elizabeth called the house. After she stopped screaming at me, I reminded her that I haven’t been well and that she was only making me more ill. She said she doesn’t give a shit about my heart. The truth is my weaknesses only encourage her. Perhaps she hopes if she can get me agitated enough, I’ll croak right now.

Leon said there’s nothing to lose, everything to gain by having coffee with her. Pointed out that Elizabeth can cause more trouble than she realizes. He shared all this with me in the smooth tones of his tobacco-sanded voice. On speakerphone, probably drunk. What he doesn’t say is that publishers are skittish these days and according to my contract (unbeknownst to Elizabeth), if I in any way cause the book to be withdrawn from circulation, then not only will book sales cease, I will be compelled to return the fucking advance! And pay for the legal proceedings employed to get that money from me! They’ll take my country house! My 401-k! Fuck me.

September 25, 1976

A guy named Jack has been in and out of Erehwon picking up and returning tripods and lenses for the past couple of days. He’s not a video artist, but he works for a guy who makes videos. Jack is a “camera assistant” and he’s twenty-six, like me.

Anyway, he told me there’s this club, Max’s Kansas City, where you can hear live bands. It’s mostly punk rock, which I have absolutely no interest in. People who push safety pins through their lips are losers. I told him I haven’t been into rock since Hendrix died but he insisted that this place was different.

So the point is, it’s nine a.m. I just got back to the apartment. Haim and Dagmara are asleep. Me and Jack went to this Max’s Kansas City place and it was actually very interesting and crowded (Jim Morrison used to hang out there with Andy Warhol!!!). The band was punk but really they sounded like any old band from back home. Very loud. They were called the Dead Boys and they put on a good show. I guess the lead singer hangs out with the Sex Pistols and is a heroin addict.

This guy Jack likes to drink, so after a set we split to a Polish bar where the booze was cheaper. From there we headed to another bar (Old Town), and finally ended up in this basement speakeasy over in the East Village (I think). Then around two a.m. Jack asked me if I wanted to go dancing, and I suddenly thought, oh, that’s what this is all about, another gay guy! I said, “I’m not gay.”

Jack said, “That’s okay, they’ll let you in anyway. They let me in.”