1 April Tuesday through 4 April Friday Viileparisis-Paris Villeparisis
1 April: Another exciting day. Shopping for food in the supermarché, depositing various items for repair and waiting for the man to come and fix a radiator which was cold, some reading and a lot of staring out at the bleak weather which continues to resist the inevitable tide of Spring. Bea and I are talking a lot about the future. If given a choice, I tend to prefer the past and the future to the present. For some time now I have been looking forward to Ron and Laura’s visit. But Bea asked me if I was "excited" and I don’t think I am.
Excitement is the wrong word to describe my anticipation of the future. My vision of what a future event will hold includes a fair amount of anticipated enjoyment as well as apprehension of what may lie ahead. It is a dark tunnel at the other end of which may be bright sunshine and green fields ... but also may be another dark tunnel.
Still, I do see their visit as an infusion of positive enthusiasm, a point of view which my brother is famous for.
3 April: Some signs of Spring. A little warmer and sun and blue skies between the clouds and spurts of rain. But there was a feeling, vague and probably more hopeful than real, but there nonetheless, that the seasons are changing.
We went into the City, tromped around from Opera, Galeries Lafayette, to the Netherlands and Belgium Tourist offices, again preparing for the future, and then over to St. Germain to "Fair Play" and spent some time with Raymond and Max.
Raymond is not very demonstrative in his affection, but exercises his family leadership with the solitude of a sea captain, with a high sense of his responsibility for and enjoyment at any show of pleasure by family members. But he is by nature also an enjoyer of life, himself, and he doesn’t quite fit the part of burdened patriarch.
Max took us to Atrium for coffee and gossip which he greatly relishes.
We watched "The Towering Inferno" which starred the special effects team whose great achievements competed with the love scenes between the blue eyes of Paul Newman and Steve McQueen.
5 April Saturday through 11 April Friday Villeparisis-Paris-Meaux-Villeparisis
11 April: Ron & Laura left this morning. Their week here turned out pretty much as I had expected. We enjoyed their friendship, up-ness, enthusiasm, cameraderie, good humor and pleasurable gamesmanship. And on the other hand, also expected: the overindulgence, too much drinking, too many games, too much enthusiasm, too much food. On the whole, the infusion of cheer overcame the negatives and both Bea and I enjoyed their visit which provided us with a new outlook.
With Ron the single minded determined enjoyment of all of HIS pleasures is both admirable and irksome. Laura’s obsessions too become irritating after a time: the food neurosis continues, the slavish dependence on Ron, the self-grooming preoccupation, constant "health" concerns that make you want to shake her sometimes.
Yet both Bea and I feel that they are the two people with whom we feel the most sympatico and enjoy the best laughs with and feel closest to. There is a bond between us, because of the strong relationships involved, that causes a great deal of warmth between us.
While Ron is my brother, Laura and Bea have developed a very "sisterly" bond which almost parallels mine with Ron. Bea both envies and feels superior to Laura. She can swing from efforts to mimic her traits to complete frustration with them. She can enjoy endless hours of mutual interests, and then grind her teeth with exasperation at the shallowness of Laura’s chatter.
The week was a blur of frantic going.
When they landed they were tired having been on the plane for 12 hours. Laura seemed unchanged, Ron looked heavier, was wearing an open necked LA shirt and appeared to me to be a little older, a little more wedded to a Beverly Hills look that I associate with middle age.
They brought more luggage for their 1 week than we took for a year in part due to our communicated confusion about the weather (which is still cold). We drove them to VP—I listened to the tales of the cats and Mom and Dad and business and the house we bought together as an investment and was able to get in snatches about our trip—had to remind myself that they were not very interested to hear our stories.
After settling in they napped and Laura had called Harold Weisenthal [Laura’s aunt Bunny’s beau] who was in Paris to buy films for US distribution. We dressed in suits and drove to the Champs Elysees, parked near the George Cinque and went into the Prince de Galles next door and had drinks with Harold.
Ron reminded me of his irrepressible impulse to impress others he admires. Laura said the Bar at the Hotel was "really Paris." Bea restrained a scream and I looked around at the other people there: all British and American upscale tourists, not a Parisian in sight.
The Barman knew Fernand, an old barman friend of Harold and we went to Fernand’s Bar for dinner. Fernand greeted Ron (who he knew for several days in ‘68 as a customer and acquaintance of others) as though R had saved his life. Cheerful bullshit flowed freely and a convivial atmosphere prevailed, and we had dinner, lots of drinks and came home very late.
The next day, Sunday noon, Raymond, Max and the Rosenbergs came with food and Raymond hit it off immediately with Ron—Ron made his special effort to charm though hampered somewhat by the language barrier.
After a walk along the canal we went into Paris (again in suits), this time into the George V, where we had been invited by Fernand and his mistress, Danielle. At the Bar, I became rigid with martinis which Fernand covered, and we heard Danielle’s life story and more bullshit flowed and we went to Calvados for dinner—very expensive and not extremely good.
Fernand had invited R to gamble at the Aviation Club and R gleefully accepted for me too, orally committing 1000 francs each to a pool for him to gamble. When I showed less than terrific enthusiasm, we spent 3 hours in deep discussion of R’s philosophy of Life: "Live for today; live on your (meaning his) own terms."
Monday we woke up in the afternoon and went to the Marché au Pus at Porte de Clignancourt and shopped and browsed among antique furniture shops. R&L shopped for ideas for clients. We went to Montmartre, and returned to VP, dined on patés, baguettes and tartes with creme fraiche. Early to bed.
