![]() My boss, her money-manager husband, and their children lived on Park Avenue, in a penthouse with Georgian drapes and triple-insulated soundproof windows. Instead, I ordered and returned sweaters, scheduled haircuts, and made three-course-meal seating plans for members of the literati whom I never got to meet. I imagined myself as amanuensis, translating inspired pronouncements into poems. Several decades ago, when I first moved to New York City, I answered an ad to be a personal assistant to a writer.
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