A Rift in the Fabric of Time

One Saturday night in October, one of my rare weekends in New York (Emily and Eli were visiting their cousins in Madison, Wisconsin), Julie and I had gone to a party at Sharon Rivkin’s apartment on the Upper East side. Sharon is a close friend and an old colleague from my NBC days. A fortysomething Manhattan native and urban warrior, she is currently a producer for Dateline and chronically single, but with an assorted coterie of friends in the art and media worlds. About a hundred people were packed into her one-bedroom apartment on East 83rd Street between First and York Avenues, and by the end of the evening everybody was more or less drunk