the Far Rockaways. Rusty's back was to us now and I could not take my eyes off his somewhat square yet small buttocks as they made a slow grinding motion in response to the beat of an electric guitar. Though I tried to visualize what they must look like without the protective covering of cloth, I failed to come up with a satisfactory mental image. Happily, I shall soon know everything! "'Course we're both broke. I get a little something from the family in Winnipeg but poor Rusty's only got this uncle and aunt in Detroit who don't like him because he was kind of wild when he was a kid... "So wild that he was busted for stealing a car." The day that I first noticed Rusty in class, I went straight to Buck's office where dossiers on each student are kept. They are surprisingly thorough. Rusty's three-year suspended sentence was duly noted, as well as the cogent fact that should he ever again run afoul of the law he can be sent up for a maximum of twenty years. Mary-Ann looked frightened. "I didn't know anybody knew about that." "Just Uncle Buck and I." I patted her hand. "Don't worry, neither of us is going to tell." "He's completely changed since those days, he really is. Why, in those days he used to play around with a lot of girls. You should have seen all the photographs he used to have! But after he met me he stopped all that and now he isn't interested in anything except working hard and being a star, which I'm sure he's going to be." "He's certainly no worse than the rest of them on television." I was perfectly honest with her. "Of course he can hardly talk but neither can they." "Oh, but he talks awfully well. It's just he has some trouble with speaking lines but that takes lots of practice. Anyway what is important is that he comes over so real, and of course so sexy. You should have seen him on the closed-circuit TV last spring when he played the part of this crazy gunman. Oh, he was something!" It was at that point that I was given marijuana by Clem or Clint, and the rest of the evening took on a religious tone.
15
Feeling somewhat better, I gave a great deal to my Empathy II class, and though I am now exhausted, I have at least gotten over my hangover. A letter from Dr. Montag cheered me up. He warns against depressions of the sort I have been prone to since Myron's death and so he proposes, rather obviously, that in lieu of analysis I must keep busy. Little does he dream just how busy I am! Between my plot to entrap Rusty and my efforts to obtain my rightful share of the Academy, I have hardly a moment to devote to my life's real work, completing Myron's book. Fortunately the insights gained during my visit to MGM are bound to add immeasurably to Myron's text. Meanwhile, I have had a marvelous idea for a piece on Pandro S. Berman which Calaiers du Cinema ought to eat up. After all, with the exception of Orson Welles and Samuel Fuller, Berman is the most important film-maker of the Forties.
16
I spoke sharply to Rusty in Posture today. He shows no sign of improvement and I'm afraid I was brutal. "You simply cannot walk straight." I imitated his slouching walk which is, in its way, extremely sensual but hardly suitable for the screen. He looked very angry and muttered something under his breath that I could not hear but assumed was uncomplimentary. Mary-Ann looked more than ever disturbed as she begged me with her eyes to desist. "I will see you after class, Godowsky." I was abrupt. "Things cannot go on as they are," I added ominously. I then gave the class a series of exercises in how to sit down, something that did not come easily to any of them. All the while observing, out of the corner of my eye, Rusty's sullen face. My plot is working very nicely. After class, Rusty came to my office and sat on the straight chair beside the desk, listing to one side, legs wide apart. He was not in the least nervous. In fact, he was downright defiant, even contemptuous of me, so secure did he think himself in his masculine
15
Feeling somewhat better, I gave a great deal to my Empathy II class, and though I am now exhausted, I have at least gotten over my hangover. A letter from Dr. Montag cheered me up. He warns against depressions of the sort I have been prone to since Myron's death and so he proposes, rather obviously, that in lieu of analysis I must keep busy. Little does he dream just how busy I am! Between my plot to entrap Rusty and my efforts to obtain my rightful share of the Academy, I have hardly a moment to devote to my life's real work, completing Myron's book. Fortunately the insights gained during my visit to MGM are bound to add immeasurably to Myron's text. Meanwhile, I have had a marvelous idea for a piece on Pandro S. Berman which Calaiers du Cinema ought to eat up. After all, with the exception of Orson Welles and Samuel Fuller, Berman is the most important film-maker of the Forties.
16
I spoke sharply to Rusty in Posture today. He shows no sign of improvement and I'm afraid I was brutal. "You simply cannot walk straight." I imitated his slouching walk which is, in its way, extremely sensual but hardly suitable for the screen. He looked very angry and muttered something under his breath that I could not hear but assumed was uncomplimentary. Mary-Ann looked more than ever disturbed as she begged me with her eyes to desist. "I will see you after class, Godowsky." I was abrupt. "Things cannot go on as they are," I added ominously. I then gave the class a series of exercises in how to sit down, something that did not come easily to any of them. All the while observing, out of the corner of my eye, Rusty's sullen face. My plot is working very nicely. After class, Rusty came to my office and sat on the straight chair beside the desk, listing to one side, legs wide apart. He was not in the least nervous. In fact, he was downright defiant, even contemptuous of me, so secure did he think himself in his masculine
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