Free Liberation by Christopher Isherwood

Don phoned him in New York to ask if he objected to Don’s exhibiting at another gallery; and Irving thought it was good for Don’s prestige too.
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    September 6. Such an effort to write anything in this book! Because whenever I’m at the desk I have this blind urge to get on and on and on with Kathleen and Frank . And rightly. There’s still a tremendous lot of work to be done on it. Am slowly coming to the end of chapter 11.
    On the 2nd, we had supper with Gavin, Mark Andrews and Rita Hayworth at Trader Vic’s (which I hate, it’s so depressing). Mark made rather an ass of himself; we had been expecting him to be marvellous with Rita and charm her. But he really is very much more naive than we’d supposed. He made corny advances and asked tactless questions, such as, “Where are you from?” This got under Rita’s skin—I hadn’t realized how sensitive she still is about being Mexican—and she told him loud and clear, “I’m from here , I’m North American!”
    Felt sort of protective towards her but not sorry for her; she can so obviously look after herself. Anyhow we are far too easily sentimental about the beautiful who have ceased to be beautiful—and Rita still looks very good, in a different way.
    On the 4th I went with Swami and Krishna to have supper with Len, Peter Schneider’s father. His girlfriend, a nice middle-aged woman, cooked, and Peter and his little brother Danny and Jim Gates (who is now working at the West Hollywood Goodwill and back living in the shack with Peter) were also there. Peter had just bought a chadar . He camped around in it, calling as much attention to himself as possible, and then Danny put it on. Swami took the whole thing in his stride as usual and I think made a good impression on Dr. Schneider, for whose benefit our get-together was really being staged; Peter is determined to “convert” him. Jim has just cut his hand severely, on the shower faucet. I can’t help seeing him more and more through Don’s eyes, that is, seeing his prim mischief-making side. Later, and this was the second objective of our meeting, the boys got Swami to come back for a moment to visit their shack, and thus bless it and the meditation shed behind.
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    September 8. Today I finished chapter 11 and sent a copy of it off to Richard.
    The day before yesterday was the preview of the show at Billy Al’s. Was much disappointed; there seemed to be so little to see, in those two big rooms. Billy Al is really the only one of the group whose work I like. Don only had two of his drawings up on the wall. They looked fine, but why not three? Also I wish he’d had a couple of paintings. He has just done a marvellous one. Crowds of art squares and squaws, with kids, were lounging around and drinking wine or sitting stoned on the floor and not really looking at anything. Leslie Caron came, which was a gesture, but then she missed going to Don’s show in March.
    We had supper with her last night. She is a very remarkable woman; just the same type as Madame Chiang [Kai-shek], and maybe Lady Macbeth, but benevolent—well, fairly. But she’s capable of imposing her French way of life with overwhelming power. Her beauty and her trimness and her energy are so awe-inspiring. She is sticking burlap all round the dining room with her own hands. Michael seems such a slob beside her. He was shot at by a Texan gunman sent out to San Diego by the father of a girl he was going with. The gunman just barely grazed him with one shot after three misses. Since then, if a car comes up close behind them when they’re driving, Michael gets scared. Jack Larson says Michael sees the United States as a place of extreme danger—as of course it is. He’s now working on several films; one about juvenile dope takers. 39
    Then tonight, I had supper with Swami. (Don has gone to Laguna for the day to see Jack Fontan and Ray Unger.)