Below are some short entries from Katy’s diary. The “big breakup” refers to Fraser, the banker she was seeing for a couple of months. Based on the dates, I think they were written around the time she moved into Adrian’s spare room, but weirdly, she doesn’t mention him –
July 8th – After the big breakup, I went into a numb place. I had nothing to live for. All the stuff I had valued, and all the things I had been working towards, I had lost. I felt like the walls had been pulled down around me, and the storm was rushing in. I was exposed to the elements. I lived moment by moment. Not thinking about the past or the future. I was like a lost piece from a game. There were no moves for me to do. The structure I had been part of no longer existed.
I spent a lot of time sleeping, working, preparing food, not eating much, then going out, with people I didn’t know well, to get drunk.
Katy had always been good at switching off. But in the last few months of her life she was drinking heavily, and I taking some sort of old fashioned Valium type drug. A tranquilliser rather than an SSRI.
I found an entry saying –
July 9th – Went out last night with some people I met on the set. They were working as extras. I think they were weed heads. We hung out at this guy’s flat, and they teased me for drinking wine.
I miss Fraser. He is an ass but I miss him. Businessmen are all wankers. Him, his friends. The way they treat girls. Like something to pick up and drop. Fraser’s friend once spent $600 on a dinner with a girl, just because he though she was the sort to put out. The sort who would do anything in bed.
It backfired because she wouldn’t go home with him. Fraser teased the guy endlessly about this. She said she had a plane to catch the next morning, really early. This might be true because she was a model and did a lot of work in Paris.
I often walked through the financial district. Socially, I’d met men who worked there, and it was mostly men who worked there. But I’d never dated anyone from that scene. They were mostly what my mother would have called “nouveau” and I found them incredibly brash. But some girls find that attractive. They want nothing more than to be whisked off in a red sports car, and spoilt with gifts and champagne. Success, I suppose is an aphrodisiac.
You walk down Wall Street, dwarfed by the office buildings with their big glassy lobbies. Men in suits walking in and out. Aggressive, arrogant and over-competitive. Do they see girls the same way they see everything else? Another commodity.
Image: Queen Elizabeth, by Connie