Chapter Eight
“How about this time you tell me a story?” Bella declares as she sets two glasses of Cabernet on the table in her private living room, then lights a cigarette she hands to Daniel.
“Me? Tell you a story?”
“Yes, a juicy s****l escapade, and I want every detail, every nuance, everything,” his dark eyes light excitedly with the plan.
“I tell you everything already,” he protests. “But I can’t just come up with something on demand.”
“Why not? I do.”
“Because you’re a storyteller. At least someone that can spin yarns. I’m only good at sketchy summaries.”
“That is not true at all, my dear. You have my stories in your head, and will finally write them in all their rich detail. I’ve already seen the results.” She’s reflecting back on several reasonable attempts he’s made to put
