Taxi to Broadway

About the Author

Christy Jones was born on a farm that was part of Dublin Airport, during World War II. He was the eldest of eight children. When he was 21, he emigrated to the U.S.A and settled in New York City. He was soon drafted into the Army. But he joined the National Guard and after serving his six months of Active Service, he was out of the Military. He attended the Stella Adler Theatre Institute, graduating after two years. Christy had been named after his grandfather, Kit. His granddad had owned a Taxi Service in the town of Rush. Christy decided to support himself by driving a Taxi in New York City. He pursued an acting career, appearing in many off Broadway shows and writing five plays. He has recently completed this memoir Taxi to Broadway.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to all of my family…all over the world. But especially for the two dearest people in my life: my niece, Andrea, and my grand-daughter, Samantha. For all my family; including all nieces and nephews; in Ireland and America.

Copyright Information ©

Christy Jones 2022

The right of Christy Jones to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398465497 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398465503 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781398465510 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to acknowledge my wonderful niece, Andrea, and granddaughter, Samantha. They have been instrumental in leading me down this road to publication of my memoir. Their enthusiasm has been inspiring. I love and adore them.

The Synopsis

Christy was the firstborn of a family living on a few acres his father farmed on Dublin Airport, during World War II. The farm was separated from the runway by a wide ditch of briars. When he was about 8, Christy remembers throwing a potato basket into the briars, jumping into the basket, climbing up the other side then running to wave to the pilot as he sped down the runway, then up into the sky… and was off and away!

After the war, the airport expanded. His father bought four fields a few miles north. He built a bungalow, a stable for horses, a sty for pigs, and a shed for storage, or for the car when it snowed.

That January, the school closed because of a flu epidemic! It was Christy’s birthday; at 14, his last day at school!

His parents were often invited to weddings and funerals, but his father was too busy for weddings! Christy became his mother’s escort, but he hadn’t learned to dance. He attended a class that winter. There was a girl who wanted them to compete in dance competitions in the city!

His father bought a Combined Harvester, which Christy towed behind the tractor. They could thresh other farmers’ grain too; the machine could pay for itself in no time!

That winter Christy fell in love with American Musicals. One night he saw ‘Singing in the Rain!’ It became his favourite film ever, with stars Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds, also Irish no doubt! As he was riding home, it started to rain again, but Christy just kept on singing… like Gene. By the time he reached home, he was soaked. His mother worried that he might have lost his mind…!

Christy realised that he had been living his father’s dreams! He needed to find his own!

He wrote to his Uncle Bob, who agreed to sponsor him to the USA. He had finished construction with the military in the South Seas, and was now working upstate in New York. His uncle agreed to meet Christy at the airline terminal. It was the second time they had met!

After his six months in the National Guard, Christy attended the Stella Adler Theatre Institute for two years. He had taken a summer course, and knew he wanted to continue!

He rented a two-room apartment, just off the Bowery; close to the Off–B’way theatre scene. He began making the rounds of agents during the day; auditioning for parts and performing at night!

Remembering that his granddad owned a taxi service back home in Rush, Christy decided to drive a taxi to support himself!

A few years later, he got a call from his agent, Jane. She wanted to submit him for a part in a play on Broadway called ‘Philadelphia Here I Come!’ The setting for the play was Ireland. Christy had auditioned for the same role two years before.

Part I

‘Taxi to Broadway!’ A Memoir!

Chapter 1

‘East 5th Street and Bowery’

Wednesday, 3:25 p.m., October 1963

Grab a cup o’ tea. My love and I share a bite; she a canned delicacy, me a ham and cheese sandwich. And… I’m off! See ye, Scheherazade baby, lover, honey doll!

I shall return! Wish me luck! A new discovery by a famous agent… big Broadway Producer… Movie Director! Hey, maybe even a fifty-dollar tip! After all, this is New York! The sky’s the limit! Yay!

Down two stairs to the courtyard, through the tunnel, up three steps to 5th street. Make a right… twenty yards to the Bowery, right again, three blocks to 8th street, left to Broadway, down the steps, through the turnstiles to the estimable BMT. Watch the closing doors, please!

