He was talking about my Savannah book ... "Tour of Homes" ... in a scene where a black maid spits in the food on the plate she'll serve her employer ... a wealthy "Old Savannah" family in their mansion on Taylor Street.
"It's fiction Philip," I reply. "I made it up."
"I know those people," he snaps.
Sitting back at my desk I study the intensity on his face and he's obviously angry.
"Sure," I say breaking the heavy silence, "characters in the book are based on real people but ... they're made up. They're not those people."
"It's all too close to home," he shoots back.
"Well good," I reply. "Then I got Savannah right."
"You got it terribly wrong," he says storming out, taking his anger with him and sucking all the air out of the room.
I sigh heavily.
You can't please everybody.
There have been times in my life when I can't please anybody.
I try real hard because it's my nature to please people ... make them feel better ... do my part to make the world a better place ... one person at a time ... only to discover making one person feel better often makes another feel worse.
Actually, that's what "Tour of Homes" is about ... for every good there is an evil.
No matter how much religion you wrap around it ... people do bad things to others ... just as others do wonderful things for people.
Last night Sarah and I went out for pizza and there's no one on the island this time of year so we were the only customers ... sitting alone for the first time in days because her girls were here and "Girls Rule" when they're home ... plus we've been busy making plans ... so it was nice to simply be alone ... and to just be "us".
Our conversation was intense though ... very lovingly we fought to understand each other.
Two hours later, holding hands we stroll to our car with stomachs and souls completely filled.
During the night, snuggled to my wife, an old memory comes in a dream and there's nothing "made up" about it.
I wrote a book that hit my city with a THUD ... thoroughly angering "Old Savannah" ... even those I love.
"I can't believe you wrote that," Rev. Benny Mitchell told me several days later. "You wrote what we all think and do ... but never say."
Benny was the African-American pastor of Conner's Temple Baptist Church in Savannah.
"What?" I ask grinning. "I didn't get it right."
"I wouldn't want to be you," he laughs. "You've made lots of people angry ... but you've made lots of us happy."
I don't have a response as he hugs me.
"You love everybody," Sarah sighs at dinner.
"Well I try," I answer ... but the truth is I don't and we talk about that too.
And certainly everybody doesn't love me ... and I can name names.
But I sure loved Sarah this morning as she manages her morning routine.
A love for Philip remains somewhere in a corner of my heart though we have no relationship these days.
And there's a spot for the woman who owns the house on Taylor Street "the character" was based upon.
They are not part of my life anymore ... though I remember them ... with more fondness than not ... but I'm wired that way ... Sarah tells me most aren't ... people come and they go.
What's real is the love I have for Sarah ... her girls ... my kids ... and the life we live.
It cost a lot people to get here.
They were worth it.
This is better.
Much better.
I'm not making that up.
