Or the day after that. Three days later, yet another woman answers. His sister, she says. "Gone fishing with his cousin," she says. "Told me to tell you to be here at nine in the a.m."
The next morning I expect to get stood up again. But Rivers shows up on time. He's resplendent in ostrich-skin boots, his wandering necktie looking like something out of 1938, his collar points flaring like fins on a ' 59 Impala.
"See you here at seven tonight," he says. "Don't hurry yourself." But Goz! "We'll talk in drabs and drips."
I show up at six, only to find a note taped to the door: "Couldn't wait. Had to go. Dial these numbers and my sister will drive you to where I'm at. Mickey." I dial. One number is disconnected, the other is Disney World. The only Mickey they know has big ears and a taste for cheddar. I take the hint and the next flight home. Ain't no sense in worrying about things you got no control over.