“What Hamlet was that?”

“Stage or film, take your pick. Anybody got a real question?”

“What do you think of American women?”

“They terrify me.”

“Why?”

“Look at Faith—isn’t she terrifying?” Faith howled.

“Where are you going from here?”

“I’m already in California, so it’s an easy choice.”

“What do you like about California?”

“More places to get lost.”

“Why do you want to get lost?”

“So I won’t have to answer questions like this.”

“Where will home be?”

“Like the song says, ‘Any place I hang my hat.’ Except I don’t own a hat.”

“Oh, come on, you’ve got to go somewhere.”

“No, I plan to just dematerialize, as if I were on Star Trek. No one will ever see or hear from me again. I mean, what’s money for, if not to buy complete isolation.”

“How can a person live in complete isolation?”

“I’ll send out for pizza and Chinese.”

“Come on, pick a town or city.”

“Wherever they deliver pizza and Chinese.”

“Why pizza and Chinese?”

“My needs are simple—pizza, Chinese, and a bottle of Chateau Lafite, ’29, and I’m happy anywhere.”

“What was that wine again?”

“It’s a jug wine—I never buy wine that doesn’t have a screw top.”

“What are your hobbies?”

“Playing bad piano and killing salmon.”

“Where do you kill salmon?”

“Waist-deep in an icy Scottish river.”

“Is that fun?”

“I don’t know, I can’t feel a thing when I’m waist-deep in an icy Scottish river.”

“What’s so great about that?”

“The media won’t follow me there. They don’t enjoy being wet and freezing. I may take up yachting for the same reason.”

“Do you have a yacht?”

“Not yet.”

“If you buy one, will it be a super yacht?”

“Why would I buy a yacht, if it weren’t super?”

“What’s something you can’t buy with all your money?”

“My own country—at least, not one I’d want to live in.”

“Do you have a girl?”

“Whenever possible.”

“Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?”

“It hardly matters, they can change in an hour.”

From a young woman: “Do you like a Brazilian?”

“I’ve never met one, but I’m told they’re charming people.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Wasn’t it?”

Faith stepped in. “Thank you, folks, now for pictures. Right over here, Laurence.” She stood him against a wall, as if for a firing squad, and the group gathered around, most with cell phones. Laurence gave them both profiles and dead ahead, as if in a mug shot. He smiled, laughed, and frowned, but resisted one cross-eyed, because he knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Faith said. “This way out, don’t forget to leave your bar glasses.” She stood next to the bar and collected every one as they passed.