j 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     18, ical 
     
    
   
   
    
     : a 
     
     MANHATTAN AUTUMNV SATURDAY cond fron page !o 
     
    
   
   
    
     So it was with those last few moments on that Manhattan Autumn 
     
     Saturday. ’ Fe 
     
     _ We lay there entwined a little longer. 
     
    

    
     “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day out there,”’ she said. 
     
    

    
     “Mmm.”” 
     
    

    
     A few minutes passed. 
     
    

    
     “How do you tolerate me?”’ she said suddenly, looking me straight 
     
     in the eye. 
     
    

    
     “‘What am I supposed to do,” I said, ‘jump up and down screaming 
     
     and throw a tantrum? Would that make you feel better?”’ 
     
    

    
     “I don’t know how you keep yourself from hating me.”” 
     
    

    
     “Oh, but I do hate you,”’ I said. 
     
    

    
     “T wouldn’t blame you if you did.”” 
     
    

    
     “Ol, don’t worry about it. Why don’t you just go to confession 
     
     and make everything better?” 5 
     
    

    
     “Don’t joke about it. It’s not funny.” 
     
    

    
     “It might not be funny, but you have to admit, it’s pretty absurd.” 
     
    

    
     “I know,” she said. “‘It is, isn’t it?”” 
     
    

    
     “Look at the good point though; at least you'll be able to get a 
     
    
   
   
    
     discount on any legal work you want done.”” i 
     
     She looked at me, broke down and cried. I held her tighter than I’ve 
     
     ever held another human being. And there in my arms, clinging like a 
     
     scared child she bawled her soul out to me for half an hour. By the 
     
     time she was finished you could touch the salt on her face. After it was 
     
     all over she got up, took a shower, got dressed, and put on her make-up 
     
    

    
     as if nothing had ever happened. 
     
     As we were leaving and she was putting the sonnets I’d written her 
     
     in her portfolio she looked me in the eye again. 
     
    
   
   
    
     “You know, I think you should have been a poet instead of an artist. 
     
     These poems mean more to'me than you’ll ever know.”” 
     
    

    
     “Yeh,” I said, ‘maybe you can read them on your honeymoon if 
     
     you get bored.”” 
     
    

    
     She said nothing. 
     
    

    
     And that afternoon, at two-thirty, the only woman I ever loved 
     
     married a Manhattan laywer named Tom i ther. I went 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     to Paris that fall and lost myself. But I never forgot; I never sold that 
     
     painting; and to this day, I still despise every lawyer I meet. 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     YOUR BOYFRIEND’S LEFT YOU. 
     
     YOU’VE FAILED YOUR STAT’S COURSE. 
     
    
   
   
    
     AND WORST OF ALL: 
     
    
   
   
    
     DADDY’S LATE WITH THE ALIMONY CHECK : 
     
     SO WHAT’S A POOR LITTLE 
     
    
   
   
    
     RICH GIRL TO DO? 
     
    
   
   
    
     Bourgeois Productions in association with 
     
     the Catholic Aryan Girls League 
     
    
   
   
    
     Presents 
     
    
   
   
    
     a Gustav Heidelberg film 
     
    
   
   
    
     — of a Gunter Heidelberg novel — 
     
    
   
   
    
     ““LET’S GO TO ZURICH”’ 
     
    
   
   
    
     TRANSPORTATION PROVIDED BY SWISSAIR 
     
     MAKE-UP PROVIDED BY MERLE AND 
     
     NORMAN “THE MAKE-UP GUYS” 
     
     WARDROBES COURTESY OF THE 
     
     EUROPEAN FASHION COMMUNITY 
     
    
   
   
    
     DON’T MISS THIS DESPONDENT TALE OF ISOLATION, 
     
     DESOLATION, DESPAIR, AND OF COURSE, PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA. 
     
    
   
   
    
     RATED P.R.E.T.T.Y. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Perfect for Rich Elitist Types and Toronto Yuppies 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     “This isa film that will touch you, move you, rock you, unbalance you, 
     
     and make you wish you were part of the insensitive, immature, 
     
     unstable, love-starved North York aristocracy.”’ — Girlsweek. 
     
    
   
   
    
     “LET’S GO TO ZURICH”’ 
     
    
   
   
    
     1 
     
    
   
   
    
     COMING DURING READING WEEK 
     
     TO A LOCALE NEAR YOU