asked Schwartzman.He had to be kidding. It was 11:50 PM on a week night—Schwartzman had an 8:30 with a client the next morning, a 9:30 breakfast with the head of his department and a shrink appointment with Dr. Herschberg at 11:00 which meant that he’d have to catch the 6:00 AM to Grand Central at the latest.“It’s almost midnight.”“Shh!” spat Mrs. Schwartzman.Mrs. Schwartzman liked Jay Leno a lot more than she liked God.Jay Leno didn’t show up at their house at whatever unholy hour he wanted. Jay Leno didn’t threaten to wipe humanity from the face of the Earth. Jay Leno didn’t tell her husband to build a golden altar in their backyard and sacrifice upon it one she-goat.Which, by the way, is called a doe.“Can’t we do this in the morning?” whispered Schwartzman.Mrs. Schwartzman aimed the remote control at the TV set and turned the volume up as high as it would go. She held the button pressed for a few extra seconds—in case He missed the point.“We’ll be right back with more headlines,”
