Download the PDF Guess who Puff Daddy wants to be?
by Michael Specter
The Air France hostess was pleasant but unwilling to compromise. "This flight closes in three minutes, " she said. "We don't make exceptions." Chuck Bone, who was sitting in the Concorde's first-class waiting lounge at J.F.K., reached casually for his cell phone. It was 7:12 a.m. on a Monday in July. The Concorde was scheduled to depart for Paris at eight, and its passengers generally consider even the briefest delay intolerable. Bone, who was wearing a blue-and-white tracksuit and had a simple diamond stud in one ear, started talking. "Where are you guys? You need to get him here now. Read more »
Michael Specter has been a staff writer at The New Yorker since 1998.
