Sensuous

22 February — Monday

Worked late at the office. Just got home and too exhausted to bother with this, but I just yesterday resolved to do a line a day at least. It seems too soon to break a vow.

Mr. Karlman left me virtually nothing to do all day, then called me in for two dozen rush letters that had to go out tonight. Didn’t even leave for dinner. He called Smiler’s and they sent over corned beef sandwiches and coffee and we ate at our desks.

He wanted to drive me home. Would have driven me all the way out to Brooklyn but I insisted he drop me at the Union Square subway stop. He let me talk him into it. No one really wants to drive to Brooklyn in the middle of the night. I walked a few steps down into the stairwell, let him drive off, then took a cab home. $1.90 on the meter so I gave the driver $2.25. All to keep him from knowing I had moved to Manhattan.

Next time I’ll know better. Make a fake phone call, tell him I’m staying over with a girl friend rather than traipse to Brooklyn late at night. And have him drop me around the corner from where I live.

Why am I so devious when there’s nothing to be devious about?

Happy birthday, George Washington.

But today isn’t a holiday. The holiday was a week ago yesterday. And it was not a holiday at our office. We all came in, and got an extra day’s pay as a bonus.

Who cares about this? Not I. Just wasting time to avoid what I can’t write about.

Mr. Karlman is a flirt. I don’t know if he does anything about it or just wants to. Never flirts with me, though. Senses the futility of it, or else I don’t turn him on. Or both.

Came closer than ever last night. En route to the subway. Said, “I hate to go home alone on a night like this. My place is so much more comfortable when there’s someone in it with me.”

I said something suitably dumb about what a boon television is for lonely people. Purposely missing his pitch entirely. Caught a glimpse of his face, eyes turned heavenward in an attitude of God-what-a-simpleton-this-one-is. And will surely make no passes again at Arlene the Machine. At Krause the Mouse.

I suspect Jennifer might have handled things somewhat differently.