Ifell in love on the phone. I was working on a novel in Washington, and she was my editor in New York, but this was hack work — a movie novelization unworthy of a travel budget — so we never met. Still, the voice stayed with me. It contained a smile, a mellow eroticism, a bubbly smarts and layers of warmth. It would be years before we met and still more years before we got together and a bit longer until I moved in. I loved her like a teenager, like the kid I no longer was. I was stunned by the force of it, waited for it to fail — but it never did. She died last Wednesday, not that she ever will.
Mona Ackerman had the gift