When Mico called last week to set up a lunch, I thought he might have three possible motives: (1) to cry in my soup over how unfair and wrong our cover story was; (2) to tell me that his life has turned around and he is on the rebound; or (3) to kill me.
He sounded upbeat on the phone, so it didn’t sound like No. 1. He called me “mi hermano,” which is what we’ve always called each other, so it didn’t sound like No. 3. I was delighted to find that it was indeed No. 2. The reason for my delight is that Mico and I are old friends, which is why I didn’t participate in the article on him or even read it until it went to press.
So I asked him how it feels to see himself on newsstands with a cover line that read “Mico’s Ruin.” He replied that he had been to hell and back; D Magazine hadn’t taken the trip with him, so he couldn’t expect it to know anything about the journey. He said 80 percent of the article was true, and he will be writing a letter to answer the 20 percent that wasn’t, which I said we would publish.
Nothing makes me happier than to report he looks great, seems full of energy, is as determined as ever, and most important of all, laughs easily at himself, at me, and at the world — and that is as it should be, cover story and all.
