I catch up with the letter e at the Ritz Bar. Dressed in a smart black genderless suit, festooned with gold chains, e sits at a table by the window overlooking Arlington Street. With a small trolley covered with canapes and a silver coffee pot nearby, e is talking on two phones at once: one a cell, the other a wired model. E motions me to sit - "On hold with my agent," e hisses at me, holding one phone aside slightly. Into the other, e says, "Can't do it that day; I'm taping Larry King in the morning, Charlie Rose later. Have to make it another time. Love ya, call me."