Caught Up in It: The Michael Cohen Story

Michael Cohen in court this week.

I met Michael Cohen not too long ago at a party in Lower Manhattan. He wore jeans, and he seemed somehow young—small, tousled, underdressed, shy. The way I’ve heard journalists describe Cohen during his first day of testimony in Trump’s criminal trial: anxious. That’s how he was. Maybe standoffish.

To be honest, when I introduced myself to Cohen, I expected a warmer greeting. Over the years, we’d talked on the phone, sometimes for an hour or so, and he’d made me laugh hard. (“Michael, you’re doing great,” I said, often, to express my appreciation for how he flipped on his former boss. “I’m doing horrible,” he always replied.) 

We also have a friend in common, who grew up next door to him on Long Island. During one of our calls, he’d even asked me to ghostwrite something for him. I hadn’t given him an answer, but I figured he’d revisit the proposal when I approached him at the party. He did not.