I said, “You care about everyone and everything. Donny couldn’t care less. You always wanted kids, he never did. You convinced yourself his attitude would change once he saw how cute they could be. It didn’t, he cut them off completely. And they know it. That’s why that picture in the lobby was so stressful. It was his idea, the first time he’d shown any interest in family life, so there had to be an ulterior motive. What was he planning to do with the shot? Use it for publicity?”

She raised her arms, punched air clumsily. “Damn him! For a stupid movie! Big lead role for him, he was going to play a dad.”

“Typecasting.”

Her laugh was bitter. “Caring, bumbling, lovable dad. Can you believe the morons who thought of that?”

“Not exactly Citizen Kane.”

“Not exactly Citizen Sane. Piece-of-crap script, piece-of-crap casting, his big comedy debut, it was going to open a whole new world for him.”

She got up, walked several steps away, returned.

“His plan was to sell the photo to People for big bucks. He never asked me, knew what I’d say. Instead he sprang it on me as we drove from the airport into the city. He’d instructed the driver to go straight to the theater, his agent had paid to rent the lobby. The whole purpose of the trip was educational. Show the kids the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the planetarium. I was surprised when he offered to come along. Allowed myself to be hopeful, maybe he’d seen the light. Then he pulled that! Expecting them to pose for hours of pictures. Him with the tribe, both of us with the tribe. He wanted them to jump in the air and laugh and hug him and kiss him! Disgusting! I killed it. The rule from the beginning was always they never got used. For his crap or mine. He knew that and now he’s trying to change it? Because someone’s paying him to be a dad? He tried to force the issue, I stood my ground. It got ugly, I told the kids to wait in the limo. By the time I got back to the lobby, he was gone. He drove straight back to Teterboro, chartered a plane to Vegas, stayed there for weeks, doing his Vegas thing. The tribe and I tried to make the best of it. I’d rented a big quiet apartment on Sutton Place, doorman, security, off the beaten path. I managed to take them a few places without attracting attention. They wanted to know where he’d gone. I said he wasn’t feeling well but they knew I was lying. I tried to reach out to him, maybe we could talk, work something out. He wouldn’t take my calls. Then he texted me a picture of himself and some … girls. Let me know quite graphically that he didn’t miss me.”