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“When are Willie and Karl coming back?”
She had given them the afternoon off.
“I think seven,” said Lori.
“Mom, can’t we go Hot Shoppe? Stephanie pleaded. “Could we?"
Shirley lifted her daughter’s hand; smiled fondly; kissed it. “Run upstairs and get dressed and we’ll go.”
“Oh, I love you!”
Stephanie ran from the room.
“Honey, wear the new dress!” Shirley called out after her.
“How would you like to be eleven?” mused Lori.
“That an offer?”
Shirley reached for her mail, began listlessly sorting through scrawled adulation. “Would you take it?” asked Lori.
“With the brain I’ve got now? All the memories?”
“Sure.”
“No deal.”
“Think it over.”
“I’m thinking.” Shirley picked up a script with a covering letter clipped neatly to the front of it. Jarris. Her agent. “Thought I told them no scripts for a while.”
“You should read it,” said Lori.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes, I read it this morning.”
“Pretty good?”
“It’s great.”
“And I get to play a nun who discovers she’s a lesbian, right?”
“No, you get to play nothing.”
“Shit, movies are better than ever. What the hell are you talking about, Lori? What’s the grin for?”