Hold that door! bounding down steps, two at a time, jump the last three, doors closing… I’m in!

Find a seat… still early… but ladies first. A row of silent frozen faces, ‘still life’ in motion. Each face a life… each life a world. Swarthy construction worker, leaning back; deep exhale… ‘tired in his going home’… ‘easing out the bitter conflicts of this day in his life’? He breaks a smile… maybe a sweet thought about the missus? ‘Hope the kids got their homework done’…resting lightly till his stop in… Elmhurst?

My relationship with the subway is constant, though it still remains standoffish. Entrances and exits lack the personal touch… and it’s not terribly kind to old ladies because of inconsiderate doormen… Ha! Some of its patrons I can do without! Late at night, you take your life into your hands… say a prayer!

The headline in the ‘Daily News’ across the aisle, ‘Cabbie stabbed in the Bronx’…

RIP! It could happen! Any night… behind that steering wheel. But after this night… no more taxis! Yay! Maybe… yeh maybe… maybe the last taxi night of driving ever! On… to the big time! To B’way! Yay!

Chapter 2

‘Winnie the Pooh!’

October 1964

Rehearsals start tomorrow… can’t wait! ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’ and Tigger too! Not a mirage, but a true live Off-Off-B’way Fantasy Musical! My career begins again! This may set it in motion… again! Maybe jump on a treadmill of star-studded shows; to Off-B’way! B’way, TV and Film! From one show to another, till I make it: A Star! Cool it, mate! This is Off-Off-B’way! No pay! No way!

Cast in the part because I had a singing voice! Imagine? Me! The Irish Farmer! I never sang in my life, well… not in public. Maybe sitting on the tractor pulling the plough, singing aloud to the worm chasing seagulls and the raucous crows;

"You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, barkin’ all the time. You ain’t never caught a rabbit… an’ you ain’t no friend o’ mine!"

Rev. Al and his music! A real Live Off-Off-Broadway Greenwich Village Musical, with the Rev. Al, a Minister Composer. Yeah! That’s me! I’m the bouncy Tigger; yours truly! Calling out in a terrifying, fearful, comical roar, ‘Worra, Worra, Worra!’ throughout the ‘hundred-acre wood’ of the open stage of the Reformed Church! ‘Worra, Worra, Worra!’

Hundreds off at Fourteenth Street, surging to the express, destination Bronx!

Noisy justification for some, none for others. Stay on the local. Dozens crowd on at 23rd street, more at 28th Street, Long Islanders off at 34th Street, to the LIRR. Next stop, 42nd Street: the crossroads of the entire world, in our planetary system!

Bustling bodies brimming with business; each eye focused on a distinct destination! Surging along on their scheming schedules! Underground rail for above ground people, ‘Heroes of the electric range’. Watch the closing doors, please! Do good to them that look at you, pray for them that smile at you… and…

This train is going out of service! What? No way!

Got-dam! Forty-ninth street? Good enough for me! Upstairs to the street! The crazy hustle and bustle of mid-town Manhattan traffic! Production floors, theatre offices, agents addresses are all strewn along the dream-filled streets on the ‘Great White Way’. ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you!’ So near and yet so far! So, call me’ – ‘call me!’ ‘Look at me! I’m a rising star!’

‘Just off the Farm!’

Walk west to 11th avenue, up to 55th street, into the taxi office. Show my license. The dispatcher shoves out a set of keys under the glass. I sign out. He’s not a happy camper, ‘a world of troubles’, ‘mountains of the weary on his mind!’ That facile face that rarely cracks a smile, ‘I didn’t do it!’ ‘I didn’t!’ ‘It wasn’t my fault!’

Out to the back lot; #492. Where…? Where are you, babe? Where? OMG!

Look at you! The worst of what’s left. What a sorry looking specimen of Detroit.

Engineering, standing alone, like an abandoned wreck, waiting for the scrap heap!

Let’s go, Babe! You’re taking me to the big time! All aboard! Last ride to the junkyard! But no claimants? And only two years old…? Hammered and shunted into submission… across the tortuous trails of the Big Apple!

