In 1986, I was one of Andrew McCarthy's personal assistants. I went cross country skiing with him and peeled his oranges. He was trying to quit smoking then, so he was eating a lot of oranges. I'd peel two in advance, kept in sandwich bags inside my parka's fur-lined pocket. "I know, right?" he'd say to someone important/lovely/both, citrus-scented breath puffing into the cold. He'd reach his hand backwards at me, wiggle his fingers (his signal for orange. Now). I'd remove one, flex my thumbs in its center, plop it into his palm. It would fall open like a moist bloom.
It Is True, I Loved Him
First Place Winner Fiction 101 Contest. First published in Boise Weekly