If anything, it only intensified her feelings of restlessness: Isaac had died without seeing her achieve anything of significance, and she became ever more mindful of how quickly time passes when one is trying to establish a career.
She had landed a job at a publishing house—her letters to Vi do not indicate which one—but the salary was abysmal, and the constant struggle for cash was leaving her feeling depleted. During the first part of 1943, she switched apartments, finding a fairly spacious flat at 135 East Twenty-eighth Street, complete with fireplace, skylight, and built-in bookshelves—but no furniture, which meant that she spent her weekends scrounging in junk and antiques shops for used tables and chairs.
She remained hard at work on her short stories and playwriting, constantly reworking them to try to get them in salable shape. She also kept Vi informed of the gossip about their old school friends. The big news was that, in a startling about-face, Robert Duncan was planning an April wedding to an acquaintance of Pauline’s named Marjorie McKee. “Pleasing news for a change,” noted Pauline, “altho [sic] I can’t dare to imagine how it may work out.”
Pauline continued, however, to be a fairly stubborn transplant to New York, and her letters reveal very little sense of optimism about the future. She was flailing about, constantly battling anxieties about money and increasingly filled with doubt and ambivalence about her current situation. It was also harder than she had guessed to establish a relationship with a man—the kind of relationship she thought she wanted. There were plenty of opportunities for casual sex; servicemen regularly propositioned her on the street and in bars, and when she turned them down, as she often did, they would try to make her feel guilty by telling her that the girls at home were the ones for whom they were fighting.
She kept in close touch with Bob Horan, who by now was spending much of his time at Capricorn, Barber and Menotti’s country retreat in Mount Kisco, New York, north of the city. Horan had always had a serious interest in music, and he was in his element, discussing music theory with two celebrated composers. He was also turning out to be a potent influence on both men, encouraging them to explore abstract painting and modern dance. Eventually Barber wrote the Capricorn Concerto, a modern take on the Baroque concerto grosso, featuring solo instrumental writing for flute, oboe, and trumpet—which Barber claimed represented himself, Menotti, and Horan, respectively.
Pauline enjoyed the stimulating environment at Capricorn, and Horan saw to it that she was a frequent weekend guest. Designed by the architect William Lescaze, Capricorn was later described by Horan as “a modern but not moderne chalet set into the side of the mountain and overlooking Croton Lake and the hills.” The house was spacious and spare, with a terrace in back that was ideal for summertime lunches. “One would have to be an imbecile, not to succumb to the beauty and the quiet. I feel miserable when I have to catch a train back to the city,” Pauline wrote to Vi.
Horan frequently stayed with Pauline when he was in New York, and she seemed relieved that their relationship had become less complicated. “Bob is terribly sweet to me these days when he comes to stay,” she told Vi, “but there’s a kind of bony structure missing there that I think I should always be too well aware of—despite his obvious talents and mind, and the very good understanding we have.... I’ve never felt so good about living alone.”
Her low opinion of much of the mainstream fare being offered in New York continued unabated. She was shocked by the quality of most of the plays of the 1943 fall season and was especially dismayed by Dream Girl, Elmer Rice’s female version of the Walter Mitty fantasy, and baffled by the acclaim for the performance of Mrs. Rice, Betty Field. But by early 1944, there were more personal concerns nagging at her—one of which was the prospect of her sister Rose’s visit in late February. By now Rose had married Myron Makower and embarked on a teaching career, but her proper, settled status seemed only to inflame the animosity between the two sisters.
Pauline was also becoming extremely possessive about her spare time, trying to protect as much of it as she could in order to work at her writing. But with too many friends and acquaintances dropping by the Twenty-eighth Street apartment in the evenings