I stood where I was, my brain full of turmoil and empty of thoughts, as Donald’s huddled figure disappeared, gradually obscured by other pedestrians and bits of white fluff. The only sound was the panicked thumping of the frightened creature temporarily in residence where my heart should have been. Someone bumped me as they passed, and we both apologized. Shaken out of my trance, I headed toward home.
I had promised Mother I would tell her about my day, my evening. I’d essentially promised to give her a reason why I had suddenly decided not to be with her for dinner. I was always with her for dinner. What the f**k was I going to tell her?
How I wished I could be as oblivious to—or as uncaring about—the world’s opinion as Donald seemed! Did it come with the trade? Did actors have to be un
