"So?"
"So, she gets the bug to go to the Coast and make her mark. I think some of her Park Avenue pals went to Beverly Hills and wanted her to come out to be their entertainment. She expected me to follow her hallucinations, but I just couldn't play that part. She's a little left of the Milky Way for me."
"How long has it been?" Sonja asked with warmth.
"Three years now."
"So, what have these years been like?"
"Oh, fine," he said. Sonja gave him a disbelieving dirty look. "O.K., kinda lonely. I'm not complaining, mind you, but when she was there, no matter how inane our conversations were, not matter how far out in the stratosphere her mind was, at least she was someone to talk to, someone to come home to. She's a sweet girl, I loved her, but she had needs that . . .well. It wasn't all bad, we had a great few years. I just couldn't let her madness, harmless though it was, run my life. We're still friends, we talk fairly often. I hope she becomes the next Dali."
"That's very gracious of you," Sonja said sincerely.
"Not really. I really feel that way. It's her life, and, she never wanted or tried to hurt me. She was just following her star."
"Has she sold any of her art?" Sonja asked.
"It's on perpetual display, she says," Scott said.