There, I’d lie in wait. That day I was on the last row, when she, a mystery writer, sat beside me, waiting to go on stage.
I whispered in her ears. She agreed. Talk-show over, at the organizer’s behest, she cut me abruptly: “I’m not in a mood to talk”, and walked away.
Yet another cut-to-the-quick comment! My book appeared two years later. How I wish she was between the covers.