Wait! No, hold on! No, no way! You’re not taking me out looking like that, Dodgie Baby! You’re not ready for the big time! You’re not ready to be presented to the noble citizenry of NYC this fine evening! Well! It’s not my responsibility! But Mgmt. don’t care!

Thanks a lot, Mr Dispatcher! Jerk!

What the hey! No! Can’t take you out lookin’ like that!

Into the wash… put a rag to the windows, a little respect! Pardon while I spit… there! OMG! The wear and tear of extreme mileage; city streets can be brutal. There! Not bad, but still only a faint image of your former self… and only two years old!

Soft memories of that golden afternoon we first met! You looked so beautiful! A wonderful shade of merry yellow, your gleaming cream canopy, not to mention the distinct aroma of new vinyl. Rims and tires glistened with the promise of speed; firm upholstery offered gentle comfort. Your movements were so smooth, with an aversion to nasty potholes; I tried to help. Wheel response was instantaneous. I wore a clean white shirt. The fares we picked up were really impressive… Well…

Anndd… we’re off! Heading east towards B’way!

Chapter 3

‘Taxi!’

October 1964

Plagues of human ants invading the New York City streets. Pedestrian people… dashing dudes… rushing here… dashing there… people, traffic… everywhere! Tires screeching, horns blaring, people swearing… dashing… darting… Hey, what d’ya know! Business Joe! Everybody’s late! Even though it’s early… No, it ain’t early! It’s already late, man! This is NYC!

Traffic on the edge: A speeding scramble to some vague but definite destinations! Don’t call us! We’ll call you! What’s the hurry, Mate? What hurry?

There ain’t no hurry! Just gotta get there! ASAP! This is New York City! ASAP? ASA-!

"Fergit abaht it!" Forty or more fare pick-ups to go! Two hundred miles to Runnymede… eight hours to exhaustion! What…? Hey! Nobody wants a cab?

On! On! Thou melting pot of piss! I think that was Shakespeare, ha!

Yield! Yield, you frightful Ford dog! was that Arthur Miller?

Out! Out of my way you conniving Chevy Chanteuse; Chrysler retard!

Who was that? Anyway… On, on, on again! We’ll ride this island by the mile; Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens and Staten Isle! But we’ll concentrate on early Manhattan! Do I want glory? Yay! But not today! Today is purely for dough! Plain hard cash! Lots of do-re-mi; cash business; a large collection of George Washington’s to support no pay rehearsals plus performances for four weeks… maybe five weeks; gratefully donated from the pockets of noble New Yorkers!

Taxi!

A hard hand is raised! Hurray, yay… Taxay! Run me down to Lafayette, make it fast, you’ll get a big tip! Not fast enough, sorry, man.

It’s rush hour, mate! Fifty cents? Tightwad.

Taxi!

Take me up to Evergreen, through the park; you’ll see more green than you’ve ever seen! Change a hundred?

Hey, I just started, man, all I got is singles!

Here. Keep the change.

Thanks for the quarter, buddy!

Cheapo! Taxi!

Big arm waves me down. Mighty Joe steps in: Take me across to the White Horse.

Hands me a note, Here, buddy, keep the change. A fifty-dollar bill?

Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! A forty-five-buck tip? God bless you, man! Now, that’s a real New Yorker! Have a great night, sir! Yay!

Come on, Miss Dodge, you working warrior… weaving through tiny spaces… working the steering… driving… searching… for what… for who? Myself! For me!

Yeah! And lots of do-re-me… moneee!Taxeei!"

Take me across to the east village, man; eighth and third. Decent tip, much obliged.

Taxi! Hand up, like a drum major. Attn. hut! Uptown, East side… Madison and 95th! Yes, sir! Barely a glance. He hasn’t even looked at me. His name must be ‘sir’… sir Asshole… but decent tip.

Thank you, sir!

Taxi!

Business Joe hops in… must have had a bad day. Short trip; Seventy-Second,

East river… two dollars… poor guy. What did I do to him? Have a nice evening, sir!

No! Still having a bad day? Nothin’! Let me outta here!

Taxi! A young couple with a buddy… mid-30s… good company people; full of contentment, familiarity and ambition… hearty laughs… jovial celebrations… enjoying their leisure time after business hours; everybody talking at once. But who was with the girl? She was available; a girl Friday; available to both?

