July—The first heat wave of summer sent the store’s advertising manager
to a sanitorium, with a thorough nervous breakdown. I inherited his
problems and his secretary. Every day, all day, I planned pages of
advertising of “Vacation Necessities” and “Week-end Accessories” and
“Hot Weather Comforts.” Then I went home to swim with Helena in the pool
at the Shelton, and dine with her, discussing “art moderne” languidly.
Or else I drove out on Long Island with Nathaniel in a hopeless search
for coolness, and discussed languidly over lobster and sauterne, his
father’s lessening health. Occasionally, I went with Bill to a
relatively cool roof garden and discussed liquor and women, of recent
and other vintages.