The Virgin, the Marine and the Footman.

Tech week rolled around for 'Les Liaisons', and we were all getting pretty excited. "Tech week', for those not in the theater (although I think everyone who reads this is to some extent), is the week before opening or previews when all of the technical aspects of the show are addressed. So it can be - and usually is - quite chaotic. And stressful, and exciting. It can be a LOT to cram in to one short week - depending on how complicated the production is.
In this case, for instance, one thing the ladies were getting used to quickly, were extremely heavy dresses with pretty authentic corsets. My first dress of the show weighed 40 pounds. Just on it's own. It really made you think about how people lived and moved around the time of the French revolution. When the curtains opened, I was sitting on the floor at my mother's feet - so my first little challenge was figuring out how to get up gracefully and quickly (Adrian wanted me to 'bounce up')with a corset that cinched my waist to a mere 18 inches, wearing a FOURTY POUND dress.
It was all very exciting.

At the beginning of this tech week, one of the crew asked me if I'd like to have lunch with him.He asked me in a very casual manner. Didn't make it seem like a DATE - at ALL - so, I thought it would be ok. This guy was an X-marine, who looked like someone you'd cast in a movie as a psychotic X-marine. He had a body builder type of body, with a thick neck, and intense, dark, scary eyes - punctuated by thick, scary eyebrows.
He tried to pay for my lunch, and I wouldn't let him. Then, I thought that I made it perfectly clear over the course of lunch that I was not interested in him romantically, but, you know - we could be 'friends'. Although - truth to tell, I didn't even think I wanted to be friends with him after our short lunch. This guy just scared me.

So we went back to the theater, and I had one of those internal "sheesh" kind of moments.Glad I had made things so PERFECTLY CLEAR.
Well, for the next three days - DURING TECH WEEK - everyone scampering around, tensions high - people yelling and things sometimes crashing - me with quite a few VERY quick changes - right off set - no time to make it to a dressing room - this GUY decides to follow me around like a wounded puppy. And I mean FOLLOW. Like three inches behind me. Even when I'm trying to get my quick changes down, with the help of my dresser. And it was CREEPY!

He was leaving me notes, and flowers - I told him several times (in what I thought was a nice way) to STOP.I returned his flowers to him. But he didn't listen, and he didn't leave me alone. And finally I just LOST IT - in front of everyone. Well, everyone who was backstage, anyway - and that was mostly everyone.
I peeled around from my quick change, half dressed - he was TWO INCHES away from me - and yelled at him. "You HAVE to stop! This is where I WORK!!! This is NOT OK, it is NOT professional, you are SCARING ME, and I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! LEAVE ME ALONE - THIS IS HORRIBLE!" I yelled at him.

He looked kind of horrified, and began to back away - but not quickly enough.
My dresser chimed in, completely on my side "YEA! Jeez! Let the poor girl WORK, what are you DOING?!" she yelled at him. She had already well noted how creepy it was that this scary marine was always two inches away from me when I was changing backstage with a hungry look on his face. He made me feel like less than a person - I felt like I was a steak to him, and he was a hungry, mad dog. He actually kind of looked like a pit bull, come to think of it.

Well, the marine finally got it when he looked around and saw everyone's faces, full of disgust, and quit on the spot. But, unfortunately for me, he came back a week later - carrying a BIBLE with him - very VISIBLY - everywhere he went. And trying his best to look like a martyr.He took great pains to avoid my path, and when he did have to pass me, he averted his eyes in an overly dramatic manner.Good grief!

Opening night went well. I could not have asked for a better response from our audience during and after that big crying scene of mine. Everyone was good - well, certainly all of the Dallas cast. Every one was in a great mood - in a mood to celebrate. And luckily, we had a fancy opening night party to go to afterwards.

I hadn't had a boyfriend, or even a date (besides that tragic Marine 'date')since Peter. But there WAS one young man that had caught my fancy.A strikingly handsome young man from SMU that was playing a footman in our cast. He was my age, and I had been sort of watching him from afar. I figured that he was either quite arrogant, or a little shy.He kept to himself for the most part, seemed to study everything that went on on stage, and with Adrian's directing, quite intensely.He was often in a corner of the theater with a book.

I found myself falling into a mad crush on him before I even knew his name. But I figured, someone my age - a normal person, wouldn't want anything to do with a single mother. So I tried a hundred times to pretend that he didn't exist. Then, one beautiful afternoon as we were all heading out to 'lunch' (theatre meals are all later than normal meals)he strode right up to me, motorcycle helmet in hand.
"You want to go for a quick ride?" he asked. (Oh YES I DID!)
"umm...sure." I tried to say very casually.He was SOOOO beautiful!
So, he popped me on the back of his motorcycle and took me for a ride. We zipped down Turtle Creek, with all those grand old mansions on one side, and the creek lined with azaleas and big trees on the other side. The creek I'd fallen into one Christmas as a kid, ruining my Christmas dress, because I was feeding the ducks too enthusiastically.

Let me just say, here and now - that taking a girl on a motorcycle ride may be THE most effective pick up move EVER! I mean, REALLY. Think about it. How else are you going to get a girl to wrap her arms and legs around you and hold on tight before she even knows you?

I can practically feel that ride now. My crush was sealed. He had come close enough to ask me that I knew he didn't have bad breath or anything, and then - the way that he felt right next to me. The way that I felt! And the smell of his hair, and the fun of zipping around on a motorcycle on a beautiful day,his perfect body right next to mine, and - just all of it! I was intoxicated.

But he paid little to no attention to me afterwards at rehearsal. Polite, and no more. I thought, "Ah well, I have more important things to think about. He probably heard about Max and that was the end of things. Or he has a girlfriend - or - who knows." And I tried not to think about him. With little success.

But that night - opening night! I am here to tell you - that LITTLE else compares to a great opening night party! The adrenaline is high, the air is full of good energy, all the actors and every one love each other, it feels like a reward for lots of hard work - it's pretty great! And of all of the opening night parties I've been to - this one was the best.
It was at a nice restaurant with a great big outdoor patio area that had a fountain right as you entered. Waiters were walking around with champagne, I walked in with Adrian Hall hugging me, introducing me all around - it was so much fun!
And a few glasses of bubbly in, that handsome, wonderful, motorcycle crush found me. His name was David.Of course.
I don't remember what we talked about that night - it was all like a good dream. And at that time, that age - it only took about three glasses of princess water to have my brain bubbling up around the ceiling - or clouds in this instance. All I remember is that we had so much fun. And that every moment I spent near him I liked him more. He revealed himself as more charming, more intelligent, more funny and fun, and sexy even than I had dreamed up in my fantasy versions of him.

