To prove she’s in tune with the rest of the world and is tightening her belt, Maggs took the train in. And instead of staying at the Plaza Athenée, which is where she always stays with Ken, she’s staying at the Hotel Gansevoort, in the Meatpacking. Okay, so her belt is Hermes.
It’s been mostly good to have her here. Once she got that first round of dramatics out of the way, she got down to business, and it’s been an education, let me tell you! I’ve been through two divorces, but it was nothing like the show Maggs is putting on. With Malcolm, I had a world of pain. He was the first man I’d been able to trust after Robbie died, and he really was great. He had that wild sparkle when he was painting, and we had some times, let me tell you! But otherwise, so sweet and gentle. And then he takes me out to dinner, where I can’t even have a fit because in London you don’t do that, and tells me he needs to leave because his boyfriend has AIDS. I didn’t even know he had a boyfriend. “How naïve can you get?” is what you’re asking yourself. Not that naïve. No one knew it. The boyfriend was a government type, all about secrecy, with a wife and two kids covering for him in the suburbs. Malcolm, who’d had a string of women before me who were all pretty loudly pissed off when we got together, didn’t claim even that day to be bi but that “this person” attracted him so powerfully he “never really thought of him as a man, only about what was inside.” Well, after that comment, when after Q died (I was going to call him “X”, but I started thinking James Bond and couldn’t resist), Malcolm disappeared from the art scene and later wrote this almost heartbreaking apology that ended by saying he was becoming a Buddhist monk…well, THAT time, I WASN’T surprised. But when he told me he was leaving me for a man, I can’t describe what that was like. If I ever need to cry on cue, like trying to get out of a ticket?, that’s what I think of. To this day. So yeah, I had a really rough divorce in terms of pain, but we didn’t have much property to split. The flat was mine anyway, and he was moving in with Q who had lots of money, even after taking care of the wife and kiddies. I never thought about it before, but there was a lady I should have gotten to know; we could have done some crying together. I guess at the time, I didn’t want to go near anything having to do with Q. Too late now, though I keep hearing stories about people tracking each other down on Facebook (me, I’m not on Facebook; I don’t know, I’m just not). Anyway, Mal took off with what he wanted and left me the rest, then gave me some paintings which was all he had to give. He didn’t start taking off until after. And really, his work only started being worth something after he stopped doing it. So that way, it worked out to my advantage. But damn, it hurt. For a couple of years after, every time I met someone who had a good haircut, or was willing to watch a romantic movie without making snide remarks, I thought nuh-uh! I was back here in the States then, and I found myself at a lot of sports bars and boxing matches and monster car rallies for a while.
When Erich and I split, it was almost business-like. It seemed like a good idea when we first got together, but time went on, and it turned out we really wanted different lives. I’m not saying it was an easy split, but it was civilized. So I never had a divorce like the one Maggs is launching into. She is so out for revenge, you would swear you could hear that background music from Jaws. I wouldn’t want to be Ken for all…well, for all the money Ken has! It was bad enough when it started, but she’d calmed down some and was letting her lawyer get to work while she started thinking of what she wanted to do with her life. Then about a week ago, a few of her girlfriends back in Bev Hills “thought it only fair to let you know” that someone had seen Ken and this model-turned-actress) whose name they all seemed to know but who I never heard of) at that spa in the desert. Sharing a mud bath, which in case you don’t know is not only done in the nude but al fresco. Meaning not exactly in secret. And someone else had actually gone over to Ken to say hi while he was hanging around on the boyfriend-courtesy-sofa at this week’s hot LA boutique, drinking a Red Bull and giving a thumbs up every time the MTA sashayed out of the dressing room. So now there’s a “why” behind it, and Maggs is – justifiably if you ask me – out for blood. That’s why she went into the city. She’s lined up some appointments with Tracie Martyn and Dr. Brandt, and drinks/lunches/dinners with people whose meals get mentioned in the gossip columns, so she can keep a high profile. I expect she’s having a little shopping safari, too. I told her to keep an eye on the bottom line, since she really doesn’t know if Ken has the money she thinks he has. Any more, I mean. For all we know, the MTA has money. Or Ken’s running up a tab knowing he’ll never pay it. But Maggs is driven. She’s “saving” on no limo and by cutting the hotel bill in half. The train was a joke; I’m willing to bet she drives back here on Wednesday in a stretch. As for the hotel, maybe it’s half the price of the Athenée, but the Ganesvoort isn’t exactly Motel 6, plus it’s younger and hipper, which is something she probably wants in her toolbelt.
I really wanted to write something today about what I’ve been doing, but all I’ve done is write about Maggs, and I’m exhausted! Guess I’ll have to write about me another day. I’ve got til Wednesday in peace and quiet. Oh, I think the drizzle stopped! I think I’ll take a glass of wine and sit outside for a while. I don’t have to be at Ed and Leonie’s until 7.
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