“Jesus Christ that was fast,” Marlon said. At 12:27 p.m., he pulled up in front of the Carlyle.
“I should probably take that,” Michael said.Īt noon, Michael put on his usual disguise and picked up the car in an underground garage near Herald Square. “Put that goddam Krupp on your pinkie and let’s get the fuck out of here.”Įlizabeth started crying. “Elizabeth, listen to me,” Marlon said, in his angry but controlled mumble, which gave Michael an inappropriate little thrill he couldn’t help it, it was just such classic Marlon. He could see in the vanity mirror that his lip looked very red, but then he remembered that he had permanently tattooed it that color.
“It’ll sure as hell have to be,” Elizabeth said, and Michael knew she was being sarcastic and referring to Marlon’s weight. This is not fucking cocktail hour with good old Dick up in Saint-Moritz. “Essentials only,” Marlon said, referring to Liz’s packing. “The phones down here are kind of screwy.” On a pad he wrote, Hurts. “I’ll try and call a car place,” Michael said.
“I think what Marlon meant-” Michael began, but Marlon cut him off: “Let’s focus here! We’ve got to focus!” As Marlon sometimes said, “The only other guy who knew what this feels like got nailed to a couple of planks of wood!” Sometimes, if Elizabeth wasn’t around, he would add, “By the Jews,” but Michael tried not to linger on these aspects of Marlon, preferring to remember the love thread, for that was all that really mattered, in the end. The truth was, these two dear friends of his were both closer friends to him than they were to each other, and there were often these awkward moments when he had to remind them of the love thread that connected all three, which, to Michael, was so obvious it was woven from a shared suffering, a unique form of suffering, that few people on this earth have ever known or will ever have the chance to experience, but which all of them-Michael, Liz, and Marlon-happened to have undergone to the highest degree possible. Am I on a plane, Marlon? Am I on a plane?” “Marlon, in case you’ve forgotten,” Elizabeth said, “I am also a Jew. “You think Weinstein’s not on a plane right now? You think Eisner’s not on a plane?” “There are no flights allowed,” Michael said, trying to feel capable, filling them in. “Some things you can’t handle,” Elizabeth said. Downtown was really so much worse than anyone in L.A. Now Michael looked south and saw a sky darkened with ash. But because the helipad near the Garden had, for some reason, been out of commission it had been decided he should stay downtown, for reasons of proximity and to avoid traffic. It’s dangerous downtown, it’s always been that way, just stick with what you know, stay at the Carlyle. Everyone-his brothers and sisters, all his West Coast friends-had warned him not to go downtown. Elizabeth and Marlon were staying uptown normally Michael, too, would be staying uptown-until five days ago he’d almost never set foot below Forty-second Street. It was tuned to the same channel Michael was watching, but only Michael could see the images on the screen replicated simultaneously through his own window, a strange doubling sensation, like when you stand on a stage and look up at yourself on the Jumbotron. Michael could hear Marlon’s TV in the background. “We’re in a state of terror, that’s where we are.”