At the end of the party he dared me to jump in the fountain.
"I'm not jumping in there!" I exclaimed.
"I will if you will.." he answered with his charming smile. We both jumped in the fountain to every one's delight. I thought I heard Adrian's voice calling out, "NOW it's a party!"

And then he offered to give me a lift home on his motorcycle.
"Thanks, I'd love it." I said. I felt as shy and akward as a thirteen year old girl.I hopped on the back of his bike, and then he tossed over his shoulder, "Unless you want to come to my place first.."
Oh Lord! My head was swimming. The gorgeous, sexy, charming footman that I had been fantasizing about for at least a month was asking me to his PLACE!
"OK. Sure." I managed. My heart was RACING as I clung on to him during that chilly ride.

We got back to his apartment, me feeling as akward as I ever have, and nervous, and the first thing he did was to take my hand and whisper to me conspiratorially, "I want to show you something.."
David led me to the hallway right in front of what must have been one of the bedrooms and plopped down on the floor, gently pulling me down after him. He laid down on the carpeting, and patted the spot next to him, suggesting I lay down, too.I did. It was dark. He rolled away from me for a moment, and brought forth... a KITTEN! And then another!
"Look at these guys." he whispered. "Aren't they the sweetest?" and with that, he put one of them right on me.
They WERE the sweetest! The kittens he had produced were just at that perfect kitten-calender age - the age that is JUST beyond when they still look a little like aliens with their eyes closed or mostly closed, and have JUST come into their fuzzy cutest.It was (pardon me, but I HAVE to) CAT NIP for women.

There I was, laying on his apartment floor, next to the most gorgeous, sexy man I had EVER laid eyes on, after a perfect opening night of THE THEATRE, and Mr. Handsome had put a KITTEN on my chest. The kittens were purring like two little motors and snuggling up to both of us, and all I could think right there and then was....this has GOT to be a dream.

Adrian strips me down.

As rehearsals rolled along for 'Les Liaisons', I slowly but steadily became buddies with Brad Hennigan. He was always friendly, and went out of his way to say hi, or ask me over to a poker game at his brother and sister in law's place or something. Brad was one of the first people to see this one actress being really nasty to me in front of every one, and the first one to say, "P'shaw! Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. She'll get over it!"
I loved his warm, Texas drawl and his big, easy smile. There was something hugely comforting about Brad. Definitely the kind of man you want around if the world comes to an end. Or, if you've had a bad day.

My world was not coming to an end. In some ways, it felt like it was just beginning. This part, this kind of play - were EXACTLY why I had always wanted to be an actress.

So, when Adrian Hall was not happy with my big comedic scene, and decided to call me out on it in front of the whole cast, I was devastated.
We were getting pretty close to previews, and I had this big scene with Linda,that takes place the night after Cecile is robbed of her virginity by the sly and evil Valmont. I (Cecile) am confessing the whole terrible night to the very person who planned it and sent Valmont into action. It is the end of Cecile's world if anyone discovers that she has been unchaste before marraige - the best she can hope for is a life at a nunnery.

Adrian wanted me to cry while I was confessing this night to my beautiful confidant. And I thought I was crying alright - I wanted it to be real - but I was not pleasing my director. So Adrian called me out in front of everyone, and the crew.

"Well, you're just not GETTING it, darlin'! I don't know what I have to DO!" he said, frustrated.
He was standing in the middle of the orchestra, yelling up at me onstage.
"Come on down here to center stage. Front and center where we can all see you." he commanded. I did. "Now take your clothes of."
I looked at him, shocked. I didn't have nude scene in the play. What the heck?
"...umm...ALL of them?" I asked.
"YES!" Adrian barked, seemingly EXTREMELY annoyed. "Every last item - OFF!"
Yikes. Despite Peter's prank the previous spring, I was NOT comfortable with nudity. Not at ALL.
But I did it. Slowly, Akwardly.
"Well, damn it!" Adrian sputtered, "Hurry up, now, we don't have all day! Jesus H Christ, girl! Can't you do ANYTHING right? Take off your damn clothes! Are you STUPID or somethin'?"
He was YELLING at me - berating me - in front of everyone. As my clothes came off, and I stood there, stark naked, Adrian kept yelling at me, insulting me. He kept calling me "girl" as if it were a bad word.He did it until I broke down and started to cry. But he didn't stop there - he kept going until I was crying HARD. Sobbing.
"What are you doing NOW? CRYING? Like a little CRY BABY!!!????" he yelled, gesturing his arms wide, "So EVERYONE can see you BAWL? Everyone can se you BAWL like a little CRY BABY???!!! Nothing to protect you out there? Not even your DAMN CLOTHES, girl? I though I hired an ACTRESS - not a whiny little CRY BABY!"
I thought I was getting fired from the show. Which of course made me cry even harder. And , indeed, I felt completely unprotected. Completely vulnerable.
"Well, I want you to remember how this FEELS!" Adrian yelled up at me. "Cause THIS is what I want you to do EVERY DAMN NIGHT! In the damn scene! You are a FIFTEEN year old VIRGIN who's just been DESTROYED!! You GOT it??!!"
I nodded my head miserably, I sure did.
"Well, get your clothes on and do the damn scene. Do it RIGHT!"

So I did. I did the 'damn scene' - just like he wanted it. Bawling my head off. It was hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time. Just the way he knew it could be. Linda gave me some hand squeezes and some REAL looks of sympathy during the scene, which I took to mean, "Don't worry, honey. This is just how it is - we've all been there. You're not the only one he's ever singled out." But all she really SAID were her lines.
And when the scene was over, Adrian was as happy as a 5yr old boy on Christmas morning. He practically HOPPED out of his seat and out of his skin.
"That's IT!" he yelled at both of us. "That's EXACTLY right! Don't forget that! You are both brilliant actresses!! THAT'S how it's supposed to be! Let's go to lunch! I'm STARVING!"
Linda gave me a warm smile and a hug. And while my face was still nestled in her soft hair, she whispered, "It really did feel great. You did good, kid."

At lunch, I just lay on the grass, trying to recover and let the whole thing sink in. So when we were called back into rehearsal, I was starving. My stomach was growling and making horrible noises I was so hungry.

Backstage, Brad came in from his lunch, and walked quietly over to me. He didn't say a word about the humiliation. He just handed me a sandwich.

auditioning for the Dallas Theater Center.

It's funny how different people remember the same events differently. My friend, Brad Hennigan, was in town not too long ago, and he was recalling the first time he ever laid eyes on me.

"Oh Lord!", he said. "I'll never forget it. Standing there outside, shootin' the shit with Jack Willis, and we look up and see this little blonde girl in a light blue dress, coming up the way with this TOWE - headed little boy. Looked like he was your little brother or something. And we just said,'Who the hell is THAT?'"

