Chapter 47

The sky quickly ebbs from sienna to mandarin. The dozen or so other male passengers cheer the final disc of sun with shots of Sambuca as it sinks into the Gulf. I hadn’t intended the cruise as a metaphor, but it works. 9: Apples

The Mother/Son scene Thornton Wilder and I collaborated on went something like this:

ME: My intent is to move to New York City one week from today, but I can’t without your blessing. And I’ll need a photo of you in that beautiful apron.

MOTHER: Oh, honey, it will be rather like a halfway house toward rehabilitating your life! New faces, new routine.

Finish your fresh-squeezed OJ while I get you a slice of cheddar for your apple pie, then we’ll hug.

Had I forgotten my mother keeps David Mamet on retainer as script doctor? The woman never holds back a sneeze; I should have anticipated the soaking spray of her invective.