Alex Rose:
We brought you this little housewarming gift. [gives Mrs. Connelly a bottle of wine]
Mrs. Connelly:
Oh, that's very kind of you, thank you. I'll open it for you. I don't drink myself, it's a sin.
Alex Rose:
[to Nancy] Irish Catholics don't drink?
Mrs. Connelly:
Sit down, dears, sit down! I brought ya a little something to nibble on as well.
Alex Rose:
Oh, Bugles. Wow, I didn't realise they even still made Bugles.
Mrs. Connelly:
[offering Alex a Bugle dipped in French onion dip] Come along, dear, it's French onion.
Alex Rose:
[nibbles while looking at Bugles box; sees expiration date reads "October 1997"] Magnificent parrot.
Mrs. Connelly:
It's not a parrot, dear. He's a macaw. He's named after my late husband, Richard. I've had Little Dick for forty years. [Alex and Nancy smile] Now tell me about yourselves. What do you do, Allen?
Alex Rose:
[correcting her] Alex.
Nancy Kendricks:
Alex is a writer.
Mrs. Connelly:
Oh, a writer. I always thought of that as more of a hobby than a real job. I suppose I'm forgettin' about Joyce.
Alex Rose:
Joyce, James Joyce, of course. Wonderful writer.
Mrs. Connelly:
He died drunk and penniless.
Nancy Kendricks:
Well, Alex's first novel was published in hardback, and he's just about to finish his second one.
Mrs. Connelly:
Oh, what's it about?
Alex Rose:
Well, I like to call it an urban epic. It's about three generations of this family in New York that own a printing press, and I tell a story mainly about—
Mrs. Connelly:
[bored, cutting him off] Oh, that's nice. Let me give you a refill. Big Dick had the taste, too. He was a seaman. The drink took him from me in 1963. We'd been married for 58 years. [Nancy counts silently]
