From: The Ghostwriter’s Notebook
Copyright © Chris Keil 2015
“Disgusting old man, that porrnographer. I met him Stephen you know, in Petersburg in 2005; he dribbles. I think he pisses pants also.”
Fabienne was pouring herself a drink, her back to the room.
“You’re so rude, darling,” she said. She turned to look at me. “He can’t help it, I suppose. He’s just so Russian. Uncouth, darling, that’s what you are. There’s a new word for you. Un.” She sipped her drink. “Couth.”
“We are working here baby,” Dubinsky said. “Trying to work here. Where do we get to, Stephen?”
“Tell me more about Murdoch,” I said. “I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Fabienne told me. “He’s bad enough.”
“There’s pictures of the three of us,” Dubinsky said. “Putin, Murdoch, and me. The Murderer, the Dribbler and the Handsome One.” He paddled his fingers at my phone on the table between us. “It’s getting that, right? The Murderer, the Dribbler and the Handsome One. I want that.”