“And I wondered who Fingers was and who Rossi was before he became Mr. Ross. And then Mr. Tony Crossandotti appeared in my office one day. He was a big guy, solid, about the size of a Harley, with eyebrows like cockroaches, gray-black hair swept back, helmet-shaped, every strand in place. Manicured nails, and gleaming shoes, and a magnificent gold tooth lit up his smile. He wore a bright purple shirt and orange tie and a green pin-striped suit with red silk pocket hankie folded in the shape of a... horse’s head. And yellow-tinted glasses. A lot of colors going on there but somehow it all worked. “Please come in,” I said, though he was already in. He walked over to the window. “Hey,” he said. “Still there. Look.” There were deep scratch marks on the windowsill. “That’s from Mr. Gill’s fingernails,” he said. Brendan Gill was a sweet old guy at the magazine, very patrician, very Century Club, gray hair curling over the collar, horn-rim reading glasses, nappy sweater, vintage port, shelves of O‘Casey and Yeats, summers on the Cape, the whole deal.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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