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.