“Oh, dear girl. Why were you not a little more clever?”

I’m in the hotel room, in Tucson, AZ (also Tuscon, AZ). I love hotels. I love hotel rooms. Love them.

On the Phillips tv, William Wyler’s masterpiece “The Heiress” (1949) unspools. And it’s just gotten really, really bad for Olivia De Havilland. She is slogging up the stairs with her bags, after being jilted by Montgomery Clift.

No idea what this weekend will bring. Anger, I suppose.

Better get some coffee.

Ralph Richardson is listening to his own breathing with a stethoscope.

Olivia D. declares: “Morris will love me. For all those who didn’t.”