Merrill

At a dinner party in the Bronx I meet a novelist who has recently spent six months in isolation on a farmhouse in Central America to finish his third book.  He talks about 'going feral'.  He stopped shaving and used to go jogging wearing nothing but a pair of trainers.  One of his anecdotes involves a helicopter and a naked encounter with a rattle snake.  He has lightly disheveled curly hair and is wearing a plaid shirt.  He has shaved for the occasion.

I ask his middle name in passing.  He tells me he is connected to the lately troubled financial institution that his ancestor founded along with Edward Lynch (middle name Calvert) but not closely enough to do anything about it.