The audience brims with British gents young and old. Geezers with smoke-crinkled sinews mix with Hugh Jackman lookalikes in Tom Ford specs, chrome neckties, and the pale blues of Futures traders. In front of all of them sit mostly women aged fifty and over, hedged with me in the front rows. “I’ve been coming to readings for years,” says one. “I used to have the biggest crush on George Plimpton.” Her friend pipes up. “Mine was on Tyrone Power, but […]