HORSE RACE

“Dear Linda,

“I’ve tried to start this letter three times. I’m finding it very hard to open up and talk about my life just now, I’ve been feeling so moody and strange.

“Suddenly I’ve become seriously committed to the guitar. I’m studying with a sweet guy named Charlie, who’s just about my age. I’m teaching myself to read tablature, writing guitar accompaniments and song lyrics, and looking for a voice teacher. Somehow the ambition, anxiety, and determination involved have made me very sober. Also, I’ve started painting classes. I frankly don’t know what I’m doing in there, but I figure I’ll catch on eventually. Then I’m low on cash again and feeling the pinch, and job hunting is getting me nowhere.

“I’ve had my share of odd experiences lately. I was picked up hitchhiking by a sexy older man who had just produced a movie. He took me to see 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea with his ‘daughter’ Kelly, whom I didn’t—to my red-faced chagrin—find out was his son until the end of the evening, when I referred to him as ‘her.’

“I had a pelvic at the Free Clinic, which might as well have been Grand Central Station. Various interns and nurses hustled in and out during the proceedings, casting sidelong glances at my crotch, while another inexperienced doctor tried to find the whereabouts of my right ovary. Finally everybody donned a glove and joined in the search.

“Then I went to see Cat Stevens perform and was so smitten that I decided to try to meet him. I called his recording company and pretended to be a representative of the Unified Churches of Long Beach who wanted him to make a personal appearance at a charity concert. All I found out was that he was on his way to New York. (Don’t ask me what I would have done if they’d said yes.)

“Also, I unofficially joined the Unitarian Church down here, tried without success to sell my dress designs, and went to the track with Monk, a cheery eccentric who studies the horses, bets judiciously, and invariably wins something. He did this time too—but the filly he told me to bet on lost. So I’m out $12, which I needed for groceries.

“How about you? Any fascinating new developments in your life? You ask about leaving Berkeley. Judging from what I’ve seen down here, Berkeley is as good a place to be as any—I’ve almost moved home half a dozen times. Somehow it’s your life style that makes the difference. Write! I luv to get letters.”