Dear Lee:
The General says he can get this to you with comparative privacy, which
seems like a good idea. Apparently I don’t mind broadcasting my nastier
moods; it’s just if an unaccustomed brief spell of humility comes over
me, I can’t stand to have anyone know I occasionally behave like a
civilized human.
_If_ I do, or am, which is probably open to doubt. Particularly after
my last radiowire to you.
Your reply caught up with me the first time the facs company had an
address for me, which was during a couple of refreshingly sober days
in the Rio jail--great place, by the way, clean, spartan, healthy as
all hell. Might have done better to have done worse (I took a poke at a
foul-mouthed ass in a night club) and been kept longer.
Anyhow, it seemed a bit late, and hardly the place, from which to
answer your PS. Hoppen Harbridge also located me there; he’d been
concerned because of the subpoena for me being withdrawn. Thought
maybe it had been served instead and I was being maybe too royally
entertained somewhere in private until T (for testimony) Day came. Man
seems as uneager for me to take the stand as I am, which gets _me_ a
bit concerned. (It will be no news to him when he reads this; I’ve
already told him so. I suppose I’d rather have him read it than him and
every other damn snoop or spy from how many? countries, which is what I
gather already happened to our previous by-radiowire exchanges.)
I seem to be rambling on, just possibly in an effort to avoid coming to
the point. Which is as follows:
I’d very much like to take you up on your implied invitation. I have
only recently learned how much I need you. I learned it, babe, from
Toronto down to Rio, with many stops in between. Or amend that: I
started in St. Croix, worked my way up to Toronto via home, and etc.
But in the process I learned a couple of other things, most important
of which is that there seems to be remarkably little of Johnny at home
these days--barring some mixed crap and fury, a bit of which I got rid
of in that Rio ginmill. Some more of which probably is creeping into
this letter, no matter which words I reach for.
So I need you; so what the hell do you need me for?
And is it just what a guy wants most, to _need_ a dame? _You don’t
need_ me. You’ve made it damn clear, and I, belatedly, bless you and
thank you for doing just that, doll. God help me, I do think you _love_
me. Or loved, as the case may be. It occurs to me that with effort and
application I might learn to do likewise in return. If I can’t I can at
least _stop needing_.
So tell ole Chris thanks from me--or Kutler, whoever _did_ mastermind
getting us up there. I might have gone on leeching on you the rest of
my life, or yours (which might have been shorter; how long could you
stand it anyhow?) if _something_ hadn’t happened to blast us apart long
enough for me to back off and get a good look at J. Wendt. The veritas
in vino is stronger proof in night clubs, maybe? Or were you watering
the stuff at home, babe?
The Gen. says 10 minutes, if I want to get this into the package. (10
minutes with or without time for him to read?) So--
I understand there is about to be a new subpoena for me. I’d enjoy
slugging the next guy, too, but am temporarily convinced it is better
not to do so off home property, and also better to stay off home
property myself for a bit, for many reasons, not all of them tactical.
(Speaking of tactics, it’s only fair to warn Harbridge, which I haven’t
directly, as yet, but will, that I am still on the other side of the
fence. My distaste for McL. happens to be stronger than my preference
for throwing spokes in space wheels. But Gen., if you think you are
harboring anything less than a viper in your bosom, be disillusioned.)
Anyhow, this is to let you know that my immediate future plans consist
of a knapsack, a couple of books which, if I bother to read them,
might bring me up to date in my supposed profession, and probably a
jug of honest tequila under a bough. The last is not part of the Grand
Reformation Plan, but should be mentioned as still the great likelihood.
In any case, I will have no address for a bit, so tell Kutler not
to try looking. Even Harbridge won’t know where I am. (The Gen’s
mysterious sources show that Kutler’s subpoena is already signed--like
my own--and will be going up same orbit as this.) As for you, babe,
stay put a while if you can. You’ll hear from me, soon as I know what
to say. Thanks for the chance to say anything. Apologies for what’s
been said--for a lot of things, for me, I guess. Convey same to Chris,
will you?
Listen, babe, I am one crazy-mixed-up bastard, as you have better cause
even than most to know--but for what it’s worth, I _do_--Hell, I can’t
even say that. Let me say, I do _want to love_ you. If I make the
grade, I’ll let you know. Meantime--
Hell.