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fifty-five thousand screaming fans, he could barely carry on a conversation one-on-one. Especially in front of a camera.
    “I forgot one thing,” I said. “The guy was like a walking advertisement for Paxil.”
    “Bingo,” said Courtney. “In fact, Robinson’s agent told me that he’s afraid his client might change his mind. That’s why he’s already set up a lunch for you two, Nick. You and Dwayne, Dwayne and you. Cozy, huh?”
    “When?” I asked, beginning to get more than a little excited about this.
    “Tomorrow,” she said. “Lombardo’s, twelve thirty.”
    “Courtney, I’m in Dubai .”
    “Hopefully not for long, Nick. You have an important lunch tomorrow. In New York.”
    As if on cue the gate attendant approached me. He looked just like Niles Crane from the show Frasier . Weird. “Excuse me, sir, will you be joining us to Paris?” he asked with a slight smirk. “The gate is closing right now.”
    I looked around. Everyone was on the plane already. Everyone but me, that is.
    “Nick, are you there?” asked Courtney. “I need to know if you can do this. Tell me you’re in.”
    Now it was my turn to milk it for a few seconds.
    “Nick? Nick? Are you there? Nick? Damn you — stop playing silly games.”
    “Oh, I’m in,” I said finally. “I’m in.”
    Way over my head, as I’d find out .
    “I never had a doubt,” said Courtney. “You bleed Yankee pinstripes, isn’t that right, Nick?”

Chapter 6
    TWO FLIGHTS, eight time zones, and twenty exceedingly long hours later, I was finally wheels down at JFK at a little before eleven the next morning. Walking off the plane I felt like a zombie. I probably looked and smelled like one, too.
    There was only one message waiting for me as I ditched the satellite phone for my iPhone. It was Courtney, of course.
    “Lombardo’s. Twelve thirty,” she reminded me. “And don’t be late! This is the big one, Nick. You’ll probably get a book deal out of it. And a film. So don’t blow it, guy.”
    Thanks, boss …
    There are a couple of things I think you need to know about Courtney Sheppard at this point. First, at the relatively young age of thirty-four, she’s the editor in chief of Citizen magazine — the same magazine that in only two short years of existence has defied the odds and done what so many other upstarts will never do. Turn a profit .
    On the heels of editor stints at both Vanity Fair and The Atlantic , Courtney made a formula for success at Citizen by taking those two magazines’ seemingly divergent sensibilities and combining them into one. Smart move. But then again, she’s a smart woman.
    A very pretty one, too. And not particularly impressed with her looks, either.
    Which brings me to another thing you need to know about Courtney Sheppard. On second thought, we’ll get to that information a little later.
    From Kennedy Airport I caught a cab to my apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I live mostly out of my suitcase, and that’s a good thing because my apartment isn’t all that much bigger than one.
    Clearly I’m not in journalism for the money. Who — besides maybe Thomas Friedman of the Times — is? I don’t mean that Friedman doesn’t love what he does, merely that he makes a lot of change doing it.
    Anyway, when I was eleven years old I saw the movie All the President’s Men with my parents. My father loved it because he despised Richard Nixon. Like Pavlov’s dog, he would always blurt out “That crook!” at the mere mention of Nixon’s name.
    My mother was gung ho on the movie as well, but I’m pretty sure her motivation was a crush on Robert Redford. And maybe the young Dustin Hoffman, too?
    My parents had no real intention of having me tag along. I was supposed to stay home under the evil eye of my older sister, Kate. Instead, I smooth-talked them into taking me. “Who knows, maybe I’ll grow up and be a famous newsreporter one day,” I said, pleading my case. “I could be another Woodward,