Capítulo 4
The Detective Story: Searching for Closure in Concrete Objects
Crosley's quest to recover her stolen jewelry becomes a metaphor for her larger attempt to recover what death has stolen from her. Her interactions with an indifferent detective highlight the maddening powerlessness that accompanies both grief and victimhood. When she presents evidence about her stolen jewelry appearing online, the detective dismisses her, suggesting sarcastically that she "ask the post office" about mail fraud. This bureaucratic indifference mirrors the way society often fails to provide adequate frameworks for processing non-traditional grief.
Her call to eBay's law enforcement department proves equally futile-they refuse to help without serial numbers, prioritizing protection against false claims over actual theft. These roadblocks reflect the larger challenge of grief: systems aren't designed to accommodate our individual losses, and we're often left to navigate alone.
The tiger's-eye ring arrives, but the amber necklace-the more valuable piece both monetarily and emotionally-remains elusive. When the necklace listing suddenly disappears, Crosley reflects on what she truly means by wanting to "bring him back." She acknowledges the irrationality while exploring how various cultures treat objects as gateways for the deceased. The necklace becomes her desperate attempt to "stop the bleed"-if she can recover it, perhaps everything could return to normal.
For two months, searching for the necklace becomes her obsession-her "sole leisure activity." Then exactly six months after the burglary, the necklace reappears with a new seller in Manhattan. This time, she plans to be a "vigilante," enlisting an ex-boyfriend to help confront the seller. Despite warnings about potential danger, she ventures into the diamond district, finding herself in a small room with ten men, including a dealer named Dimitri.
After telling her story of the burglary, she's instructed to return the next day. When she does, Dimitri surprisingly returns the necklace for free, saying "That shouldn't have happened." This unexpected kindness moves her to tears. In this moment, she realizes her bargaining has been futile-retrieving the necklace won't bring back the past or Russell. She accepts that "Russell is dead in the same way everyone who has ever died is dead," though she preserves a small hope that somehow, through this object, there might be a connection between them until they "meet in the middle."
This detective story-complete with investigation, pursuit, and resolution-provides a concrete narrative arc that grief itself lacks. By focusing on recovering tangible objects, Crosley creates a quest with achievable goals in contrast to the impossible task of recovering her lost friend.
Capítulo 5
Shangri-La: The Paradise Before the Fall
Before grief entered the picture, there was a golden era-a Connecticut house that became "a home for wayward literary youth" where professional and personal lives completely intertwined. From 2002 to 2010, Crosley and her friends lived an idyllic existence filled with weekend gatherings, newspapers, shared meals prepared by Russell's partner, and literary discussions. Russell championed Old Hollywood literature, taking Crosley to documentaries and sharing books about that glamorous era.
The house was modest with peeling paint and fragile plumbing, filled with Russell's collections. Crosley had a tiny yellow-wallpapered room that was "impossible to sleep in." Russell would interrogate her male guests, later declaring them either "keepers" or merely "interesting." Despite its imperfections, the house represented a carefree time before life's real problems emerged-"not the number of years we spent up there but the years they were."
This paradise began dissolving in 2005 due to an emotional affair between Russell's partner and a friend, leading Russell to gradually restrict visitors until no one was allowed anymore. The dissolution of this communal space foreshadowed greater losses to come, as the group of friends slowly dispersed and their connections weakened.
In later years, Russell and his partner befriended Brooke Hayward, Hollywood royalty whose memoir Russell helped republish. Crosley notes how Russell's fascination with the dead was "hiding in plain sight"-he oversaw paperback publicity campaigns that resurrected literary lions. Russell believed one should "be on the side of the bygone" and that "the dead, because they are dead, are more perfect." Crosley now recognizes how poisonous such obsessions were for someone who "makes the dead more alive than the living."
After their final dinner with Brooke on July 27, 2019, Russell never woke up again. Now Russell appears in Crosley's dreams where they're always having the best time-laughing, swimming, or attending the opera together, his distinctive laugh with a clear "ha!" still vivid in memory. These dreams preserve the Shangri-La of their friendship, a paradise now accessible only in sleep.
The Shangri-La represents not just a physical place but a time in life when possibilities seemed endless and death felt distant. Its loss parallels the loss of Russell himself-both gradually slipping away until suddenly, irrevocably gone.
Capítulo 6
Professional Purgatory: When Work and Identity Collide
Eleven months before Russell died, Crosley bumped into James Frey at a Los Angeles hotel where they shared a drink, bonded by their unique experience during the infamous memoir scandal that had rocked the publishing world years earlier. This encounter serves as a reminder of the professional world that had shaped both her and Russell's identities and relationships.
