The Crime Scene Unit has been to this apartment before, and not long ago: they know their way and their duty, and don't speak much except in quiet, monosyllabic query and response. You got that? -Yeah, I'm good here. Thanks.Answering machine's tape is popped out and popped into a bag, sealed and tagged as evidence ( Read more... )

Dating. Right. But-

Yeah. Well. I wasted too many damn months on the wrong brother, that's for sure.

Never going to get all the gelato out of the cracks between the floor tiles. Crap.

( 'I know we're not -- I meant, you know. Seeing each other. Sort of. Whatever it is we're doing.' [Rossi] )

He tells me to stay away from the apartment. I do. A couple nights at Mom's, and now I'm staying with Minnie and George on the Upper West Side. We have so much room, it's no trouble at all, she says after a hug of Chanel and DKNY and Prada. People coming and going for the parties - you don't mind, do you? It's so good to see you again, Leah. How ( Read more... )

Who needs therapy when you have one Detective Christopher Rossi (First Grade) at your command?

I hate him. I love him.

I don't know what I'm doing. With anything. Anything at all. But . . . maybe I can start figuring it out.

( 'What the hell do you want from me?' [Rossi] [R for language and such] )

I limited myself to one drink. Proud of myself, especially for a Sunday.

Didn't stop me from spilling my guts to him, though. Damn the man.

The Newsweek thing is tomorrow. Story sent to Jaz tonight. All ready for my next big media blowout. Whee.

Shouldn't have told him about Magneto. Damn him. Both of them. All of them ( Read more... )

He just has to keep digging at it, doesn't he? Has to keep interrogating me-

Then his fucking partner drags me in for actual, honest-to-God po-leece interrogation, and I start thinking that maybe criminals and thugs and Friends of Humanity have a point about our society's chosen authority figures ( Read more... )

Die's cast, and all that crap. The column hit the newsstands, and then the shit hit the fan ( Read more... )

At least I didn't tell him about my encounter with Magneto. Did I?

Shit. It's all blurry now. Pretty sure I said too much about the Friends. About other stuff. Him and me. And his family. Man. Paul. Gabe. Paul . . .

Note to self: no more getting drunk with Chris Rossi.

( 'You'd look stupid in a beard and a little green hat.' [Rossi] [R for language] )

From the desk of Leah Canto:

Saturday, November 5:
final draft to TNR (title: "Call to Purity"? "for"? too Nazi; they'll love it) - published 11/15?
call S?
call A!

Sunday, November 6:
CF charity auction N said no - leave message for R
call Mom (after church)

Monday, November 7:
New Yorker interview @ 10 (get foot in door? ha ( Read more... )

Definitely shit-faced. Skip the beer, go straight to the whiskey. Did I get another bottle? Great, I can't remember now.

Why did I say that, about the case? And the dreams? And why did I-

If I drink enough, it'll all go away. Yes. Until morning, when the good father can wave his magic Latin wand and ego te absolvo me. Thank God. Praise God ( Read more... )