And my memory of meeting all of the fine and excellent actors of The Dallas Theater Center for the first time was a little different, of course. As I walked up to the beautiful outside gathering at the Frank Lloyd Wright Theater, I was shaking in my boots. I was getting pretty used to people assuming that I was Max's sister or babysitter, and sometimes their reactions when they found out I was his mom were a little hurtful. Especially in Dallas. I didn't want these talented actors - who quite frankly I had up on a pedestal - to judge me because I had a kid. Or anything. I wanted them to like me.

So, mostly what I remember about that day was being really intimidated by Jack and Sean and Dee Hennigan, Linda Gehringer, and Bill Bolender - all phenomenal actors that I had seen in amazing productions. And I also remember chasing Max into the poison ivy on the side of the hill and both of us getting it real bad.

After I left Peter and New York, I didn't know what to do with myself. So I took Max and went to the deep interior of Mexico for the summer. We had only been back a week when I got a call from the casting director of The Dallas Theater Center. I didn't and don't know how she found me. But I was soooo glad she did! She asked me to come in an read for 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses' - for the part of Cecile, the virgin. It was the American premier of this play from London, which later became more popularly known as the movie, 'Dangerous Liasons' - or if you prefer -'Valmont'. I took the script home the day before the audition and read it right through. I LOVED it! I wanted this part more than any part I had ever wanted before.

I went in to audition for Adrian Hall. The artistic director of the Theater Center at that time, and one of the best regional theater directors in the country. He was a tall, long man who was clearly in a terrible mood when I walked in. He waved his hands about in a fitful, agitated manner.
"Well!?" he asked me at once. "Are you some shrinking VIOLET sorority girl?" His words dripped with venom.
"No, sir." I answered calmly. "I'm afraid I haven't even gone to college."
"But YOU want to ACT....?" he practically spit at me.
"I do."
"Well acting is a LOT more than just TALKING. Do you you have ANY concept of that?" (you'd think he was talking to a roach with a learning disability, the way he was speaking to me.)
"I do, of course." I said again calmly. I had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't at all about ME. He'd only just laid eyes on me for the first time. At that point, the beautiful casting director spoke up.
"Jennifer went to LAMDA." she said.
"Oh she DID, did she?" Mr. Hall snarled as he whipped my resume from her hands and peered at it through his glasses. "Well, Miss JENNIFER, from LAMDA...I wonder if you could do the first part of our little scene while touching your breasts. Fondling your breasts - like a little tart! Think you can do that?"
I smiled. "I'll give it a try."
"You DO that." he hadn't let up one bit on me.

But we did the scene for him, and I guess I did alright. Because when he stopped us halfway through, his attitude was completely changed.
"Well, I have to say...that's pretty good, LAMDA."
"Thanks." I said.I still felt like I was walking on eggshells with this man, better keep it simple.
"Well, look. I AM sorry. It's just that this horrid little bible -thumping, CHRISTIAN, little do-gooder, sorority girl came in here before you - and she wasn't the first one. OH! They were just HORRIFIED at the idea of some old fag talking to them about SEX! The whole PLAY is ABOUT SEX! So, I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot...what's the name?"
"Jennifer."
"OK. Jennifer. That's more like it." (he looked relieved) "Let's read a little more..."

I got the call that night that I had gotten the part. I screamed with joy, jumped up and down, hugged Max and twirled him in the air, then hugged my grandmother, lifting her off the ground.
"I got it, I got it, I got it!!!!" I yelled all over her house.
"Well, goodness gracious, Jennifer." my grandmother said, trying to scold, but looking far too pleased to pull it off. "You're howling like a banshee! Just settle down."
She grabbed Max and asked him (very theatrically) "Do you know what a BANSHEE is?" Max just laughed. He loved her.
"Well, Jennifer. I guess that settles it."
"What settles what?" I asked.
"Well, you two will just have to stay here with me. You can't drag this little boy to the theater at all hours."
"How about congratulations?" I demanded, even though I could see in her face and hear in her voice that she was bursting with pride.
"Oh, well. Don't get too full of yourself, now." she teased me. "But I guess we better have some Bluebell to celebrate."
(Bluebell is this wonderful ice cream that you can only get in Texas)
Then the three of us marched around sing-songing "ice cream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!"

OH, I was so happy to be working at the Dallas Theater Center - in the Frank Lloyd Wright Theater, no less. And from seeing the plays there for the last two years (when I could) I had a pretty strong idea that I was working there in it's hey-day. With some of the finest actors in the country.

On one of the first rehearsal days, I was told by Adrian Hall that I was to be sharing a dressing room with the star of the show, Linda Gehringer. I was thrilled, but a couple of the other, older, veteran actresses were NOT THRILLED. They shot me looks like daggers, and were NOT very nice. But Linda was. And the crazy thing for me, was that she looked like the old photos of my blood mother. Beautiful, tall - long, honey brown hair. She looked like my mother at her best and most beautiful. Luckily for me, she wasn't anything like her.

I remember she was getting undressed for the first time in front of me (she wasn't shy about it, and had a nude scene in the play), and she caught the expression on my face for a moment.
"Oh. The 'granny panties'?"she asked. She was wearing HUGE white cotton underwear. They went up to her bellybutton. I was so surprised that such a glamorous beauty would wear underwear like that.
"I know. I just like 'em. They're comfy." and with that she pulled them up over her belly button in one of the goofiest moves I have ever witnessed, and pulled her face into an old "granny" face.
"Oh, sweety." she said in her excellent granny-voice."Bring your old granny a cup of tea!"
She kept going and going, she had me ON THE FLOOR, I was laughing so hard.

The other actress who was sweet to me was Dee Hennigan. I was a little in awe of her after seeing her in a production of 'Three Sisters' when she had stolen the SHOW, as far as I was concerned. She was so committed, and so versatile. She could play ingenue, or shrew, or (as in Les Liaisons) whore equally well. And for this particular whore, she grew out her leg and arm hair - as would have been the case in that period - and played a curvy, vixen of a whore - with her giant blue eyes and skin like cream. She was married to one of the other ensemble actors in the company, Sean Hennigan. I believe we ALL wished that he had been cast as Valmont, but alas. And his little brother, Brad Hennigan, was working backstage. A family affair.

It was lucky for me that the Hennigans decided I wasn't so bad. Without them, it would have been a VERY chilly production.

Peter's proposal.

The last week or so that I stayed in NYC after the show closed, I spent out in Brooklyn, at Peter's place.

Everything was about to change. I didn't have a job, or an agent, or an apartment. Decisions would have to be made.