Crosley reflects on how publishing her first book required a legal disclaimer "because of that whole James Frey thing." She and Russell had a special understanding of the scandal that others couldn't grasp-not fellow publicists who watched Oprah's confrontation with popcorn, not other authors whose books were overshadowed. When seeking advice during the crisis, even Kid Rock's publicist could only offer "no comment." Though Russell was furious with Frey for creating "the headache of the century," the actual crime remained nebulous.
The scandal exposed how little people understood about book publishing. The industry operated on presumed good faith, making it jarring when conspiracy theories emerged. Crosley and Russell received hate mail, including envelopes with white powder and even a bloody tooth. Despite Frey later claiming only fifty of thousands of letters were negative, the experience profoundly affected Russell.
This professional crucible formed a bond between Crosley and Russell that transcended ordinary friendship. They had weathered a public storm together, creating a shared history that few others could understand. This history makes his loss all the more acute-he was not just a friend but a comrade who had seen her through one of her most challenging professional moments.
As Russell's behavior deteriorated in later years, his workplace challenges mounted. The first harassment complaint against him came just after Crosley left the company. The complaint mentioned Crosley herself, citing an incident where Russell called her a "toothless hooker" for declining coffee. Over the years, Russell faced several similar complaints as workplace norms evolved around him.
Russell grew increasingly isolated, "hibernating" to avoid workplace conflicts, petrified yet angry that his personality had become a liability. As a former colleague texted after his death: "He was so loved but also a wild animal in a cage at work." Even overseeing the blockbuster "Fifty Shades of Grey" campaign couldn't restore Russell's equilibrium. His teasing lost its "sugar coating" at precisely the wrong historical moment, leaving him bewildered at being traded from "Team Oversensitive" to "Team Callous."
Crosley reflects on generational divides in publishing, where underpaid assistants experience workplace culture as "being hazed by invalids" while Russell popped up "like a prairie dog" to make inappropriate comments. This professional purgatory-being celebrated for his work while increasingly alienated from the workplace culture-contributed to Russell's isolation and despair.
Following Russell's death came a wave of publishing industry deaths-Susan Kamil, Sonny Mehta, Carolyn Reidy-leaving Crosley feeling Russell's death was marginalized. Unlike these industry giants, Russell never received an obituary. Planning his memorial service, Crosley became a "funeralzilla," struggling to accept that "the needs of the living are more important than the wants of the dead."
This section illuminates how our professional identities shape our personal ones, and how workplace changes can contribute to profound alienation. For Russell, the publishing world had been both home and identity-when that world began to reject him, he lost more than just a comfortable workplace.
Capítulo 7
The Pandemic Perspective: Grief in Isolation
The anxiety of pandemic life feels like a blanket, but the sadness is a knife. Crosley contemplates what it would have been like if the pandemic and burglary had overlapped-the invasion wouldn't have happened as she barely left her apartment. But she acknowledges there was never going to be a version of the story without her missing jewelry and dead friend. "You can ignore grief. You push it around your plate. But you can't give it away."
In the middle of one night during lockdown, she searches for Russell's name in her phone, finding texts from 2018 when they discussed the suicide of Jeanine Pepler, a publicist they had worked with. Their exchange haunts her now: "Let's make a deal: No killing yourself without my approval first. I'll do the same," Russell had written. "I'll have to live just to spite you," she replied. "Right back at you. Guess we're both going to live forever."
This exchange takes on painful irony in retrospect, highlighting how even direct discussions about suicide couldn't prevent Russell's death. It also reveals the complex emotions surrounding suicide-the anger, the feeling of broken promises, the sense of being left behind.
Seeking escape from her ceiling-staring isolation, Crosley visits Grand Central Terminal during the pandemic, finding it eerily empty. The ceiling of Grand Central Terminal serves as a metaphor for perspective-how it's painted backward, with west being east and east being west, representing how our view of reality can be distorted. Despite the renovation making it beautiful, she questions whether God is looking down at all, suggesting a feeling of abandonment.
On an empty train, she imagines filling seats with people from her past-her dry cleaner, a cellist, a detective-until she feels Russell's presence beside her. In this imagined encounter, she confesses trying to blend his death with others "like feeding a dog its medicine in peanut butter." When she asks why he didn't tell her how unhappy he was, he sighs as if she should know better than to ask.
