Chapter 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.
MOTHER: At twenty-two, it’s a post-collegiate cliché. At forty-five, it’s grasping. I’m glad you think this country’s secure. New York will always be
