July 3, 1978

July 3, 1978
I did not yet know her. One day short. I went to bed that night having no idea that this would be the last night of my life going to bed with no thought of her, nearly the last of my life of going to bed without her sleeping next to me. We met watching fireworks from a sixteenth floor balcony overlooking Santa Monica Bay.

I'm not a fan of fireworks, but, my friend, Jon Taplin, baited me into coming to his fourth of July party by dangling the prospect of actual working actresses who would be there. He named names. Jon always had beautiful women in his life, and some would be there for the fireworks. It is this man's belief that there is no more breathtaking sight on earth than a movie actress in war paint. No mercy. Maybe El Capitan, but that's not human. These women take a man's knees out from under him. The similarity to El Capitan is that it's awesome to see but best to stay off, especially for an amateur. This is truth carved into the Book of Love. As a wise, old sage once said, "I never sleep with actresses because you don't know who you're gonna wake up with in the morning." Yeah, I know: oink oink. So what? One man's wisdom. Not necessarily mine.

July 4, 1978 - 9 p.m.-ish

The door opened and there stood the woman with the double wide smile, black jeans, striped silk shirt, scuffed, white sneakers - not trying to appear other than what she was, which was all that was necessary. I was afraid to walk over and talk to her was my point about El Capitan. So, I did my best to look like "focus elsewhere", but, as the great Flip Wilson used to say, "The devil made me do it." I could not keep my eyes off her, so, of course, I made myself miserable listing all the things she couldn't possibly find attractive about me. I mean the guys in California are pretty. Really pretty. Maybe too pretty. Cut. Capped. Coiffed. I'm sure she's not at a loss. I mean why would she want anything to do with a guy like me? I'd never even been club dancing. I'm outclassed. That's cool. Who needs it? Fine. Maybe I'll have another line.

The thing about a knockout punch is it's the one you don't see. Taplin brought her over and introduced us. Ding dong, round one. Fifteen, twenty seconds. No ref to explain the rules. Out on my feet. I can't honestly say I didn't see it coming. I did see it coming, and I didn't move. Couldn't move. I'd met a lot of attractive women in Hollywood. High and tight. Legs for days. Most men's wish list. Women who look like they do in photo shoots. Jamie was other, the way she paid attention to you and not herself. She was not trying to be a Hollywood beauty, but had her own style. Devilishly attractive, the carriage of a dancer, but singular, like no one else. She was just so much fun! So lively. Fetching as designer sheets and silk pillow slips. We made a date for the following Sunday. I was playing in a soccer game at Will Rogers Park, asked Jamie to come and watch, then we'd have a picnic after. I would later discover that she hated sports, yet she seemed so pleased when I asked her. And, really, she was pleased. It didn't matter that she detested sports. This time she'd make an exception. But, two days after Taplin's party, she called to invite me to a birthday party at a friend’s house. She called me! Did I say “yes” too soon, too loud, too squeaky? Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!

It’s Elton John’s birthday, and the party is at Herb Ritz’s. Nice place. Jon was there with a nominee for best supporting actress. Great food table. I left Jamie in the living room while I went to fill a plate just as I had learned to do at countless Bar Mitzvahs growing up in Baltimore. No miniature meatballs with mushroom caps, herring, chopped liver, sponge cake, borscht, or kishka, yet I manage a mound of sushi, shrimp, dim sum, prosciutto crudo, raw carrots, cheese, crackers, and olives - California style - that should have been plated in a trough.

As I turn back towards the living room, I see this very attractive blonde heading my way. An actress, for sure. A straight writer who’s actually getting paid to write? Word gets around. Next thing I knew Jamie had launched herself into the dining room from a room away, grabbed that blonde by the arm, and yanked her out of the way. Literally. Jamie did that. Yanked her out of the way! Put that lady out of play. Good Golly, Miss Molly. I'd never experienced anything like this before. This was the game at a whole 'nother level. Jamie Donnelly. "Wow," I thought, "This must be serious."

I was already in love with Jamie. By the time the fireworks fizzled out, I was hopelessly in love with Jamie. Don't believe in love at first sight? Does smitten at first sight do it for you? People swear they've seen flying saucers. I swear this happened to me. We began talking and have never stopped. Well, sometimes, I stop, but you get my point.

We met at a Hollywood party. Forty-two years later, we're still at the party. "Abie's Irish Rose". Imagine that. A perfect union? As if we haven't tripped our fair share of life's booby traps! As if we haven't stumbled over some nasty cinder blocks! As if. As if. And, yet. And, yet. I have a woman who continues to love me regardless of all the dumb stuff I've done, two beautiful children who continue to love me regardless of all the dumb stuff I've done, a delightful grandson who continues to love me because of all the dumb stuff I'm still doing, an old farmhouse always in need of repair with a mountain out our back door.. Forty-two years with a woman who steered our family in the direction of my dreams. Imagine that.