Five years later, there we were, the entire gang together for the one hundredth taping of My Life with Ma. The show had made us all rich and successful. Not as rich and successful as Ma, of course, but she was the Ma, and we were just the with. In any case, we’d made it. Lots of ups and downs, but the ups soared far, far higher.
Ma pulled me off to a corner of the sound stage while everyone else was downing their champagne. “Thanks, kiddo.”
I shrugged. “You did it. I was just the oil in the great machine.”
She took out a pad and scribbled. She still did that. “Good book name,” she explained. “Time for a new best seller, don’t you think?”
“After the show comes to an end? Another year or two? Then what? A home in Boca?”
She pshawed me. “As if. I’m still young, you know. Still got a lot
