“CINDY, I’M NOT INTERESTED,” I said, trying not to sound too irritated at my agent. “I’m not auditioning for some dumb comic-book movie.”
“Ms. Dorothy,” she said. “I wish you’d at least think about it. It’s going to be really big.”
“Nope, not doing it,” I said. “Besides, I don’t have the faintest idea how to do an African accent.” I hung up, anxious to return to my baking. My grandson, Niles, was coming over, and I was making sweet potato pie, his favorite. Ten years ago, if someone had told me that at age 90 I’d be arguing with an agent about a movie role, I would have thought they were flat-out crazy. Me playing a tribal elder in some make-believe African country called Wakanda? Who’d ever heard of…
