October 17, 2019

Asheville Airport. Ann Dunn and her granddaughter– who’s about the age her mother was when I had he in class–await their flight to New York. I am here too early even to have a bloody Mary. Bad omen. Writing little mantras to fill the time.

Montrose West Hollywood. My room is one of the most elegant I’ve ever had, two levels, with a balcony opening onto an elegant street. A school lies just up the hill, and fathers walk by with their children by the hand or on their shoulders. Sat on the plane with a Chinese/American in a rush to get home in time to coach his son’s Little League team. They have to drive 30 miles to get to Mandarin class, which is meant to keep them in touch with their heritage. Passed Rodeo Drive in the taxi, where it is residential and almost indecently elegant. I envy these people their subtropical gardens. Left most of my vital paperwork on my desk–hoping there are ghosts of it somewhere on my phone. Brief nap upon arriving, during which I had a wonderful feeling of well-being.  Email told me that the Clegg Agency wants to see Jason of the Apes. Brett Doar makes a date for supper. At 5 you can get free wine in the hotel lounge. They put on Bon Jovi as accompaniment to the World Series, or whatever it is, on the giant TV.