That depends on what I find out about the psychophysical side-effects of the experiment.
June 30
I've stopped wandering the streets now that I have Fay.
I've given her a key to my place.
She kids me about my locking the door, and I kid her about the mess her place is in.
She's warned me not to try to change her.
Her husband divorced her five years ago because she couldn't be bothered about picking things up and taking care of her home.
That's the way she is about most things that seem unimportant to her.
She just can't or won't bother.
The other day I discovered a stack of parking tickets in a corner behind a chair—there must have been forty or fifty of them.
When she came in with the beer, I asked her why she was collecting them.
"Those!" she laughed.
"As soon as my ex-husband sends me my goddamned check, I've got to pay some of them.
You have no idea how bad I feel about those tickets. I keep them behind that chair because otherwise I get an attack of guilt feelings every time I see them.
But what is a girl supposed to do?
Everywhere I go they've got signs all over the place—don't park here! don't park there!—I just can't be bothered stopping to read a sign every time I want to get out of the car."
So I've promised I won't try to change her.
She's exciting to be with.
A great sense of humor.
But most of all she's a free and independent spirit.
The only thing that may become wearing after a while is her craze for dancing.
We've been out every night this week until two or three in the morning.
I don't have that much energy left.
It's not love—but she's important to me. I find myself listening for her footsteps down the hallway whenever she's been out.
Charlie has stopped watching us.
July 5
I dedicated my first piano concerto to Fay.
She was excited by the idea of having something dedicated to her, but I dont think she really liked it.
Just goes to show that you can't have everything you want in one woman.
One more argument for polygamy.
The important thing is that Fay is bright and good-hearted.
I learned today why she ran out of money so early this month.
The week before she met me, she had befriended a girl she'd met at the Stardust Ballroom.
"When the girl told Fay she had no family in the city, was broke, and had no place to sleep, Fay invited her to move in.
Two days later the girl found the two hundred and thirty-two dollars that Fay kept in her dresser drawer, and disappeared with the money.
Fay hadn't reported it to the police—and as it turned out, she didn't even know the girl's last name.
"What good would it do to notify the police?" she wanted to know.
"I mean this poor bitch must have needed the money pretty badly to do it.
I'm not going to ruin her life over a few hundred bucks.
I'm not rich or anything, but I'm not going after her skin—if you know what I mean."
I knew what she meant.
I have never met anyone as open and trusting as Fay is.
She's what I need most of all right now.
I've been starved for simple human contact.
July 8
Not much time for work—between the nightly club-hopping and the morning hangovers.
It was only with aspirin and something Fay concocted for me that I was able to finish my linguistic analysis of Urdu verb forms and send the paper to the International Linguistics Bulletin.
It will send the linguists back to India with their tape recorders, because it undermines the critical superstructure of their methodology.
I can't help but admire the structural linguists who have carved out for themselves a linguistic discipline based on the deterioration of written communication.
Another case of men devoting their lives to studying more and more about less and less—filling volumes and libraries with the subtle linguistic analysis of the grunt.