It rained almost the whole time I was there. Warm, late spring rain. And it was pretty cozy holing up with Peter in his old apartment with high ceilings and hardwood floors. He made homemade bread every other day.It made the whole place smell wonderful.I LOVED that bread. Peter told me there was a mouse that lived in his oven.
"No way!" I said - not believing him."How could it survive in there?"
"Yea - really! He comes out to say 'hi' when the oven's off. There's a hole in the back and he pokes his head through."
"But that's gross!" I said."We're eating bread that a mouse has been touching? That doesn't sound very sanitary."
Peter laughed. "Well, he doesn't come out when the bread is IN there - it's too hot."

I made Peter show me. Sure enough, that little sucker stuck his head through the hole in the back of the oven just as soon as it was barely cool enough.
"Well, I don't know how I feel about this..." I said. "But he IS cute."

We lolled around for those rainy days. Slept in late every morning. Peter's room was basically an empty room with a mattress on the floor and two huge piles of clothes. One clean pile and one dirty pile. I stole my favorite of his flannel shirts. A red plaid one. It was so soft - and like all of his clothes, was from one of those preppy, outdoorsy catalogues. LL Bean or something. I wanted something to remember him by. And I have to tell you that that shirt has been worn by me and ALL of my kids - except August. By the time he wants to steal it, he'll be too ginormous. But that shirt has really held up! First Max stole it from me, then Izzy stole it from Max, then Sophie from Izzy, then I saw Step wearing it! I'll have to steal it back next time I see it.

Peter couldn't stop bragging to me about how great Brooklyn was. I think he didn't want me to be sad about losing my place. He took me to his favorite hangs - and the best one was this bizarre bar that had a ton of games everywhere. Like chess and checkers and 'Sorry' and 'Clue' and cards - and everything you could imagine.It was really crowded with stuff, and smelled a bit musty. And there were cats that lived there and wanted to come say hello while you were drinking or playing 'Candyland'. AND there were two little girls who worked there. I would say they were maybe 12 and 10. It was the strangest thing, having these little girls come and ask you what you wanted to drink. Felt like we were in another country. One without child labor laws. AND there was this weird old guy who dressed like an old-timey sailor and sang once or twice a week. 'Sailorman Jack'. I bought his tape because I thought he was so odd and funny.

One day, Peter took me to the Brooklyn Botanical gardens. It was raining, but we didn't care. We walked all over that place in the rain.It was so beautiful. Peter was right - there WERE so many wonderful things about Brooklyn.
We sang in the rain, walked through gardens and gardens of flowers, letting ourselves get soaked. Then we came to a pergola - a walkway covered with wisteria. The vines were old and thick. I ran my hand over their bark and felt how much a living creature these beauties were. We were somewhat protected from the rain underneath the great vines and blossoms. And the drops of rain that fell through the beautiful flowers were heavy with their scent.

I looked around and drank in the saturated colors of the rainy afternoon. The individual raindrops sparkled and shone. The grass beyond our path was the deepest and most brilliant green. And the beauty of this place and moment grabbed onto my heart and held it. I could feel my throat begin to choke up.
"I don't ever want to lose this." I thought to myself - almost as a prayer.
Then I turned to see Peter.
He was watching me quietly. He seemed to feel the same way.
He kissed me under the pergola. With raindrops falling on our faces, rolling down our cheeks and lips, we kissed.

The next day, in Peter's apartment, I told him that I had to go.
"But where?" he asked?"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know, exactly. But my first stop is Dallas. To get Max."
"Come back here, Jennifer. Both of you. You can stay with me."

Peter had just gotten his acceptance letter to St. John's that week. One of the best schools in the country - where his father was a professor. He had been so excited to get the news, and to share it with me. His face lit up when he read the contents of that letter.
Peter had shared with me that he wanted to be a writer, a pilot and a baseball player when we first got together.

"What are you talking about, Peter? What about St. John's? You won't even be here for much longer. But it's sweet of you to say."
"No. Look." he said sincerely, "I've been thinking. REALLY thinking about this, Jennifer."
I just waited, puzzled.
"Marry me."
"What?" I said. I didn't think I'd heard that right.
"I mean it. Marry me." Peter searched my face to see mostly shock and confusion. "You've seen how great I am with Max. I love you both. And I've really been thinking about this. I'll become a fireman. I'm a little under the height requirement, but I think I can get around that. I'll support you both - HERE - and you can keep on with your acting."
Good God. He was serious. I had almost been tempted to laugh - but I didn't. And now I was glad I hadn't.It was the sweetest offer anyone had ever made me.
"But what about school? St. John's? You want to go so much - you can't give that up to be a fireman."
"Why?" Peter asked, laughing, "I'd be a great fireman!"
"Well, of course you would. Of COURSE you would. But I have a sneaking suspicion that your intelligence might be wasted if you became a fireman."
Peter looked crushed. He HAD really thought about this.
I took his face softly in my hands. "Oh, Peter. I love you so much. Do you have any idea?"
He grinned up at me sheepishly. He had sort of, KIND of gotten down on one knee. "Well, a little idea. You could prove it to me by marrying me."
I kissed him over and over again. "Oh, Peter. You would never forgive me if I let you get stuck being a fireman. I couldn't live with myself if I let you do that."
He kissed me back, roughly, passionately - like it was the last time he ever would.
"Then come to Santa Fe with me." he choked as he kissed me. "Come with me. My parents love you. They'll love Max. You could do theatre there."

We were both trying so hard not to cry, but we couldn't stop it. The tears came. We both knew it wouldn't work. It wasn't REALISTIC. And that meant that this was the end.

We spent the whole night crying, holding one another, making love, and then crying some more. It was horrible. And a little bit great.

Peter made pancakes for breakfast the next morning from his treasured cookbook, 'The Tassajara Bread Book', from whence all of his amazing bread recipes came. He tried to talk me into his marriage/fireman concept a few more times over the next 24 hours, but with less and less conviction.

Then he took me to my plane.
It was one of the hardest goodbyes ever. I didn't want to leave him. And, unlike Peter, I didn't have a plan.
We were both completely crying as the plane began to board.
"I have something for you." Peter said, bringing out a small package.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Open it on the plane, ok?...just something to remember me by."
"But I already have your shirt..." I sobbed.
"I know." he said. "I'm glad. It's just one more thing."

Halfway across the country, when I had finally stopped crying, I opened my little package.
It was 'The Tassajara Bread Book'. I'm looking at it now. On the first page it says only: to Jennifer from Peter. For a writer, he certainly was economical with his words.I have made pancakes,muffins, deserts from this book. And they always turn out great. But I've never made bread. I always say I want to, and something always holds me back.

