I believe the time has come for John Fogg to die.
Or rather, I should say, the time has come for Sinclair Fogg to die. Nearly twenty years with that name and it still never felt quite natural. I’m sure I could carry on for twenty years more, but there’s something on the wind, a changing mood, a storm on the horizon, and I’d rather avoid the deluge. All this business with the HUAC…I’m hardly a Red, but the combination of my lack of enlistment (given my service in the Great War belongs to John Fogg, not Sinclair), the various entanglements I’ve gotten myself into through the years, and the fact that I continue to stay youthful, I really can’t afford to have Congress taking a closer look.
It will take some doing—Mr. Weston had the nerve to go and die and we I have yet to find a new lawyer I trust enough with the strange necessities of my existence.
I shouldn’t I don’t mean to be callous about Mr. Weston. He was a good man, an endlessly understanding lawyer, and so dedicated to his job that I’m fairly certain the stress killed him. But I am bitter. Not only because of the inconvenience it causes me but because he was the last living soul who knew who I truly was. We were never bosom friends, but there was some comfort in the knowledge that I wasn’t completely alone in keeping my secret.
I am once again considering telling Virginia. She truly is my bosom friend, possibly the best friend I’ve ever had outside of my truest friend on this earth. I’m uncertain I would have survived
I think she already suspects something. Ginny is an endlessly clever woman, and she’s known me long enough to notice that I haven’t acquired wrinkles at the pace she has. Not to say she’s an old woman! Older than me, yes, in physical age, but still quite striking. In fact, the appearance of new lines on her face brings me no shortage of joy. Despite everything, I’ve been able to make her laugh many times over the last year, and the evidence pleases me greatly.
In any case, perhaps she would be amenable to the truth. There is the not small matter of the studio—I’d like for her to take over operations and that would be far simpler if I could explain the whole matter to her. Not to mention, if I were to start over again, it would mean sacrificing her friendship on the altar of my anonymity, something I’m not sure I’m willing to do. For both our sakes.
So that’s Ginny and a new lawyer. I can afford to bring two people in on the secret, I should think. Ginny will protect me out of genuine care and the lawyer will be inclined to keep my secret for the buckets of money I am sure to throw at him. I’ve got to use it for something, especially now that I have so much more of it. I guess it’s worth planning another trip abroad too, some time away to let America forget me. I could travel the world for two years, indulge in every whim, and still not put a dent in the money that was left to me for just that reason.
Why he didn’t just give all his money to his apprenticeship program, I’ll never understand. But no, he simply had to be explicit in his will; “take this large lump of dough and spend it on something purely frivolous, John”. Why did he think I could ever find joy in his absence?
Never mind the money. It will be spent or it won’t, but I’m done thinking of it.
Sometimes I’m gripped by the strange impulse to simply lock it all in a bank vault and throw away the key before starting over. Truly starting over. With nothing—no money, no notoriety, no friends connections. It’s the need for a challenge in me. Charles would say that I grow bored if I’m not putting my life on the line, but what does he know, I’m the one that stayed, that kept my life, meanwhile he
Good lord, l’ve practically destroyed this page with what I’ve crossed out. Maybe I should throw this particular diary away. Maybe I should stop letting myself write of him at all. Or maybe I should indulge fully, let out every single thought. It seems no matter what I do I’m still so fucking angry—
I do relish a challenge, it’s true. And I don’t currently have a mountain to climb or world to conquer. Sinclair Studios will continue to thrive without me, I’ve yet to find a new permanent home to sink my time and effort into now I’ve sold the Los Angeles property and the apartment in New York. I am both figuratively and literally wandering without a home.
Going abroad. That’s just the thing. One more holiday season taking advantage of Ginny’s endless hospitality and then I’ll set sail. Maybe I’ll even fly, what a thing that would be. See how Europe has repaired itself in the last few years. Or perhaps I’ll finally make my way to Australia or some other far flung place.
I just know I need to get away from any place that he’d ever been. Even looking up at the stars, I only think of the fact that he once looked at that same sky, the moonlight on his face, a cigarette between his lips.
Yes. Away. A prolonged trip didn’t fix anything a few years ago but maybe a second go at it—at leaving everything behind and distracting myself so completely—will have an effect. Maybe this time seeing sights he never saw won’t make me want to die. Is there nowhere in the world I could go without it being about him in one way or another?
Maybe this time I'll be able to forget. Even for just a moment. Just one moment of peace. I’d go anywhere, under any name, to find that.
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