“Unveiling Secrets: What Columbus Never Knew About His Journey”
“Well, it’s tacky of him not to write to you. I respect him less now.”
He smiled, easing my rage. “I hope you’re still writing, Cathy,” he said.
“Yeah, I am, when the muse is upon me.” We laughed. “Which isn’t very often,” I added.
“The muse is having a snooze.”
A barrel-shaped man in a cook’s apron emerged from the back of the club and cleaved the crowd to reach us. A thin black mustache gleamed above his gigantic jaw. He and my dad shook hands. “Hey, how’s it going?” Dad said. “This is my daughter, Cathy! Cathy, this is El Jefe.” We shook hands.
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