Baby, come home, please. I’m sorry—I wasn’t even thinking when I gave that character your name. I guess I just love you so much that your name is always on my mind. I didn’t realize that calling a cheating, drug-addicted truck-stop prostitute Torri might hurt your feelings.

After all, just because you guys have the same name doesn’t mean you’re the same person. Sure, you’re both medium-height brunettes with blond highlights, hazel eyes, and briefcase-shaped birthmarks on your left breasts, but that’s just a coincidence. I also wrote that she was chunky around the middle, with gravity and age dragging her breasts to her knees. See? I would never say that about you.

Come back from your mother’s, honey, please. You can’t be happy there, the way she constantly nags at you in that whiny voice of hers. And she’s probably tired of hearing you talk about all this, anyway. I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear you go on and on the way you do.

Speaking of your mother, no, of course the hooker’s mom isn’t based on her! The names are completely different: Valeria has an l, Victoria has a t—and Torri’s mom doesn’t knit, she crochets. That is, streetwalker Torri, not you Torri.

And I have to object to your saying the main character is just a thinly disguised version of me. Yes, I know Bryan and Ryan are similar, but really, all my characters are totally fictional. I mean, Bryan winds up winning the lottery, divorcing Torri after he finds out what a whore she is, and becoming an international playboy. All I have in common with him is our stamp collections. Leagues apart.

Plus, Bryan’s thumb-wrestling fetish is all made up. Completely.

Oh, and that bookmark? On my computer? “How to lower sperm count”? That was just research. For Bryan. My recent interest in long-distance bicycling is coincidental.

Honey, Torri, come home. What would I do without you?

P.S. Also, I would never spike your mint lattes with mouthwash. Now you’re just imagining things.