Where to, sir? I demand, after a few ticks.

Yankee Stadium! The Bronx? Not my favourite venue… too close to the North Pole. Hope this is not goin’ to turn into another Bronx night, like two weeks ago… flying all over the northern New York metropolitan area like a pigeon? No, we don’t want any more Monday’s like that; had not even heard of some of those streets. Yankee Stadium it is! Quick trip. Small tip.

Enjoy the game, sir! Not even a thank you… execs can be such snobs. Willis Avenue bridge back to Manhattan. Down the East River drive… exit at 96th street… ten to twelve minutes; back to the big apple. 2nd Ave… downtown NYC.

What famous people will I meet tonight? An agent? Producer? Director?

Movie star… in a cab? Not likely. Maybe later… in the A.M.

Taxi! Eastern Europeans? Two nervous types… pasty faces… down to east 10th and 2nd avenues. Different language… Hungarian… hungry Hungarians? Folks from all parts of the world… all coming to the big apple. Viva Americana, land of big dreams… giant visions—enormous dreamers! Giant opportunities… huge appetites… immortal yearnings… all beings descended from the great God.

Taxi!

Hey! A little more room there, mate! Hey, cabbie! Hey, push over! Move it!

The Irish Cabbie is comin’ through.

There you are, sir, East 29th. A little generosity, please? Well, thank you!

Taxi!

Uptown to B’way and ninety-nine.

Yes, sir. Today is starting off okay! Yesterday was a ‘don’t walk’ day, ‘a coming to the light and it turns red kind of day’. ‘Holy sh…! how did I miss that truck kind of day’.

Seeing a fare, then cut off by another cabbie, Hey, ye creep, that’s my fare! You watch it, Cabbie! The night didn’t end on a good note, either. Two-fifteen, driving down Lex… considering… maybe pick up one more fare before pulling to the garage for the night.

Taxi!

Take me out to Baldwin.

Oh, no! That’s the other end of the world!

I missed the last train, buddy! Oh… what the hell! Late night. LIE. No lights. Fast ride. Twenty minutes! Speeding… well over the limit… for… what?

A two-buck tip! At three in the morning, mate?

Look, it’s all I got, man. How did I not get a ticket? Off at Woodhaven Blvd. Maybe catch a fare back to the city on Queens Blvd? No hands up… empty streets… empty taxi… back over that Bridge…

back to NYC… and civilisation again!

Chapter 4

That Bridge!

October 1964

I hate the Queens-Borough Bridge! I think it’s haunted! Heavy on the gas out of the deadly darkness of Queens. Away from that mass of iron girders and steel mountain rails! Down to the city streets again; still thriving in the late-night eve.

My New York City! This city of my dreams… this city filled with humanity and life… that humanity of my life! That Island flame… that’s always burning… that never dies!

Hell! Might as well do one more hour; young blood beginning to surge with late-night fever… instant rejuvenation in basic mankind! Time… irrelevant! There is only the now! That great and grand eternal; now… that magical now! This instant! This is why I came to NY; my NYC! This new moment of this new day… my new day… a night newly dawning… yesterday is history! Never to return! Yes! This is now! This blazing instant! This new light in the world! This immortal now! This new moment! Dammit! Seize the moment! Seize the night! I watch them! I watch all of them! This silent flood of gentle humanity… exploding onto the streets of this NYC… these NYC streets. Silent faces on a myriad landscape. Night people in night town!

All states of preoccupation; their complicated lives, complex days… melding into nights; my life in two worlds. The sun and moon are not sisters; more like precarious rivalries: changing realities! So many straight nights across your torturous dungeonous streets… falling away into night everlasting!

Whew! Not like last week! Glad when that night ended. Two trips to Queens!

Monday last! I think he had a gun! I know it! Don’t want to go near that bridge again, not tonight. Store up dollars for room and board; food for kitty; time for rehearsal. No, no more nights like that!

Taxi!

Downtown… West 12th. Please!

Well! Yes, ma’am, hop in!

The old warehouse… worked there for a few months… many moons ago.

She says, A warehouse?

Yeah. Before I was drafted into the army… then to acting school. That was years ago.