I think it's because that was Peter's special gift. He made the best homemade bread I've ever had to this day. And, anyway, it wouldn't be the same without the mouse in the oven.

Just so you know I did the right thing (and just so I know) - I should tell you that not only did Peter graduate from St. John's, but he went on to get more degrees and eventually ended up being a nuclear physicist who's job it was to figure out how BEST to clean up nuclear waste. And he learned how to fly a plane. And he became a first rate rock climber. And then he was put on a team whose job it was to translate the human DNA code into a workable program for research and science. THEN he went to law school in D.C., where he now lives (as of yet still unmarried) and works as a cvil rights attorney.

So you tell me.
Did I do the right thing?

Peter an I borrow $11.98 from John Patton.

OH! I am soooo delighted! a couple of requests to know what happened with Peter and I...so here it is.

'Down to Earth' - the musical extravaganza - began to unwind. I won't go into the reasons - but at the end - the biggest problem was the writer's strike that summer. I was told that one of our backers pulled out, and the whole show sort of collapsed. And with the writer's strike threatening to go on all summer (it did) the business of acting and THEATRE seemed to freeze temporarily.

It was during the beginning of this period that Peter and I found ourselves dead, flat broke.

We had hosted a party at my "penthouse" flat - Hilary's suggestion, and - also Hilary's suggestion - we got a great big piece of paper to pin on the wall and asked everyone who came to sign it when they came in the door. IF YOU SIGNED THIS BIG PIECE OF PAPER - DOOOO TEEELLLLLL!!!!!! It seemed like there were a lot of our old friends from Interlochen there that evening. I remember Hilary (of course) and Brad, and Lothair! Ahhh! great Lothair! And I think Lisa may have been there, and Drew, and the Husky girls, and Brad's room-mate from NYU, and Stuart, and John,and.... YOU must tell ME. If you were there - I need to know! There were a lot of people, and it was a long time ago!

Anyway, somehow - we got a ham. I do remember that. We carved it up for that bizarre and wonderful party, and it was so big that Peter and I lived off of that thing for a week afterwards. When it was finally gone, and neither of us ever wanted to see a ham ever, ever again - we realized that we were stone cold broke. I don't know if we had just spent all of our money on the party (knowing me that's a 'yes') - or what the deal was - but we were broke. And Peter had the great idea of hunting John Patton down at work and asking him to borrow some money. So we did.

We met John down on the street, and for some reason he seemed a little more grown up than either of us. I am cracking up thinking about it! It may have been ONLY because we were in dire need of borrowing some money from him! Ridiculous. John looked at us both like we'd gone off our nuts.
"Well, I don't have a lot of cash on me at the moment..." he said to Peter. He fished in his pockets and came out with some bills and some change. "What is this?...eleven dollars and...ninety eight cents. That's all I've got. Will that help?"
Peter and I nodded our heads enthusiastically.
"It's GREAT, John! Thanks so much, man!" Peter said.

We walked down the street giggling like a couple of morons, I swear. Not at JOHN - but at ourselves!

Peter and I got a great big burger and a coke with that money, and shared them. We both agreed that it was the best burger we'd ever had in our whole lives. We couldn't stop laughing the whole time we were eating.

"If I NEVER see another ham or ham related food item, it 'll be soon enough for me!" Peter exclaimed.
I practically choked I was laughing so hard. "Me too! Amen!"
"Well, here's to our good friend and savior John Patton!" Peter toasted.
"Amen again!" I chimed in.
"I'll probably go find him and pay him back tomorrow." said Peter.
"Good man. Yes.We shall pay him back immediately! Most definitely." I agreed.
"And we shall, neither of us, forget this glorious day, when the kind gentleman, John Patton, saved us from starvation!"
"Here, here! Never!" I exclaimed. "We shall NEVER forget this kind deed. Never!"

We both forgot to pay John back in the coming weeks. Life just swept us up - and I do not believe EITHER of us have ever paid him back. But, as you can see - neither was his kind deed forgotten.

My dearest John, if you ever read this, please calculate the interest on $11.98 over ALL these years and let me know how much money I owe you. I shall send it toute suite.

And THANK YOU. For the best burger and coke I have EVER had.

The Best day of my Life...continued

After I got out of a long warm shower, the midwives did some inspecting and measuring. The main one I think was called Mary. But she's not the one I remember the most. The one I remember the most was called Faith. She was an angelic looking older woman with super long blonde hair, and some kind of slight deformity. Of course I didn't mind about that - it was a physical thing - one leg much shorter than the other or something like that. I only met her the day that I gave birth. But (and I'm sorry if I was horrible for thinking this) her thing was significant enough to make her grab onto every piece of furniture she passed by for balance, and I was kind of worried that she wasn't physically up to the job at hand. I mean, what if she lost her balance and dropped the baby? But that thought was not nearly as terrifying as the ones that soon replaced it.

Anyway, the midwives sent me out of the bedroom so they could make it ready, and told me it would be good to walk around a little. So I did. I went outside where there was a miraculous tiny breeze. I lifted my face and closed my eyes to feel it. Just then my mother snapped a photo.

"Terry and I have been talking.." she said, "And we both think maybe you should call David."
Terry was right behind me on the porch. I looked around at her and she nodded "yes."
"And maybe he won't even come, you know? But we feel like you should at least TELL him."
"Ok." I replied, giving up. "I don't care. He probably won't come."

My mom went into the kitchen to call David, and Terry sat down with me on the front porch steps. There was an impending aura of doom settling onto the whole world as far as I was concerned. It was so nice that she was there to hold my hand, but I didn't think it would help much when I was dying in the very near future.

Sure enough, David hopped on the first flight from Dallas, and arrived at my Mom's house in plenty of time. He was in a mild panic. So was I. The contractions were becoming more and more painful and closer together just as they were supposed to. Just when I thought it couldn't hurt anymore - it DID. At one point the midwife, Mary, said "Maybe you'd like to sit on the toilet?.. maybe that would get things going." very innocently.
I just looked at her like she was crazy. I had NO intention of having this baby on the toilet, and for God's good mercy - what the HELL did she MEAN "get things going!!!???" Weren't they going enough? Things were going FAR too fast as far as I could tell! I just wanted it to stop!

Just before the pain got seriously OUT of CONTROL, my Mom asked if she could take photos.
"NO! No photos!" I said, feeling desperate and helpless.
"Oh, she won't care in a few minutes." Mary said glibly, "you just go ahead and take 'em!"
"No.." I started again, "NoOOOOAAAGGHHHHWWWWW ...MOTHER of all THINGS HOLY!!!" yea, yea yea! Things started turning a very BAD corner!
"You see? She won't even know you're doing it." Mary confirmed.
I grasped onto Terry for dear life, digging my fingernails into her poor arms. "I don't want to do this anymore!" I wailed. Then I started crying like a child. "I can't do it - I don't want to do it! I don't want a baby anymore! He can just stay in there!"
"Let's just get you into the bedroom and see what's going on, shall we?" Faith said to me sweetly as she uncurled my fingers from Terry's arm.

