Then I think that he must hate me. He seems to enjoy making me cry. Inever used to cry, when I was a man. Now I just blubber like a babywhenever he...is nasty to me.I just accept it. I hope and pray that tomorrow will be better - thattomorrow he will appreciate all that I have done, all that I have givenaway, to be his.Diary Entry 20He barely notices me, but other people do. I used to see my staff in thekitchen talking about me and maybe giggling, as if saying: "There is thechef who is. If he could do that, then as his son I could certainly hold my own at Union Station.I rode to the Tremont Cafe with Grandma Rose and ate a big breakfast there. I left just before eleven o'clock and walked two blocks to Union Station. It was a gaudy Romanesque building of massive proportions, a relic of the Gilded Age, with a vast main lobby graced with chandeliers of clustered, gigantic warm-white globes. The atmosphere was so much quieter than I would have thought; I expected a noisily milling. More

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