They’re turning that building into condominiums, she says.

Condos? I reply.

Yep. Well, have a good night. Fair tip. Getting tired. Watch! Stay alert!

Taxi! Customer steps out of apartment building. Eighty-seventh and East End Avenue, please! Maybe three more fares. That’ll do it! Uptown on 6th avenue, through the park exit at 72nd street! Cross to 1st, make a left, uptown to 79th street. Red light! Observe the traffic coasting down the East River Drive; a chain of white lights… homeward bound on the evening expressway, towards Gracie Mansion… East End Avenue; official Mayoral residence. Residences of Foreign dignitaries, super politicos. How the rich grow richer… and the poor remain… Taxi!

Big balloon guy munching a king-size; attacking the dead animal; ferociously… no contest! I could feel old ‘Dodgie’ sink beneath his stinking weight! Ten block ride… mighty burger disappearing fast… searching for a napkin… napkin? Wipes his gob with the wrapper… cheap tip: fifty cents? ‘I hope you choke on it, pig!’ He rolls off down the road with a jumbo swagger… dropping the wrapper for others to pick up… ‘Fat bastard! Slob!’

No wonder the city’s a hamburger mess! Images of Joe Burger rumbling down the streets of his life… a stinking fart here… a mighty belch there… belly rumbling everywhere!

We’re on a journey… travelling hither and yon; all moving towards that final exit… all shipping and shopping, Ladies first, please. I must be a man of limited vision… but then… one can only see so far ahead… anyway!

Taxi! Out-of-towners… nice couple… back to the hotel. She eyes me through the mirror… bedroom eyes…

What is this! She… maybe be searching for a way to continue the evening… trying to change the contours of the night closing in? Depressing and damp… getting late… but still early. Not a ‘Jim buoy’ in sight. ‘Lady; even if I could’…I’m working! Looking directly at me… heated hungry eyes; a cat pacing the jungle path… the spirit of the hunt! Fierce contact; savage mating… death-defying tumbling scramble to coitus… but not a consummation. I shrug… ‘just don’t have the time, lady!’ The finger? Lady! How could you! This is a taxi! Walking away… united again… the last look… into the night… but decent tip. But then, life is not just about facts; it’s a people thing! Isn’t it, personal? Does anybody know the answer?

No? All we can do is hope, brag! Pray! No answers?

Chapter 5

‘James Dean’

Summer 1965

Taxi!

Hey, buddy, take me to Queens! Baldilocks!

I said, No way! Off duty, man!

You got no sign!

There’s my sign! I said, switching it on. Got to end this night. Got to… Need to see Maggie!

Taxi! Older couple enter… McDougal and 7th. Please Right on 7th. Driving downtown. Body growing tired… mind getting weary… nights adding up… twenty-six – no, twenty-eight straight. Endless nights… endless streets and endless lights… countless rows of countless lights… reflections of reflected lights… the eternally changing colours… red to yellow/to green/to yellow/to red to yellow to green/to yellow to red to… stop! Red light! Wearisome thoughts! It’s the mind… slave labour! The heart’s not in it. Green light. McDougal, sir!

Thank you, driver!

Have a good night, sir!

Goodnight, driver!

A hand raised! Taxi. Broadway to 108 Street. Older man… studious… good face… head full of thoughts; deep… heavy worries… dark memories… not inclined to share them. Towards the park, down CPW to 80th street, he really looks down… looks through the window… limited vision of the future? My God; Is he thinking about ending it? It must be the weather. Fair tip. Thank you.

Goodnight, driver. Nice man.

Good night, sir,

He hesitates.

Are you okay, sir? I mean… you’re all right? I asked quietly.

He looks at me… pauses. I hesitate. He then takes a deep breath, I am! I am now, driver! Thank you! he replied.

Hang in there, I said. Pause.

I’ll be fine, driver. Thank you.

It was only a thank you… but it was everything! It sounded… like every wish in the world! Now moving on down the road… red light! A quiet night… in this, the city of light! Then… I suddenly feel all alone… all alone in the world. Once again… abandoned; lonelier than ever!