Tuesday was R’s day to allow L to see some of the sights. Eiffel Tower, back on the Seine (the sun swapped places with heavy snow, sleet and hail), walk to Les Invalides (Rodin was closed). Then we went to the family stores. R&L met Lola and Hélène, both of whom were very friendly (Hélène is getting more so). Ron and I walked to a toy store then to a café and Laura and Bea bought clothes at Sagamore. We then went with Hélène to her house. She drove and was more ebullient and talkative with Ron & Laura than she had ever been before with us, which pissed Bea off no end.
Hélène has been arguing with her father who disapproves of the way she runs her store (which he financed) and spends their money. She admitted to us that she is bored when business is bad. She likes buying but not selling and working. Since we have been in Paris (November) business has been bad, but she was off on vacation in Switzerland most of the time (without inviting us, which also pissed Bea off).
Gerard was also a little better than his usual snotty self and they involved R&L in a discussion of decorating. R shmoozed and displayed his "expertise", which is hard for him because G&H think they know everything too: not Ron’s sort of pigeons. We left the Helvassers and drove to Fernand’s where we had another dinner and evening of drinking. An Englishman who was quite a colorful character traded jokes and bull with Ron.
By Wednesday, Laura was complaining of a tender tummy—like Marilyn she is out of touch with her body and at the same time so in touch with it that every groan and creak alarms her. But unlike M, Laura wants to eat everything—inside there is a chubby girl scratching and clawing to get out of her svelte figure. Ron of course is merciless with criticism for her "michigas."
We drove away from Paris for a day in the country—my idea because I didn’t want to wear my suit again. To Meaux and through it, along RN3 east to Chateau Thierry passing the US WWI cemetery and the pretty valley. We had lunch in the town and Bea and Laura bought fruits de mer to bring back for dinner. Oysters, mussels, bigourneaux—neither Ron nor Laura caught our enthusiasm for these delicacies.
Ron does not experiment with food. Like his lifestyle he is very definite about what he wants and does not want. Laura is a vicarious eater and a food pusher. She and Bea bickered because Laura wanted to buy everything and then nibble a little from each. Bea said she couldn’t afford that and was peeved because she knew that she, unlike Laura, would not be able to resist gorging on the tempting food, which Laura would encourage her to do, while she herself ate little.
Ron chimed in on Bea’s side, ruthlessly and unnecessarily pummeling Laura with cruel truth about her failings. We all went to sleep early.
Again on with my suit Thursday. Before this week, I had planned to take it with me to London and NY for shows, but now I vow to ship it home at the first opportunity. We drove to Galeries Lafayette where, after lunch across the street, we separated. Ron and I, Laura and Bea. Ron and I went to the toy department of the store. I love it because it is a pretty, fun world without responsibility, and Ron loves it more, because he needs games like a drug. The night he came we began playing our old familiar card game, Klabberjazz, and he has since bought a piste and dice and we have played dix milles ad nauseum.
Later we met the girls—after rescuing the car from an imminent tow truck and collecting the inevitable souvenir parking ticket— drove to the stores where Bea picked up her clothes and we met Max who had insisted on taking us for a drink.
He took the girls in a taxi and through Bea, gave Ron and I directions which were incomprehensible. Using my nose I got to the Champs Elysees quite easily anyway. Max regaled us with his own brand of joie de vivre—reminding us of Papa Hymie but in a far more garrulous manner. We strolled along the Champs, Max an aged bon vivant in his glory with Laura and Bea draped on each arm, then said goodbye.
We drove to G&H’s. I gave Pascal the book I bought for him—a big picture book about American Indians—since he loves cowboys and their myth, maybe he can learn the truth and the other side. He loved it and beamed in his open face way.
We went to dinner, finally finding a restaurant after 1½ hours waiting and the dinner turned out to be superb and lots of fun. Even Girard was cheerful.
Hélène was amazing—she drank wine and let herself get high—out of control, loud, giggly, flirty, chatty, even silly. And she was charming and interesting for the first time as a result. Until the end when it became very obvious that Girard was not amused by his femme’s lack of "decorum" and dignity. What a drip!
Friday morning R&L made sure we were awake by making plenty of noise and we drove them to the airport. It was reminiscent of Marilyn’s departure in a certain respect— all relieved the visit was over, and in a way a let-down, though in this case I was not let down to the same degree. I have learned.
12 April Saturday Villeparis to Paris to Villeparisis
On Friday we both recuperated a bit, using our last ounce of energy to send 3 boxes of clothes home (including my suit). We spent the rest of the day relaxing—Bea sleeping, and later watched our last "Cine-Club." At this point in our trip I am aware of many "lasts."
Saturday morning we furiously cleaned the house and Bea packed and we went in to Paris, another "last." To "Fair Play" then a walk down St. Germain, a sit in a café, and then out with Raymond and Lola and the Rosenbergs and Max for dinner.
We are glad to be away from the family intrigues which for such a small clique are remarkably complex: Raymond vs. Girard, Lola vs. Mme. Rosenberg, Max, poor and ineffectual and gentlemanly M. Gustave, Lola against Girard, Lola against Raymond, Hélène against her father and fighting her husband. Bea has been drawn into all of these conflicts and complications, has walked a fatiguing tightrope, still had sucker marks from Lola’s tentacles.
Still, the house, the privacy and the freedom and opportunities it afforded us can’t be demeaned. These people so contradictory: so generous in their selfishness, so alive in their murderous bitterness, such crude and healthy Polish peasants in their subtle bourgeois French way. In sum, they were wonderful to us. They opened the doors of Paris—and Europe, for us
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