The midwives got me situated in my Mother's bed, in her beautiful sky blue bedroom, just in time for all the demons in hell to let loose in my body and begin to torture me from the inside out. I kept yelling at everybody that it hurt too much, and I simply was not DOWN for this kind of an experience - only in MUCH LESS ladylike terms. I do remember saying "This is NOT how it happens in the FUCKING MOVIES!!!!" , and making everyone laugh. How COULD they laugh? I was dying! I was pretty sure of it. NOTHING that hurt this badly could end well. I was outraged that they couldn't just MAKE it stop. And I was furious at myself for signing up for this routine - no doctors, no hospital, NO DRUGS.

At one point in the endless torture, David had to leave the room to throw up and almost faint. I looked at Terry and she was as white as a ghost, despite a full summer of tanning and dark, Lebanese skin. When David got back she growled at him "Don't leave." and left the room herself to do the same thing. Then, out of no-where, my Mother brought in a whole rose bush, covered in big , fat roses. She plopped it down where I could see it and gave me a huge smile.
"Well, I thought, why buy a few roses when I could get this whole bush instead. Isn't it pretty?"
These people clearly did not understand that I was dying. But, on the other hand, her cheery confidence gave me hope. Maybe I'd survive this hideous ordeal - just be left crippled from the waist down or something.

"She's fully dilated." Mary announced. "But her water has not broken at all." she looked at me and spoke very loudly, "Your water has not broken, I'm going to have to go ahead and break it, ok?"

I DIDN'T FINISH THE CLASS!!!!! WHAT the HELL does that mean???
"What...?" was all I was able to say.
"It's NO big deal..." said Mary,"I just have to go in there with a very sharp needle and break your water for you.Ok?"
NO!!!! NO!!! NO NEEDLES going in THERE!!! NOT GOOD!!! SCARY!!!!
"No, no, no..."I managed ."I don't think so. I don't think we should do....aahhhhhhhaa!!!!"
Too late. She did it during my next contraction. I didn't feel it. I was too busy feeling like someone was manually ripping and twisting my insides into pretzels of horror.

Once my water had been broken, things started to speed up, and the pain intensified five fold. I really, really didn't think I could take it. By the time I was supposed to push, I was exhausted and I just couldn't HANDLE that crazy pain. I STARTED to bawl again, and shake my head "no". But Mary grabbed me and spoke right into my face.
"You are going to need to start pushing now. But you HAVE to listen to us - so you don't tear. You NEED to concentrate, and it will all be over soon. Do you understand me?"
I nodded. I was so scared. So scared.
"Find something to focus on. Something in the room that you can look at - ok?" she spoke to me as if this were a life or death situation.
I looked around the pretty, blue room. The room had high, vaulted ceilings, and up near the top was a small, arched window with a crystal hanging in it. At just the right time of the day, this crystal would throw lots of little circular rainbows all over the room. That is what I chose to look at. It must have been later than I thought, because the the crystal was making it's rainbows.

At 2:20 in the afternoon,on September 26th, as I was staring at that crystal for what felt like my very life, a baby's head emerged from my body. It was terrifying. And also, the greatest physical relief from pain that I had ever felt. But it wasn't quite over. That moment when I had to lie there with a head out of me, and a body inside of me felt like - a long time. But it wasn't. Then the rest of his little body was pushed out by another contraction, and what felt like a sea of blood followed right after him.

There was a collective gasp in the room. Corny as it sounds, it was the miracle of childbirth. I was crying, and still not convinced that everything was ok - it definitely felt like I was bleeding to death. And it didn't help matters to look down and see yet another thing emerge from inside of me. A huge, gelatinous glob of blood.
"Aaaaa...." I muttered in horror.
"Ah, it's the placenta!" Mary said joyfully. "Faith, or someone, put this in the freezer."
Put it in the FREEZER??? Geez! I had missed a LOT in that class!

But Faith could not put the horrible thing in the freezer, because just then, she was handing me a beautiful, gnome-like baby - all wrapped up in fresh white blankets.

"You have a perfect baby boy, Jennifer." she said, beaming.
I took my perfect baby boy out of her arms and held him next to me. "He's crying!" I told her, distraught.
The midwives all laughed.
"Of course he's crying." said Faith, gently. "He's just gone through quite a journey, too."
"Oh.." I said, tears full on streaming down my face. I had never thought of that. That the whole torture could be hurting him, too.
Faith sat down beside me and guided this perfect, crying little thing to my breast. He latched on like a starving champion. And, then as he was voraciously sucking away, he finally opened his eyes. It was amazing. He looked around like he was scared, and then looked right at me. And that was moment I fell madly in love with my son. Before he even had a name.

Minutes later, my Mom was playing the Rolling Stones on the stereo, and had a bunch of pizzas delivered. The kids got home from school, and David took my 12 year old sister, Emily, down to the Fresh Plus with him to buy champagne. In our family's typical tradition, it was a party. With champagne and pizza flowing, the guests and family turned to me to announce the baby's name.
"It's Max." I said.
"Ok, but, Maxamilion, or Maxwell...?" someone asked. (maybe my Uncle)
"Nope. Just Max." I said. "from 'Where the Wild Things Are'."

Meanwhile, in New York City, Stuart Richardson burst into Hilary Aptowitz's acting class on the afternoon of HER birthday, September 26th.
"Jennifer has had a baby boy!" he announced, hugging Hilary.

Sometime, later that night, a little before midnight, I woke up to nurse my little Max in the bit of moonlight that was pouring through that arched window. All of the world was asleep except the two of us. His little head already smelled so good.
I repeated what I had told him when I first found out I was pregnant.
"Now, listen here, kid. I'm not going to change who I am just because of you - or change my life." I whispered. "You're just going to have to come along for my adventures, ok? That's just going to have to be good enough. I'm practically a kid myself. But I'll never leave you. Never. It's you and me, baby. Just you and me."


The placenta was taken out of the freezer the next day and planted along with the rose bush in my Mother's front yard. It bloomed like crazy for years and years.
And to this day, my Mother is fond of letting guests discover the photo album in her living room that starts out with photos of me in labor, and moves quickly into graphic photos of me giving birth to Max with rainbows all over my thighs and belly. There's even a rainbow on Max's head - just as he's coming out.

The Best Day of My Life.

