My mother had stared in some feature films before she discovered that there was more money and less hassle in writing and selling screenplays and help...ng produce films. They made a bundle. We lived in a large home on the hills outside Los Angeles. My father had moved out two years ago, just after I turned 16. He and my mother still collaborated, but now by phone, fax and e-mail. He was now living in New York and wintering in the south of France. I knew why he left but was puzzled by it. His. ‘Hi,’ he smiled a genuine smile, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. ‘Oh,’ she replied, dropping her purse. ‘I… well, isn’t this just… hi yourself, stranger.’ ‘They don’t come much stranger than me,’ he said, falling back on a line he used to use back when he knew her. ‘It’s great to see you.’ ‘Yeah,’ she nodded slowly, as if she was still deciding. ‘Yes, it’s good to see you too.’ She nodded her head a little faster. The contents of her purse had spilled out across the table. He helped. More

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