Истории, которой так или иначе нашлось бы место в этой книге, Вуди уделяет самое пристальное внимание и описывает ее в мельчайших деталях. И очень часто от этих деталей и от того ракурса, под которым они открывают эти, казалось бы, давно известные события, становится просто не по себе (а в финале происходит совсем уж страшное: оказывается, что некоторые прокуроры и судьи в США не вполне беспристрастны…).

Я не буду цитировать все сто страниц, которые этому посвящены, вместо этого — небольшая и очень яркая история, которой Вуди предваряет свой рассказ о судебном процессе.

Incidentally, I had been the victim of a false accusation once before when I was in my twenties, and if the Mia one was March Hare time—get this: I’m twenty-five. I’m working as a comedian. Suddenly, I get a call from my manager that a woman is suing me. She claims I’m Ferdinand Goglia. Who, you ask? Ferdinand Goglia, her long-lost husband. Suddenly, I’m being served papers by Mrs. Goglia. She saw me on TV, my manager says, and claims I’m her husband who abandoned her. You must be kidding, I reply, while cumulonimbus clouds gather just above my head. No, says my manager, she says Ferdinand, a garage mechanic, always made the same jokes as you did when she saw you on TV and he has ducked out on her and you’re him with the same glasses and you owe her a bundle of back alimony. (I told you this was nuts. I’m Ferdinand Goglia?) Meanwhile, as the screwball suit is for real, the flag over at Becker and London, my attorney’s firm, gets thrown and my salary starts ticking away. I have to go to court to defend myself. Believe it or not, I have to prove I’m not Ferdinand Goglia and that I was never married to Annabel Goglia. It seems outlandish. I can tell my lawyer is wondering if it’s possible the woman is telling the truth. Could I have been married to her under a different name and did I skip out? my lawyer asks Jack Rollins. My manager calms my lawyer down, assuring him I am not the lammister spouse here accused, but even he is operating on faith. For all Jack Rollins really knows of my past life, I could be a deceptive deadbeat. So what saved me after months and much precious specie doled out to my legal beagles? Only that the woman was truly loony tunes, and when I showed up in court (trying not to dress in anything like I imagined Ferdinand Goglia would wear), she failed to show. We came with all the evidence we could muster, and it was finally deemed by the court I was not Annabel’s ex, who was much older than me and who fled her and no wonder. She was batty, and thank God she never resurfaced.

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