Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

last from the lawyers about one Myra Breckinridge who wasnever repeat never married to my nephew in any one of thefifty United States now Flagler and Flagler will fix her prettywagon and out she goes on her ass the way she is makingtrouble around here is like some kind of God damnedplague of Egypt telling everybody how lousy they arereminder to stop by Farmers Market and buy okra Bobbieis cooking gumbo tonight 19 Clem Masters grows on one.At that first party when I became hopelessly stoned andpassed out in the bathtub, I thought him the creep of theworld. But since then I have got to know him and of all thestudents, he is the only one with something resembling abrain. He comes, needless to say, from the East (Buffalo,New York), and wants to be a singer but will probably settlefor a career as songwriter. This morning, after Empathy, Imet him in the corridor and he said, "Come on, baby, andlet rue play you something I just wrote." "Wrote?" I asked."Or stole from the Beatles like that last little number yourecorded for Pop Tune IV... "You're a gas, Myra." He wasnot in the least distressed by my accusation of plagiarism.In fact, of all the students he alone seems not to fear meand since he interests me not at all sexually (he is weedylookingwith thick glasses and a black beard and neverwashes), I am able to enjoy his irreverence. Clem took meinto one of the music rooms where he promptly fell upon thepiano and rushed through several loud syncopatednumbers, bellowing banal lyrics at the top of his voice.When at last he stopped, I said the truth, as always, "It's justawful, Clem." "You crazy mixed-up chick!" He laughed, he