I was to interview Martin Amis, who was in town
for a reading of the book, which had gained some bad blood.

In England, A.S. Byatt was leading a one-woman battalion
claiming Amis’ sizeable advance was so to pay alimony.

I was so blissed out to interview Amis, that I went out and celebrated
my pending interview by getting a spring cold.

It was deemed that since I had no fever, I could keep Amis
as though I’d let my fellow contributors nab him.

So, I hoofed it over to the Plaza hotel where he was staying,
excited and a little high on cold meds.

When Amis interviewed Capote, he mentioned asking Capote
to sign In Cold Blood ; my editor was dubious my asking likewise.

I arrived early, sans my copy of The Information, a decision
I still kick myself for today, and ordered a cup of tea.

While I waited for the tea, who should walk in but Amis,
glancing around and seeing me with pen and recorder came over.

After introductions, Amis drew out a piece of paper to show me;
on a cocktail napkin, someone had solicited his time.

Amis was genuinely confused and seemed to be seeking confirmation
that this was an odd overture; I agreed that it was.

As fascinating as was the conversation, I never was able to drop
my recorder and retrieve that cup of tea before it turned cold.