Slow Dancing by Elizabeth Benedict

Author:Elizabeth Benedict [Benedict, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-2228-5
Publisher: Open Road Media

Love and Ambition

JAN. 21

Dear Lexi,

It started snowing 2 days ago and now Cincinnati is buried under 2 feet of it (& and I’ve tried calling you 4x—no answer.) I’m supposed to be in Chicago t’mor to interview One More Single Woman, but at this rate, she’ll be hitched by the time I can get there. The SW whose house I’m at now, Anne Cooper, keeps it together better than most of us. But one thing she said yesterday has been haunting me: “It didn’t occur to me until this year that I would probably spend my life alone. It doesn’t scare me as much as I always thought it would.”

It’s almost the same thing a handful of other SW’s have told me in the last 2 months. A cultural phenomenon—not the being alone but the lack of fear, or maybe the lack of shame. Spinsterhood is moving uptown. But I’m beginning to think I don’t want to be on that bus. How am I going to finish this book with an attitude like that?

We watched the inauguration yesterday. Anne, her brother Michael and I had to smoke a few joints before we could get up the courage to turn on the tube. Disadvantage of color: you can’t mistake it for tv, it’s definitely reality. Michael christened it Day One of the Reagan Crisis. He lives in NYC and is stuck here in the snowstorm, expected back yesterday to cover Stock Exchange for some trade paper. Let me tell you about this boy from New York City, do-ah, do-ah, do-ah ditty: quite low-key and likable. And he knows his rock ’n roll. We were up talking till 3am. Who knows what’ll happen if the snow keeps up.

Since you’re practically cohabiting with D. Wiley, I’m sending this letter to your office. Pretty soon we won’t even be able to talk on the phone for worrying about an audience. Still can’t believe he’s the same guy I met at my brother’s. And that he’s given up hot-shot reporting to write editorials in LA. In the business they call that getting kicked upstairs, and usually save it for the old codgers who are so wrecked that about all they can do is pick up a telephone and hit a few keys on the typewriter. But all for a good cause: I myself moved across the country just to be with you.

Most love, N.

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