Sometimes the very best things come from, or after the very worst things. For, instance, sometimes great RELIEF from something hard or bad is part of the following happiness. In this post, I am writing about a DAY. Just one day. And this one day came not too long after what was the very worst day of my life.

This day started at about 3 am. I was living at my mother's house, in Austin. I was sleeping on an army cot in her dining room, but on this occasion, I was in my little sisters' room, sleeping (or trying to) on her single bed. It was late September. An Indian summer that year in Austin, Texas. All the way through September, the heat was unbearable. And my mother did not have air conditioning. We girls ( my Mom, sisters and I ) would put our nightgowns on before bed, then take a cold shower IN our nightgowns so that our soaking wet nightgowns would keep us cool for long enough to fall asleep. It doesn't cool down at night in Texas. Not the way it does out here in LA. It's often over a hundred degrees at 2 in the morning there.

But on this evening (the evening before my day in question started) I had not taken a cold shower. It was still hot, but not unbearable that night. I was so grateful to have a real bed to sleep in. It was like being at a grand hotel or something that evening - pure luxury! Only, I couldn't sleep. At 3 am, I found myself rolling and tossing, clutching my chest and my belly. And I was regretting not taking that cold shower, too. I was covered in sweat.
"What the hell did I eat tonight?" I thought as I tried to FORCE myself to sleep."Just my luck..." I thought, "the one night I get to sleep in an actual bed and I've got food poisoning or something."

By 4:30 am, the pain was greater, and I also felt like I was going to throw up. I was so tired. So, so tired - I was worried that when I needed to throw up, I wouldn't make it to the toilet in time. I was contemplating going in there and laying my head on the cool tiles of the bathroom. I would not be able to forgive myself if I barfed all over my little sister's bed, or any of her many stuffed animals or barbies. Just as I was about to make the move into the bathroom, my mother came in.

"Hey, are you ok?" she asked, rubbing my back and instinctively putting her hand on my forehead.

"Not really.." I sort of moaned. "I think I ate something bad.."
"Oh no." She said with a very worried look.
"How did you know I was feeling bad?" I asked.
"Jennifer, you've been in here moaning for over an hour."
"I have?" I asked. I hadn't been aware of any moaning out loud. Ugh! I felt TERRIBLE about waking her up in the middle of the night. Just then, I felt a deep, horrible and sharp pain, accompanied by terrible nausea. This next moan WAS a little loud.

"Jennifer, " (all of a sudden, my mother looked very alert, and all business),"I think it's time to call the midwives."

"...Ohhh....ohhhh God.." I was still moaning at the pain. It came in a great big wave. Every wave was starting to hurt noticeably more, and seemed to last longer.
"No!" I said. "It can't be now!" I looked at my mother in a panic."I haven't finished the CLASS!"

All at once, I was filled with dread. Not like some vague thing - but PURE FEAR.No, no, no, NO! No baby today! I had at least a WEEK! They had told me so - maybe more than a week! I wasn't ready. No one told me it was going to hurt this much - no, no, no, NOOOO!

I probably looked like a crazy person to my Mom. I shook my head and started to slither down to the floor. "No, no. I think it's something I ate, I really do! I just need to go into the bathroom, because I think I'm going to throw up....You go back to bed - I'll be fine! I'll be quiet, I promise..." I was chattering away like a crazy person as I started to straighten up and head for the bathroom. This was food poisoning - or bad gas! This was NOT a baby!
"I'll just lay down in there..oh...OHHHH...Awuuuua!"
The next cramp brought me to my knees, but I tried to WILL it into being food cramps - if I believed it hard enough, that's JUST what they'd be... I crawled on hands and knees to the bathroom. I HAD to get near to that toilet!

My mother just sort of looked at me, I think. I was not entirely present. The combination of unprecidented pain, fear and denial were taking me to another place.

"Ok. " my Mother said, looking almost a little scared herself, "It's going to be ok. You stay in the bathroom if you want, and I'm going to call the midwives. Should I call David?"

*************************

I met David when I was 18 years old. At a bar. In Dallas, Texas. I was there, modeling and doing commercials for the summer, and somehow I ended up in this bar all by myself. I remember what it looked like. It was all black and white tile inside - very cool, very eighties, pretty dark. David was 28 yrs old, sitting at the bar, wearing a suit. There were a bunch of guys there wearing suits, but David was the only suit in the place that didn't immediately seem like a tool.
He was charming, bought me some drinks, and before we knew it, he was driving me 'home' to the suburbs out by DFW, where I was staying with my girlfriend. He was drunk, and showing off. He blared his stereo, drove 80 miles an hour around these crazy roller coaster-like freeways they have there, and sang "I wear my sunglasses at night.." WHILE he was wearing his sunglasses. I was only 18, but he was losing my respect.
Luckily for me, he gained it back when he walked me to the door and only kissed me very softly on the cheek good night.

We began dating that week. For the first time, I had a well-off, good looking older man courting me. And he didn't seem that much older. He was a party animal. We were always going out - dancing, parties, little trips, and....fine dining. David introduced me to great food. He took me to the best restaurants in Dallas, Houston and Austin - he took me to New Orleans and to dinner at The Commander's Palace. AND he started to teach me how to cook. We were two Taurus', and we dove full speed into everything physical, everything sensual.

A year and a half later,we found out that I was pregnant, and it all changed.

I was happy about it. Really happy. It hadn't been planned, of course, but I felt so strongly that it was meant to happen.

No one else was happy. David was furious. Not gentlemanly at all. He stopped touching me. He treated me like I was a leper even though I had never felt more beautiful. My family treated me like a teenage pregnant whore. They tried to send me to some Catholic place in Arkansas for wayward, pregnant whores. My own, wonderful grandmother disowned me. And, strangely enough, the person who came through for me was my step mother. I hadn't even been speaking to her. I just figured that since she and my Dad had divorced she wouldn't want to have anything to do with his kids.

But that wasn't the case. She welcomed me into her VERY full and chaotic house in Austin when I was eight months pregnant and had no-where else to go. She was going through a wild, post-divorce period, and had all of these gorgeous Israelis staying at her house and coming over all the time. The most gorgeous of them all was her boyfriend. He'd come racing over on his motorcycle and swoop her up. Or we'd make a great big dinner with lots of salad and listen to the adventures of a new Israeli traveler. Or her best friend, Lisa, would have a dance party at her cool apartment right around the corner. One of the Israeli guys had a monkey.A spider monkey that ran around like mad in my Mom's house, and got insanely jealous if I or any other girl sat next to her master.

