conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a plot for a book about Aurora, Rosie, Patsy entitled The Evening Star.. Start with the sentence 'The Evening Star: Years have passed since the death of her daughter, Emma'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Evening Star: Years have passed since the death of her daughter, Emma.\nAurora Greenway is still her usual strong, willful self, but all is not well with the three grandchildren she raised after Emma\'s death, particularly eldest boy Tommy, who is serving time in jail on a drug charge.\nYounger grandson Teddy now has a girlfriend and a son.\nMelanie (who is both the youngest and the only girl out of the three grandkids), is all but grown and still living with Aurora at home but giving a serious thought to moving out.\nAurora\'s only true companion is housekeeper Rosie, particularly now that a man she\'s been spending time with, the General, is a friend, not a romance.\nHer late daughter\'s old friend, Patsy, still has a home in Houston and thinks of herself as Aurora\'s friend now, dispensing advice to Melanie, something that Aurora doesn\'t appreciate.\nRosie is being courted by an elderly gentleman named Arthur, who has bought astronaut Garrett Breedlove\'s former house next door.\nOn seeing how lonely Aurora obviously is, Rosie tricks her into seeing a licensed counselor, Jerry, to whom Aurora admits that she\'s still seeking "the love of my life".\nThoroughly unprofessional in almost every way, Jerry jumps into a romantic situation with Aurora himself.\nHowever, he has an ulterior motive, which she soon learns.\nAurora is cheered up only by a brief visit from Garrett, who advises her to find that true love soon because "there aren\'t that many shopping days left till Christmas".\nNeeding a cause, Aurora decides to take charge after Melanie moves to California to try to become an actress.\nShe is peeved to discover that Patsy has exactly the same idea.\nMelanie succeeds in landing a role on a television show.\nAurora comes home to a new problem, however, when it turns out that Rosie is critically ill.\nShe is left once more facing the prospect of being alone.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first three paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Evening Star
  For three or four years she painted; she had a show in Carmel and another in Newport Beach. Tomas refused to go to the openings with her; he refused to so much as look at the paintings and insisted that she keep all of them at her studio, far from the house. He wouldn't even let her hang a small gouache in Katie's room, although Katie liked it and begged him.
  At one point he allowed her a kiln; her pot-making was improving, but then, after a quarrel, Tomas broke all her pots. Patsy could never summon the spirit to resume.
  A wealthy man in Santa Barbara who owned a fairly respectable West Coast publishing company was eager to publish one of her novels, if she would just finish one. He was a nice, sweet man, disappointed in himself in many of the ways she was disappointed in herself; eventually she slept with him, but she never finished a novel.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about unused.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Evening Star
  For three or four years she painted; she had a show in Carmel and another in Newport Beach. Tomas refused to go to the openings with her; he refused to so much as look at the paintings and insisted that she keep all of them at her studio, far from the house. He wouldn't even let her hang a small gouache in Katie's room, although Katie liked it and begged him. 
  At one point he allowed her a kiln; her pot-making was improving, but then, after a quarrel, Tomas broke all her pots. After that, the kiln went unused. Patsy could never summon the spirit to resume. 
  A wealthy man in Santa Barbara who owned a fairly respectable West Coast publishing company was eager to publish one of her novels, if she would just finish one. He was a nice, sweet man, disappointed in himself in many of the ways she was disappointed in herself; eventually she slept with him, but she never finished a novel.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide two more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Greeks arrived promptly at eight, wearing black coats and smelling not so faintly of attar of roses, thanks to a Balkan cologne they both saved for fancy occasions.
  Rosie met them at the door wearing a dramatic black eye patch over her developing shiner. Aurora remembered just in time that she had an eye patch among her memorabilia. Except for a few faint memories it was all that remained of a fling with a skinny professor who taught briefly at Bryn Mawr before dying young. His name was Justin, and he had been more refined than ardent, she remembered.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Rosie met them at the door wearing a dramatic black eye patch over her developing shiner. Aurora remembered just in time that she had an eye patch among her memorabilia. Except for a few faint memories it was all that remained of a fling with a skinny professor who taught briefly at Bryn Mawr before dying young. His name was Justin, and he had been more refined than ardent, she remembered.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In the next few weeks Henry often fretted—once or twice he even screamed his war cry—because of his Bigs' stubborn refusal to take him to the old woman's. It was a simple thing, and it annoyed him terribly that they kept forgetting. He missed the old woman and he missed the sounds.
  In desperation, when fretting and screaming got no results, Henry began to bump his face against the floor. It was a tactic that filled his young mother with despair—if that didn't make her get him back on schedule, nothing would.
  When Henry was twenty-four he moved to New York to try to make it as an actor. His Aunt Melanie, who had had a measly little career as an actress, but a pretty good career as a stage director, was working consistently off Broadway at the time. She gave Henry a little job as a gofer and made him start auditioning for every possible part: commercials, soaps, anything. He finally did get a part in a commercial, though it turned out to be a commercial shown only in Japan. Somebody must have seen it, though, because he got a call from an agent. The agent didn't immediately get him any good parts—but at least he had an agent.
  His girlfriend at the time was a girl named Sid, a dancer. Henry had the maddest love and the biggest lust for Sid that he had ever had for any girl, but Sid resisted—not totally, but she resisted a lot. She didn't like it that Henry was so controlled. Sid was serious about music—her father played the French horn in the Philharmonic. Henry wasn't serious about music—he didn't judge it very well—but he did love it, always had, all kinds of music. He and Sid went to the symphony a lot. They had terrible seats, but they went.
  Walking home in the summer evening, Sid had not totally recovered from her amazement, nor Henry from the memory that had not quite been a memory. He was there—or mostly there—walking with Sid on Columbus Avenue. But some of him was in another place—some of him was absent. Sid knew it too—she held his arm and looked at him differently.