"Not a soul on earth this night… on this street of darkness… in this city of light! No cars, no people! Alone in the world. Nobody said goodbye! Is this really New York City? Where did all the fares go? I should not be here! Should not even be in this taxi this night, pushing, pressing… driving hard. Speeding through my dark city of light; these last few hours… this hard-muscled city… this brutal outrageous, dangerous, courageous city. This truck city… this heavy-laden city… this damned sophisticated beautiful city… this tough, mercurial, everyday city… of overwhelming everything! This every day any day city… my everything anything city… nothing given… everything taken… everything offered; there to be taken… City!

No! There to be won city! There to be bought city! There to be achieved city!

There to be victorious… City! This universe of my soul that never gives me a second thought… that I have come to love… with a life more than my own. Side streets… alley streets… streets of tears… hardy streets, dark streets… lonely crying streets… lonely, crying out in passionate tears… of streets… screaming out streets… murderous alleys… gunshot streets in music bitter Harlem… explosion sounds on eighty-six… was it a bomb… a firecracker? Gut-wrenching streets of fear! The sudden fear of dread… and dead! Fallen shadow streets… ghosts of scrabbled dingy death… rundown hovels of garbage cans… rolling and stumbling in back alley walkways… dim-lit streets… night-lit windows… rows of limousines. Streets of dark shadows… and streets too… shining streets of dreams and glorious wide avenues… with bands tuning… bassoons blazing… ready for the next world day of sky-high challenges! All reaching… all striving… never-ending… but failing too… and falling again… yet trying once more… trying ever again… yearning ever, ever again! Until we reach the top! Reach the very tip-top!

Refusing to accept what may be inevitable… but must never… never, ever be refused. incredible more than inevitable… refreshed more than refused… and must not be conceded… never to be conceded to the lower… the lowest ranks! No, no, not down there…! Wherever… ‘there’ is… "

Taxi! Oh no… but…! Young couple, Mid-town, Times Square, please. He mid-20s, she perhaps eh… can’t be more than seventeen; sister; perky; face bright… she eyes me keenly, happily…

Hi… Hi, I replied.

Hey, did anyone tell you look like James Dean! It happened once in a while. I had just lit a cigarette… (can’t resist the slice of ham). Drawing into myself; playing the dead actor behind the wheel, cigarette dangling loosely from my pouting lips; angry at life… scowling at the world!

She; starry-eyed, overflowing with girlish goodness… teenage enthusiasm, I love New York! I want to live here, after I graduate. Excited… a bouncing girl…

Could I ask? Are you an actor? I nod, moodily.

You’re an actor? Jumping in her seat;

Carl, this man… he’s an actor! He’s a famous NY actor! You look like James Dean! You do! She’s ‘sky high’ on the late movie star… in love with New York… infected with the youthful joy of New York life… love; boundless enthusiasm… breath of fresh air; that New York excitement!

Older brother, This is a crime-ridden hell hole; people are stabbed here every day! Conversation shrinks.

She bounces back, No, it’s exciting… so many people … all the museums… theatres… movie houses… it’s the best! I love New York! I love James Dean! He performed on Broadway! A real actor! He goes on, The dregs of humanity! He hates the great actor.

She: No, he was the best!

He: The guy was gay!

She defended, He was not gay!

Hey! Hold it, buddy! I said.

James Dean was not gay, no way!

He: You read the magazines, Guy?

She: Not my hero.

He: He was gay; everybody knows that. Read the newspapers! Where have you bin?

She: Well… he was half and half, ‘Gay?’ I had heard rumours!

No, not James Dean… no way. He was the best; another Brando, I defended again.

He said, It doesn’t matter to me.

She burst into curiosity, Are you really an actor? You really look like James Dean.

I shrugged, You’re a New York actor?

She to bro, I never met a New York actor before! That’s why I came to New York. He really looks like him, Carl! You do!

What can I say? I say! Only in New York! That’s so cool! I can’t wait to tell mom!

But big bro is a lump… doesn’t think much of show business… thinks less of actors in general. Stupid Moron!

But she is simply irrepressible, with starlit eyes filled with movie star glory. I try to turn the conversation around; Museums? But he’s still of the same opinion… killing the conversation, killing her spirit. Try