From a book I'm working on

DAD, I HAVE TO GO SOON, I write. TRAFFIC.

            He nods his head as if he knows about the traffic. But he hasn’t driven in years.

            YOU WANT TO GO TO THE BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL SOON? I write. He loves their Waldorf Salad.

            MAYBE, he responds. TRAFFIC. My dad can’t stand the clog-ups and the show-offs and the valet parking, but he really likes that salad.

            OR I’LL GET IT CATERED, I write. IS THAT BETTER? WE CAN EAT IT ON THE ROOF. I wait a couple of seconds. Write, I’m GONNA PUT YOUR PASTRAMI S.WICH IN THE FRIDGE, OK? I add, DON’T FORGET ABOUT IT.

            OK, he writes. I WON’T.