As always, I love Essa Alroc’s sense of humor!
I pull up to a large house, on a street where all houses are the same shade of beige. As I do, I plow my unnecessarily huge silver Escalade into a novelty mailbox, as I am trying to drive while holding my cell phone in one hand and a martini in the other. Because I am the most important woman who ever existed, I am incapable of putting down my cell phone for even 11 seconds. Right now, I’m using it to shout at my Cuban nanny.
“Marisol, if Lockton is choking, just give him the Heimlich. I don’t have time for this today. I’m doing an author interview.”
“Miss Alroc, your son’s name is Logan.”
“Logan, Lockton, whatever. Just do it or I’ll have you deported.” I snap my phone shut, and congratulate myself on being a fabulous mother, before I knock on A.J. Goode’s door.
My frenemy A.J…
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