Rosemary Ahern is in the middle of editing my novel for publication when she calls me on the cell.
"Doodles?" she says. "Is that you?"
It is four in the morning, so I'm not sure.
"Mmmummsssa," I manage. "Bleeedoo."
"Listen, never mind," she says."I whipped up a great excerpt for The New Yorker. Maloney and Asher want to print it."