157 minutes with… Rudy Giuliani

What’s better than texting with Trump’s personal attorney? Bloody Marys.

- By Olivia Nuzzi

AS THE BLACK SUV came to a stop on 33rd Street in Manhattan, its lights flashing, a pale hand stretched through the open window of the passenger door and gave a little wave. It was attached to Rudy Giuliani, who smiled from behind his tortoiseshell sunglasses. He apologized for being late. “Couldn’t go on sidewalks like I used to,” he said, mourning a perk of his past life as mayor.

It was early in the afternoon on Sunday, December 8, and Giuliani had just returned from Ukraine, where he said he’d been looking for information to undermine the case to impeach his client, President Donald Trump.

“We snuck out of Kiev to escape having to answer a lot of questions,” he said, though it wasn’t clear if he meant from the press or from government officials. “They all thought we were going to leave on Friday morning, and I organized a private plane to go to Vienna on Thursday night.”

The back of the car was cluttered with luggage. His bodyguard, a retired NYPD officer who loves Trump almost as much as he loves his boss of ten years, got out to move the bags to the trunk while Giuliani climbed into the back seat.

When Giuliani got to his hotel in Vienna, he said, it was 2:30 in the morning, and the first thing he did was search for opera tickets. “Lo and behold, that Friday night they were performing Tosca with the conductor Marco Armiliato.” He sang me an aria from