It's Thursday noon, four days after Sting's semi-autobiographical Broadway musical The Last Ship has opened at last. The famous English rock star, now 63, with the body of a 21-year-old, is loping around his Central Park West aerie mostly grinning. On Sunday morning, Sting tells me, he felt a strange dread he couldn't shake. For months he'd been spooked by nightmares of Ben Brantley coming in and killing his labor of love. Then it was announced that theater critic Charles Isherwood would be dispatched instead. "I always knew we'd come to that day, and everything would turn to shit," he says...