When the conductor eventually wakes her, asking if she's "staying or going," she stands, making her choice. This simple action-choosing to move rather than remain static-represents a pivotal moment in her grief journey. The pandemic setting amplifies the themes of isolation and choice that run throughout the narrative, showing how external circumstances can both mirror and shape our internal grief landscapes.
Capítulo 8
The Vertical Earth: Finding Ground in Groundlessness
In the final section, Crosley reflects on Walter de Maria's art installation "The Vertical Earth Kilometer," realizing she had wrongly assumed it had an antipodal counterpart somewhere in the South Pacific. She now understands that the installation reaches down unanswered, stepped on all day. Unlike this solitary rod, her broken gold chain cries out for its other half-like the glass broken at Jewish weddings with the hope that a marriage lasts as long as it would take to reassemble.
This image of the vertical earth-a rod driven deep into the ground with no answering counterpart-becomes a powerful metaphor for grief itself. Grief reaches down into depths we cannot see, with no guarantee of response or resolution. It exists in a state of perpetual questioning, of reaching without touching.
Crosley acknowledges that most things don't truly end, and much remains unsolved. She still yearns to know where everything she loved has gone and why. Perhaps with more theological or philosophical knowledge, she would understand it's either blasphemous or foolish to expect answers. Maybe someday Russell will tell her, in some version of this world. For now, she must "poke holes in all this curiosity" to breathe and continue with the second half of her life.
To live the expansive life Russell wanted for her, she must "learn to be on the side of the living" and accept they are not the same. This acknowledgment-that she must choose life despite her ongoing connection to someone who chose death-represents a profound step in her grief journey.
Her grief remains unruly while containing the universal logic of all who have felt it. Sometimes she deliberately spreads it throughout her space-up walls, out windows, down fire escapes, into concrete. She hears it in rivers and subways. But ultimately, since she cannot call Russell home, she calls her grief home instead. It returns to her, "zipping itself to my edges, bobbing between my fingers," making a life with her.
Like "an outline of a woman whose time has not yet come," grief sleeps sweetly on her chest, unaware of its own power. This final image suggests that grief isn't something to overcome or move beyond but rather something to incorporate into one's being-a presence that reshapes us without destroying us, a companion rather than an enemy.
The vertical earth represents both the solitary nature of grief and its strange comfort-the way it grounds us even as it reminds us of what we've lost. In accepting grief as a permanent resident rather than an unwelcome visitor, Crosley finds a way to continue living authentically with loss.
Capítulo 9
When Friendship Grief Defies Classification
Throughout her memoir, Crosley grapples with the unspoken hierarchy of grief-the way society implicitly ranks losses, with the death of a friend often relegated to a lower tier than the loss of family members. She feels like an impostor in grief groups where friendship takes a backseat to familial relationships. This exclusion creates two options: accept her "not-as-bad loss" or bypass the system entirely.
This struggle highlights a significant gap in our cultural understanding of grief. While we have established rituals and support systems for those who lose parents, children, or spouses, the profound grief that can follow the loss of a close friend often goes unrecognized and unsupported. Crosley's narrative challenges this hierarchy, asserting that the depth of connection, not the category of relationship, determines the impact of loss.
Her grief for Russell is complicated by the nature of his death-suicide creates additional layers of questioning, guilt, and anger that other forms of death may not. She wrestles with guilt over not recognizing Russell's suicidal ideation, recalling his birthday cake iced with "I'm Still Here"-a reference to the musical Follies that now seems darkly prophetic. She defends herself by noting the challenge of distinguishing genuine cries for help from the casual dark humor of a witty friend.
On the one-year anniversary of Russell's suicide, Crosley tried screaming but found no sound would come out-a powerful image of the inexpressible nature of grief, particularly grief that lacks social recognition and established outlets. Her grief feels like carrying a fragile vase with nowhere appropriate to set it down-she's haunted by fantasies of keeping Russell with her longer, asking questions that might have changed the outcome, but each time he still walks away into the dark.
The book itself becomes a testament to friendship grief-an assertion that such grief deserves documentation, exploration, and respect. By writing about Russell with such detail and care, Crosley elevates friendship grief from its marginalized position, demanding recognition for its profound impact. In doing so, she creates space for others experiencing similar losses to validate their own grief journeys.
Through her unflinching examination of friendship grief, Crosley challenges us to expand our understanding of loss beyond traditional categories. She reminds us that grief isn't neat or hierarchical-it's as unique and complex as the relationships that give rise to it. By honoring her grief for Russell without apology or qualification, she invites readers to honor their own grief in all its messy, uncategorizable reality.
