RALEIGH goes for the guilt angle. "You never protected me from that emotionally distant, physically abusive, excessively butch tyrant."

But a woman like Mrs. Belva Standish is impervious to guilt of any kind. "Cell phone? Dear love, Raleigh, the whole point of restaurant criticism is that it's done by stealth. They're not supposed to know you're there."

"You never want me to have any fun!"

"But, heart of mine, I am awfully busy with cotillions and debutante balls. Not to mention journalism."

RALEIGH throws himself face down on his mother's bed and commences thrashing his arms and legs in a tantrum, shrieking, "Poopoo Momsy! Poopoo Momsy-y-y-y-y!" Gradually he starts moving his limbs less and his hips more, thrusting deep into the Belgian lace counterpane. His shrieks mellow into muffled moans.

"Raleigh! Calm yourself." She looks out the window. Between the silk curtains several limousines can be seen expelling rich old ladies. "Our guests are arriving."

Mrs. Standish moves to the bed and sits next to her offspring. She holds his head to her withered bosom and rocks him awhile, tunelessly quavering an unidentifiable lullaby.

"My sweet, why restaurant criticism? Your father would have wanted you to do sports writing. A young man of genius, such as yourself, has so much more leeway for linguistic invention in sports writing. All those lovely adjectives! For example, a softball game is scheduled this afternoon between the Girl Scouts and the..."

"Bristly overweening dykes."

"Now, now..." She looks nostalgically at a large framed photographic portrait of Katharine Graham, the late, legendary publisher of the Washington Post. A dried-up rose is attached to the frame. The picture is inscribed with the words:

IS BELVA MY "SNUGGLE-BUMPS"
OR WHAT?!?!

MRS. STANDISH SIGHS,
"Ah, well. We're young only once."

"YOU'LL DO IT?" Raleigh's in ecstasy. "You be my amanu-, um, amanu- you write my words in sentences on your motherly lap. Top." Chuckling fondly at his own small joke, Raleigh flips through the "R" section of the yellow pages.

"Hmm. I see your point, Momsy. Mighty slim pickings. The competition in this town must be cut-throat, if not downright stiff. I'll have to be especially cruel."