Why must I be pigeon-holed by Show Biz middle management? I’m an actress, okay? I can play Doris Duke or Jesus, the carpenter. I am perfectly comfortable in those roles and many, many others which I cannot reveal due to contractual agreements. I am building a bomb shelter in Vermont. I am also hob-nobbing with the beautiful people in Newport. I am not singing. I don’t want to ruin my fun with nightclub clientele who shove wet napkins in my hand or tip-jar, with a song request/demand. The song is written in ink, the ink soaks through the napkin and on my hands. I itch my nose. Ink on my nose. I scratch my crotch. Ink on my cabaret gown. The song? New York, New York. Fly me To The Moon or Memories. period. that’s it. I like not singing New York, New York. I like not taking requests. I like not wearing long dresses or Marlene Dietrich garb. Just for a few more months. A few more hob-nobs. Another room on the bomb shelter. What’s the hurry now that I’ve finally recognized my “type” — grandma.