“You teach piano lessons, right?” she asked over our golden brown, toasted cheese sandwiches, canned tomato soup, and coffees.
“I do. Twenty students during the week. Eight on the weekends.”
“Can you make a living at that?”
“I do what I can. Every city boy does. We learn to survive.”
“I respect that, Daron. I, too, have earned everything I have.”
“I love the piano and many pianists. I wanted to study at Juilliard, but they wouldn’t have me.”
She giggled between bites of her toasted cheese sandwich and joked, “Colm tells me you also like p*****s. I think we may have that in common.”
I smiled from ear to ear, enjoying her company. Alone, she seemed less elite and airy to when she traipsed through Hollywood. She acted calm and cool, dissimilar to her uppity shopping spree on Rodeo Driv
