Postcards From the Edge by Carrie Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

into his room. Carl watched all this with me. When they were out of earshot, he said, “Shoot, any coke spoon was my lucky coke spoon, as long as there was coke on it.” I love Carl. He’s like a disc jockey from hell, and you can never change the station. His impact on people is undeniable. Alex literally perspires when Carl is around.
    I could swear Alex is deliberately not looking at me. He still hasn’t said a word to me. Somehow I don’t think I’m missing anything.
    … Look at Suzanne. She acts like she’s really getting into this shit, but it’s obvious she’s just as bored as I am. She’ll go through this whole thing, and then she and I’ll be in a bar in about two months. I can tell.
    No one could be seriously cooperating with this situation. At least nobody smart, nobody decent. There’s no way I could seriously feel like this was a good thing. And I’ve gone to these meetings now, so it’s not just what they call “contempt prior to investigation:” I’ve been. Greg was right. They’re boring and you can barely breathe in there because everyone is smoking. Smoking and drinking coffee. Aren’t those drugs, tobacco and caffeine? And they’re really not good for you.
    If Julie says that thing about looking for the difference instead of the similarities one more time I’m going to scream. I’m not looking for the differences. I don’t have to look. They’re obvious. I’m very different from these people. My situation is completely different.
    I mean, Car/! That story he told in the park about how he wound up in prison-what a moron. Even Suzanne seemed repelled by him. God, and this fucking Manson guy, he never talks to anybody. He’s always mooning around. He looks like he’s got glue in his eyes. Jesus, he knows Manson. What am I doing in here? It’s safer out there taking drugs than being in here not taking drugs with these people.
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    If that guy Sam comes up to me and puts his arm around me and calls me “Buddy” one more time, I’m gonna have to complain. But to who? Julie? She wears so much perfume it makes me sneeze. My nose is still irritated from all the pollen and everything, I have an allergy condition. I can’t be around people who use too much perfume. What a nightmare!
    Carol’s okay, though. I think she likes me, which couldn’t hurt because her husband is a big agent or something. I hope she doesn’t get a crush on me. I don’t want to have to go to her husband on business and wind up explaining why I’m fucking his wife. That could be rough. She’s okay, though. Redhead, but not a real redhead. I remember when I came in last week seeing her and thinking, “Not a real redhead:”
    It wouldn’t be bad to do a little business in here. It is a part of life. I haven’t been writing lately, but I’m gonna have to start working on something. If I’m gonna be with Suzanne, I’m gonna have to be able to keep up with her financially. I don’t expect her to support me.
    Shit, there’s Sam. Don’t come near me, man, don’t even think about coming over here. That’s right, go look out the window. A scalper, for Christ’s sake. What am I supposed to have in common with him? He didn’t even scalp tickets for concerts I would have gone to.
    I wish I played an instrument …
     
    Carl told the greatest story in the park today about how he ended up in prison. He had gone to rob a movie theater, and he went to the office and pulled a gun on the secretary, who said that only the manager knew the combination to the safe, and he’d gone out for a while. Carl told her he’d wait. Pretty soon an usher came in to see the secretary, and Carl made him wait with them. Soon after, two kids from the concession stand came looking for the usher, whose mother was waiting outside to
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    POSTCARDS from the EDGE
    drive him home, and they became part of the group. Then the mother came up. Before long there were about fifteen people staring at Carl and his gun in