FULL DISCLOSURE: I was a fledgling actress-dancer-model in New York City. This is one of misadventures of the Human Fairy in her early twenties in Little Italy.
Later that night, Jill got out of her yellow cab.
“How much do I owe you,”
“It’s paid for, miss.”
With her fat purse full of hors d’oeuvres, she returned to her tiny studio apartment on 23rd street and 7th Ave. that she shared with her roommate, another fledgling dancer.
A week later, Jill woke up about noon. She dressed herself in jeans and a tight ’T’. Not bothering with make-up, she went down to get the Sunday New York Times and an almond croissant—well, maybe two almond croissants, fully justified because, as a dancer, she only ate on the weekends.
As a truck roared by, she saw on the front page of the New York Times—the Godfather had been shot six times, crammed into the trunk of a new, yellow Mercedes found in New Jersey.
She licked her fingertips, savoring the taste of her first croissant.
Okay, so he was drug dealer, a pimp, and definitely a murderer…
When the light turned green, she hurried across the busy New York City street to share the news and her croissant with her sleepy roommate.
But he was such a gentleman, an impeccable gentleman.