Girl Watcher's Funeral
“I noticed the driver kept glancing at me in his rear-view mirror.
“You look like you could use a plastic surgeon,” he said finally.
“I bumped into a door,” I said.
“He must have been a big sonofabitch,” the driver said.
“Big and crazy,” I said.
The driver nodded. “You aren’t the first guy I ever drove away from that house with a thick lip,” he said. “What the hell goes on there? Some kind of masochists’ club?”
“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You’re a college professor moonlighting as a cab driver at night.”
He grinned. “Something like that. I’m an actor. You learn quite a lot about this town driving at night. Places people go—and stay.” He pulled to a stop for a red light. “People as rich as Faraday can buy themselves out of almost anything. I had him on a ride to the airport once. We got talking and he found out I was an actor.” The light changed and we cruised on down the Avenue. “He told me he could put me next to some guy who was making underground films.
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