To Frank O’Connor [Letter 38]

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The Murray
Sixty-six Park Avenue
New York

August 21, 1936

Cubby darling!

I received two letters from you, together—this morning. It was swell, and thanks, you did write after all, I couldn’t quite believe that you ever would.

You “catched” me on the “first, most and foremost”. All right, it was for Thursday and Friday. But you’re King of Beasts, Prince of Cubs, Thing of Beauty, and lions is felines! (Mainly dandelions ain’t!)

I have had a very exciting day today. Saw Jerome Mayer and it’s all settled. The contract [for a stage version of We the Living] will be signed probably Thursday. He didn’t make any funny demands for any collaborators, after I explained my point. He was very nice. We

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discussed the play at great length and I showed him my outline, which he liked very much. We also discussed casting. He does have Brian Ahern in mind, but for Leo, not Andrei. He also mentioned Francis Lederer for Leo, which may be all right, he admitted, however, that he is not sure of what Lederer would be like in a tragic role. I told him about Katharine Hepburn turning down the Guild play, and he said he would find out right away whether we could have her. He mentioned Dorothy Gish, as a vague possibility. Pat said she looks very young and is grand. I’m going to Westport tomorrow to see her in “Russet Mantle.” She does the part of a young girl in that, so I’ll see what she’s like.

I’m way in the first scene of the Second Act and it goes swell—so far. And I don’t

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The Murray
Sixty-six Park Avenue
New York

miss you at all. (Well, you know that’s a lie) How do you actually feel without me? I feel funny. I still am not used to being alone. I try not to think about it when I’m working, but I feel awfully blue when I write this. And I can’t bear to look at Oscar and Oswald, since they won’t talk to me. They’re putting all their answers in cold storage. Cubbyhole, how do you really feel? Try to put it on paper. I can’t. I love you and it’s terrible to have such a hold on me, you can sit there and gloat, if you want to. There’s no one here to “bait” a poor, defenceless kittan (they’re the

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best kind to bait) and I miss it terribly.

I’ll come Monday, so don’t be too low and too tired until then. Watch your “vitality”. And eat. Eat plenty! Even Emily misses you… Faith [Hersey] called to find out how I was bearing up under it. I’m ashamed to say that I sleep well and feel fine, except that I could have a “fit” any moment—and you can’t blame me for that.

Love from Oscar and Oswald, but mainly from Fluff.

Good night, tweetest.

XXXXXXX

[sketch of a cat crying into the can tied to its tail]