All I can do now is wait for the merchandise manager to die. And suppose I get to be the merchandise manager? He's a good friend of mine, and he just built a terrific estate on Long Island. And he lived there about two months and sold it, and now he's building another one. He can't enjoy it once it's finished. And I know that's just what I would do. I don't know what the hell I'm working for. Sometimes I sit in my apartment-all alone. And I think of the rent i'm paying. And it's crazy. But then, it's what I always wanted. My own apartment, a car, and plenty of women. And still, *******it I'm lonely.

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