She took him to the most expensive steakhouse she knew and waited until he had ordered. Then she said, “Here's what you need to know about Lu Lawson. She didn't grow up riding horses and climbing trees in the Midwest. She lived in a nice Queen Anne house in the Italian section of New Haven, Connecticut. There were a lot of antiques her father's people brought over from the old country, and her mother made the lace doilies that were scattered around with her own hands. Lu's family wasn't rich, and they hadn't come over on the Mayflower like the WASPs who lived up on the hill, but her parents had class in their own way, and they were proud the way only immigrants who have made it can be. Lu's father took her to New York City to see plays. Her mother made the best lasagna on the eastern seaboard. Trust me on that, because I know.

“It's time for Lu to get back to her roots. I'm not sure she knows that yet. But if you look at the way she redid her apartment, and if you knew her house in New Haven, you can see that's what she wants. She's an Italian American girl who made good, and if you tap into that history you'll write a show she won't turn down.

“She still does her voice exercises every day and she warms up by singing the Panis Angelicus—you might want to get a copy of it if you don't know it. When she was a kid she listened to the Metropolitan Opera on the radio on Saturday afternoons, and she sang Italian folk songs at people's weddings. You should play some recordings of Caruso singing “O Sole Mio,” and arias from La Bohéme to get the flavor.

“Mother is in her midthirties, and she's tired of being a child onstage. She wants to be a lady,” Rose wound up. Bobby was looking at her, fascinated.

He needs me and he knows it, she thought. She was making progress.

“What you're talking about is going to be tricky,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “The audience loves Lu Lawson the way she is.”

“You'll have to make them fall in love with the new incarnation.”

“It's going to take time to come up with a new show.”

“The way I see it, you have half a year.”

“Are you crazy?”