SUZANNE HAD A CUSTOM outdoor fireplace and stone-cooking hearth built prior to her moving into the downtown townhouse for the purpose of entertaining future clients and party guests. I guess I would now constitute both a future client and party guest, even if the party is slightly spoiled. We do, however have eggs and sausage cooking in a black skillet over a roaring fire made from dry pinewood logs.
While Suzanne cooks, Roger and I sit across from one another at a black metal table that’s shielded from the warm morning sun by a big umbrella. The burly, macho writer has managed to stop crying for now and pull himself together.
“Truth is, Moonlight,” he says, while sipping on a very red and very large Bloody Mary, “Sissy and I didn’t have much of a marr
