Maybe it was one of those “Oh, you had to be there!” sorts of situations, but I don’t know. I can’t think of anything more adorable and memory-making than what happened once I caught up with Alan Alda after the rather spirited taxi ride I experienced when I ordered my driver, “Follow that car! The one with the lanky gray actor in the back seat!”
Our light-hearted romp through various downtown boutiques put Julia Roberts’ character in Pretty Woman to shame. After several swirling hours of modeling quite a bit of what Soho has to offer and sharing oh so many stolen sweet kisses, all set to a lighthearted upbeat soundtrack, we realized we finally had to head back to our separate homes. We snuggled closely in the back seat of our shared taxi, my head on his chest. I could barely hear his deep voice humming “The Four Seasons” by Vivaldi over the strong pounding of his heart, but I felt both dancing in concert with my soul.
“Oh, thank you so much for everything,” I whispered with a closed-eyed sigh when I called him (212-555-4077!) on my princess phone an hour later, from deep within my walk-in closet. “I love and adore everything. Especially you.” I snuggled my new army-style cargo pants against my chest and tried hard not to cry.
“Same time next year?” he asked. And oh, I could just see his sly wink.
“If I don’t kill myself before then, my love,” I answered, gently touching the dog tags he’d tenderly placed around my neck not an hour earlier.
“Suicide is painless,” he whispered, “but don’t get any ideas.”
How could I, Alan? How could I, when you give me every reason to live!