July 16, 1979: God, I'm tired! Diana (Sutton) kept me up all night long with her unsuccessful search for an orgasm. The poor woman. I told her that her loss of climax was probably due to all the medication injected into her body. No doubt, chemotherapy is a force to be reckoned with.

I honestly don't know how Diana deals with it? I could only imagine being in her situation, and I really wouldn't want to do that. I mean, how could you think straight if the cancer was eating you away?

And my livelihood. I can't imagine not having an orgasm, especially when it's that part of my anatomy that has helped me along. Anyway...

I have to meet Mrs. (Doris) Rushworth for "lunch" later, so I think I'll rest a bit. God knows I'll need it. Shit! I hope these bags under my eyes go unnoticed.

July 24, 1979: Sarah (Donovan) scolded me last night for giving a hungry derelict five dollars. It was the least I could do, but apparently, Sarah thought otherwise because once we were in her limo, she flew into a rage of words. I, being a gentleman, let Sarah badger me with her insensitive words for whatever worth it was to her.

Then after Sarah regained her "usual" composure, I apologized, though insincerely, and gave her a kiss on the nape of her neck. That's how I always win her affections, and later after we made love, I wondered why rich women become possessive of men like me. I'm not her husband, yet Sarah becomes angry whenever I speak to anyone who isn't her. A downside to the life I suppose. That or I'm just realizing how spoiled she is.

August 4, 1979: I don't know what's going on inside my fucking head. I swear I don't. It's just lately I've been worried about what people think about me, when usually I wouldn't care.

I know I'm not some blueblood with an excellent portfolio, and I never pretended to be. I know I'm an escort, a gigolo, whatever you want to call it. I've never tried to hide it either. Still with open honesty, I'm being persecuted.

Diana says I "shouldn't worry over what gossip bored socialites spread." Especially when "the ones who are spreading the gossip are the ones who haven't had you in their bed yet, and can't wait to either. They're spoiled, darling." And of course she's right. Diana is always right. That's why I agreed to accompany her to France, so that I might be, for once, of some other use to her. This trip will be good for me, and for *Diana's battle.

*Diana's purpose in France was to undergo a new drug treatment for lung cancer, which was brought on by her excessive smoking.

August 20, 1979: Well lately, I've sensed an unsettling tension around Diana. At first, I thought maybe she didn't want me around anymore, so I asked if maybe I should meet her back in New York. I suddenly felt self-centered when she said to me, "Forgive my insensitivity.. but I'm dying and there's nothing anyone can do." God that floored me. How foolish and naive I appeared. Damn! Anyway...

I didn't know how to reproach Diana. What could I say to her that would not sound like bullshit. I was at a loss for words, so I simply held her as she cried. And in doing so, I felt the sickly delicateness of her body, which caused me to wonder if I might break her in my arms.

I wept for Diana, even as I weep now.

August 26, 1979: This may come as a shock, but I am now husband to Mrs. Diana Sutton-Mansfield. And it gives me great pleasure to introduce her as such. In fact, I believe she enjoys it just as much as I do.

But despite our happiness, negative opinions from Diana's family have reached us from across the Atlantic. Apparently, everyone believes I coaxed Diana into marriage and now they have taken to calling ours a "marriage of convenience."

Diana and I were ready for this however, and Diana has not faltered. She reprimanded to her family and friends, that she is a grown women who has made her way in the world, so they needn't worry about the choices she makes. And to show those who doubt her competence, Diana has arranged a formal dinner next week for some of her New York and Paris friends, in which she will introduce me as her "new husband."

Shit, I'm nervous! Yet I'm amazed at Diagnose' strength and courage to stand behind me. No ones has done that before, but as Diana says, "We're taking care of each other." I don't know... She should be taking care of herself first, but she won't listen to me. And I'm her husband...

Does her family really know her?

September 4, 1979: Well the dinner was a semi-success, but it wasn't a total bore either. Of the entire guest list, only half showed, but one of those guests who did show was the recently widowed Countess de L'ete, who made up for what was lost by the absentees. I would have thought she'd still be lamenting over the death of her husband, one of the reasons she was invited, but apparently mourning a death has become "old fashioned."

Diana and I agreed that the Countess was quite playful. In fact, I think I enjoyed her company more than I should have. I know the Countess had herself a good time with all those inappropriate caresses she gave me. But Diana needn't know any details, and I needn't tell her either. Anyway...

It does bother me that half of the guest decided not to meet me. However, I am pleased with those who did attend.

Hell! I'm trying to fool myself and it's not working. People in both New York and Paris society have obviously made their choice against me without having ever met me. And those who have met me, but still didn't bother to show, are blatant hypocrites. Especially the few New York women who I have spent time with before. Their husbands, well I can understand their resentment for me, although some of them have arrangements with women who aren't their wives.

What should I care?

October 30, 1979: Diana has become seriously ill. The cancer has vastly spread throughout her body, and the Morphine the doctor prescribed doesn't seem to be working anymore.

I actively help Diana as much as I can, but she has a personal nurse who objects to everything I do. Fuck her! What does she know? I may not be as knowledgeable as she is on medical procedures, but I think I know more about what comforts Diana. In fact, I think I'll fire her tomorrow for bringing added stress. Anyway...

I'm so nervous, I'm taking Xanax and Valium. Sometimes at the same time. It's the only way I can possibly stay sane. Especially when I feel the onset of depression. I'll manage. It's Diana who really has me worried.

*Jack dismissed Diana's personal nurse the following day and resumed responsibilities for Diana, himself.

