She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

because they admired the book.

Some because they loved a public unmasking.

Some because they had known, in their bones, what it meant to be told not to make a scene.

Backstage, the air was cooler.

My agent Margot Voss came toward me in a black velvet suit, tears shining beneath her glasses.

“You were magnificent,” she said.

Her voice cracked on the last continue reading …