got to solve this thing for yourself as well. Don't let anyone tie your hands."
"So, now the truth comes out," I teased. "You'd like me to see less of her."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you meant. If she's interfering with my work we both know I've got to cut her out of my life."
"No, I don't think you should cut her out of your life. She's good for you. You need a woman who's been around as she has."
"You would be good for me."
She turned her face away. "Not in the same way she is." She looked back at me. "I came here tonight prepared to hate her. I wanted to see her as a vile, stupid whore you'd gotten mixed up with, and I had big plans about coming between you and saving you from her in spite of yourself. But now that I've met her, I realize I have no right to judge her behavior. I think she's good for you. So that really lets the air out of me. I like her even if I disapprove. But in spite of that, if you've got to drink with her and spend all of your time with her in night clubs and cabarets dancing, then she's in your way. And that's a problem only you can solve."
"Another one of those?" I laughed.
"Are you up to this one? You're deeply involved with her. I can tell."
"Not all that deep."
"Have you told her about yourself?"
"No."
Imperceptibly, I could see her relax. By keeping the secret about myself, I had somehow not committed myself to Fay completely. We both knew that, wonderful as she was, Fay would never understand.
"I needed her," I said, "and in a way she needed me, and living right across from each other, well it was just handy, that's all. But I wouldn't call it love—not the same thing that exists between us."
She looked down at her hands and frowned. "I'm not sure I know what does exist between us."
"Something so deep and significant that Charlie inside me is terrified whenever there seems to be any chance of my making love to you."
"And not with her?"
I shrugged. "That's how I know it's not important with her. It doesn't mean enough for Charlie to panic."
"Great!" she laughed. "And ironic as hell. When you talk about him that way, I hate him for coming between us. Do you think he'll ever let you ... let us..."
"I don't know. I hope so."
I left her at the door. We shook hands, and yet, strangely, it was much closer and more intimate than an embrace would have been.
I went home and made love to Fay, but kept thinking of Alice.
July 27—Working around the clock. Over Fay's protests, I've had a cot moved into the lab. She's become too possessive and resentful of my work. I think she could tolerate another woman, but not this complete absorption in something she can't follow. I was afraid it would come to this, but I have no patience with her now. I'm jealous of every moment away from the work—impatient with anyone who tries to steal my time.
Though most of my writing time is spent on notes which I keep in a separate folder, from time to time I have to put down my moods and thoughts out of sheer habit.
The calculus of intelligence is a fascinating study. In a sense this is the problem I've been concerned with all my life. Here is the place for the application of all the knowledge I have acquired.
Time assumes another dimension now—work and absorption in the search for an answer. The world around me and my past seem far away and distorted, as if time and space were taffy being stretched and looped and twisted out of shape. The only real things are the cages and the mice and the lab equipment here on the fourth floor of the main building.
There is no night or day. I've got to cram a lifetime of research into a few weeks. I know I should rest, but I can't until I know the truth about what is happening.
Alice is a great help to me now. She brings me sandwiches and coffee, but she makes no demands.
About my perception: everything is sharp and clear, each sensation heightened and illuminated so that reds and yellows and blues glow. Sleeping here has a strange effect. The odors of the laboratory animals, dogs, monkeys, mice, spin me back into memories, and it is difficult to know