November 2, 1979: Last night I was setting next to Diana's bed when all of a sudden, Diana began to speak to me. I'm sure it must have been hard for her since her breathing has become so labored. Still she did it. And I could hardly believe her voice, which sounded so much like a child's. However, her words were very much alive. So alive I pinched myself to prove I wasn't dreaming. If only she could have more good moments like that.

December 6, 1979: Diana's dead and I think I may be addicted to downers.

December 20, 1979: I had Diana cremated like she wanted, and it was only until I held the urn in my hands that I stopped imaging the melting of her flesh. At least now she's as ease and no longer has to worry about the color of her skin. I didn't know skin pigments could turn gray. She already looked burned. I suppose that's why she wanted to be cremated? Her beauty was gone. Her money couldn't buy it back. She knew that when her money couldn't buy her good health. So why embalm someone whom only wants to be remembered as beautiful?

I'm so lonely now, I want more...

January 2, 1980: I'm back in New York and it's snowing outside. Falling snow usually cheers me up, though now, it only makes me cold. Anyway...

It's a New Year and I should be celebrating, but I'm not. It still feels like last year, and most of last year was shitty. No other way to put it.

I did, however, make a small list of resolutions. One is to cut down on the pills, and another is too put my self back in the game. With the money Diana left me, I could buy the game. Although, the tricky part is getting out of bed and shaving. I have no time, and have all the time in the world.

How binding are New Year's resolutions?

January 10, 1980: If you can believe it, I actually look like myself. I even feel like a whole new person. Not fully relinquished, but released enough to face life. And that's without the pills.

February 16, 1980: When I was just about to approach the gates of closure, they suddenly slam shut in my face...

It started the 14^th when Sarah (Donovan) asked me to be her Valentine. I agreed, and Sarah took me on an outing for "a day of fun."

Our day wasn't fun. It seemed as if my hostess and our waiters from the restaurant were the only ones who were not trying to avoid me. It was blatant.

Sarah and I were having lunch in Le Cirque when in walks Mrs. (Doris) Rushworth who immediately saw me and, like a true snob, turned up her nose. Everyone in the restaurant noticed. I lit a cigarette.

"It's your fault, you know." Sarah said to me after a moment. I retorted, "How's that?" "You should have taking up invitations right after Diana's death, but you didn't. And now everyone in New York has turned on you because they think you turned on them." Sarah explained. "Don't worry, there will soon come a time when I'm not the only one who calls upon you." She added, and I then asked, "How's that? I mean, even before the whole marriage to Diana, I was treated like a Leper." "Yes, but since Diana's death your bank account has grown substantially. There's nothing like the erotic dollar to win you favors. Their anger will subside. You'll see." Sarah answered. "Well, maybe I should go back to Paris until they've had their fill." I stated, though I had no, and still have no, interest in going to France. "And will Madeline receive you, I wonder?" Sarah cooed, as she reached under the table to caress my thigh. "Who's Madeline?" I asked, and I honestly didn't know. "The Countess de L'ete." Sarah answered, and coyly laughed.

Sarah knew. That's why she caressed my thigh as she did. The Countess obviously told Sarah of our indiscretion, though I had not heard of the Countess and Sarah being friends.

"How clever. The Countess told you?" I asked. "No. Diana told me." Sarah slowly answered. "Diana. That's silly. I never told her about the Countess." I stated, though the thought of Diana knowing, genuinely surprised me. "You didn't have to. Madeline, or the Countess as you like to call her, told Diana and then Diana told me everything." Sarah explained. "What everything? That the Countess felt of me?" I mused, hoping to find out what "everything" she and Diana actually knew "Come on Jack. You, I, and Diana all know that Madeline did more than give you a good grope," Sarah proclaimed, and I said nothing, but wondered why Diana never said anything to me about the Countess. Or maybe she had, but I didn't understand.

"Jack, remember that Diana wasn't just your wife. She was a socialite, and there are two things we socialites do best. And that's shop and gossip. Diana was great at both. Even when it came to picking a husband. No, I don't think I could have bought a better one myself."

I was quite for a moment. Or maybe longer? I don't know. I simply sat in my chair, wondering who the hell I thought I was thinking I belonged. I was a pawn, and now a parvenu. That's what Diana called me. "Where's my little parvenu?" I remember her calling one day, not knowing she actually meant me. "Parvenu?" I asked. "That's what you'll be one day." Diana answered, then asked if I would help her zip her gown. I of course helped her, all the while wondering what a parvenu was. Now I know. Anyway...

Sarah and I ended up in her bed together, and making love to her only seemed to make my day worse. I just couldn't get over the thought of Diana knowing about my affair with the Countess. And then being with Sarah in the same way, only cast me further into my shame spiral. I wish Diana were here to slap me...

April 17, 1980: I'm being invited into a new kind of social set, which consists of varied celebrities. It's quite different from Diana's set, and it does not take long to notice the differences.

Where I would attend formal dinners with Diana, I now attend private, yet elaborate, parties with some beautiful flop on my arm. And in this new set, Cocaine seems to be the drug of choice. Everyone still sips champagne, but I feel it is a customary to sort a line of "Coke" when offered. Tremendous change for me, but at least my name is written on some VIP lists of New York's best *nightclubs.

*Studio 54, WonderWall, The Rainbow Room, and Cheetah's.

April 28, 1980: I was photographed coming out of the Studio and that picture, believe it or not, was printed in the Society page along with a brief description of who I was. It's said, and I quote, "...and widower Jack Mansfield, New York's notorious boy-toy makes rich, was photographed leaving the chic nightclub Studio 54 for Cheetah's, another celebrity hot spot..."

At first, I didn't know how to feel about the small piece on me, but after a flood of telephone calls offering invitations, I now feel good about it. Even Sarah called and said I the "hottest gossip." But hell, what do I do now?