My Mom counceled reconciliation with David. But he came to visit in September and had the bad taste of showing me photos from a sleepover he'd just thrown. He showed me photos of himself in PJ bottoms surrounded by four or five girls in tiny, lacy night things.
"Why are you showing me these?" I had asked him, my heart breaking inside of me.
"I don't know. They're kind of fun."
"Are you showing me these to let me know you haven't been FAITHFUL?" I asked, glaring.
"Well, hey....you know.." he tried to make it all seem like a joke. I didn't know. I fucking hated him right then. He didn't deserve me OR this baby.

********************

As my Mother looked at me for an answer, those photos flooded back into my head. He had only shown them to me about a week before.
"NOOOO!!!!" I wailed. "NO DAVID. And I REALLY think you don't need to call the midwives! It's just my stomach..."
But she was gone, and another wave of pain came over me. "Son of a BITCH", I thought. "This is HORRIBLE!"

In less than an hour, the midwives were there busily doing things and ordering people around. They sent me into a warm shower to help with the pain. My Mom handed me her favorite robe to get into when I was done. She told the midwives I could have the baby in her bedroom. At some point, my little brother and sisters checked in with me before school. I could hear them begging to be allowed to stay home.
"No, no. You guys better go to school - this could take all day! First babies take forever - she probably won't have it until after school anyway." our Mom told them. But Alice made a dive for me. "Promise you won't have the baby until I get back, ok?"she demanded, straight into my eyes.
"Ok. I'll try." I said.
"Or if you ARE having it - MAKE them pick me up from school, early, ok? I can help."
I shook my head weakly, another contraction beginning to roll in.

After the little kids went off to school, my best childhood friend arrived. Terry. She was my coach. She went with me to this hippie-garage place to take classes with a bunch of couples. They all thought we were a lesbian couple. I didn't care. It seemed better than not being in a couple at ALL in my condition.

Tweak - my first attempt at a one night stand.

I have told you by now, that Mieke was and is my very best friend in the whole world. And I have told you about her beauty and that we use to roam the streets and venues of LA as 2 single ladies - largely unchallenged when together - the force of "double blonde" strong with us. Men, adventure , sex, drugs and rock and roll literally followed us wherever we went. If we went to a school bake sale, Anthony Kiedis was there, trying to seduce one or both of us. If we went to a Church fund raiser, Flea was there with a NEW hair color - flirting vehemently. I went trick-or-treating with the lead singer of 'Korn' (and his body guard), and Mieke was propositioned by Moby. The fun we had together after our divorces was unequaled even by the cast of 'Sex and The City' as far as I can tell.

What I have not mentioned about my beautiful friend, was that she was one of the first and only photographers for AOL music. She is hugely talented and has photographed some of the biggest music legends in the world (think Ray Charles). And she has also photographed some bands and artists that did not reach legend status. It was on just such a job that she gave me a call.

"Hey, Jeni! What are you doing tonight?"
"Well, nothing...."
"Do you want to come see this band I just shot? Well, it's a singer - she's really good - and the band is so sweet! All of them! I think you'll like them!"
"ummmm.....ok. I guess. Why not?"
"GREAT! I'll pick you up!"

Mieke had just started to be really interested in this guy, Jim (whom she is now married to), and she knew that I was going through a really hard time. I was finnished with a long and crazy relationship to a complete psycho - the father of my youngest child - and was NOT fully recovered from the trauma of it all. She felt responsible for me to some degree, and wanted to take me out and distract me. She was always so, so good to me.

So, we went to the show, and then we met up with the 'so sweet' band afterwards. They WERE very sweet.There was only one guy who was sort of your typical smarmy, slick, self obsessed, arrogant musician type. We didn't hang out with him.

The guy who started to pay attention to me was the tall, gangly keyboard player. John Pahmer. We went to this other venue - club/restaurant/bar - with the whole gang, and proceeded to drink. And talk, and, in my case, flirt. John bought me drinks. His friend, Matt (the drummer), was super fun and nice. The four of us ended up talking and having a GREAT time. Then Mieke had to leave. We went into the ladies room together.

"Well, little Jeni - I have to go home. What are you thinking? That keyboard player is pretty cute...."
"He is. But they're on tour. He's leaving tomorrow...."
"Well...." she smiled innocently, "there's always tonight..."
"Tonight, hu?", I mused. I had never had a one night stand. And maybe I could use it. Just one fun night - no strings. He WAS really cute, and sweet. I wasn't sure, but I wasn't ready to go home, either.
"You go on home. I'll get a cab. " I said. This was probably the first and ONLY time Mieke ever left me anywhere - out on the town.
"You sure?" she asked before she could go, "do you have cash? Do you need some?"
"No! I'm fine!" I laughed. "It'll be fine." and as I said it, I knew it was true. This guy was alright. I could feel it.

Mieke went home, and I continued to laugh and talk to John and his friend, Matt. John had (has) big blue-green eyes and a big smile. He concentrated those eyes on me all night. He looked like he was looking at the whole of me - and listening. It took forever, ever, EVER for him to finally kiss me. I swear I had been willing it to happen for hours - and then FINALLY, at the end of the night - he kissed me. It was so nice.

"They're going to kick us out of here in a minute..." he said.
"Yea..." I said, regretfully.
"Do you want to come back to my hotel with me? I mean, we can just stay up and talk if you want. It would be great to talk to you some more..."
Good grief. He was such a gentleman. I really knew how to pick my one night stands.It was going to be a great night of TALKING!

"Ok." I said. "I'd love to come back with you."
We went outside to say our (his) farewells, and he pointed out a guy in the corner.
"It's Beck." he said. "you could probably go home with him instead, if you wanted. Just go over there and sit on his lap. I'm pretty sure he won't toss you off."
It was Beck. He was right there, looking more....delicate ..than I imagined.

I turned to John and pulled him towards me. "I want to go with you. Is that ok?"
He looked really amused. "Well, sure, if that's what you want. You know we're leaving tomorrow, right?"
"I do."
"And you still want to go back with me?"
"Well, not if we're just going to talk." I said.
He just looked at me with his big eyes.
"I've never had a one night stand" I explained. "I was hoping you'd be my first."
"Well...", he said, looking pleased. "I think we can work that out."

We went back to his hotel room and had a lovely night.
I took a cab home at some God-awful hour, feeling young and sexy and alive. I would NEVER hear from that cute musician again. But I guessed that that was ok.

About two hours after I had fallen asleep, my phone rang. It was John.

"Hey. I know that was supposed to be a one night stand, and I'm probably not supposed to call you..."

I laughed. It was so nice to hear his voice. "That's ok. I'm glad you called. I forgot you even had my number..."

"Oh. Good."
I laughed again. We were both so sleepy. "What are you doing?", I asked.
"We're just getting ready to go to the airport." he answered. Gosh he sounded sweet. "And I was just thinking that I'd really like to call you. Would that be ok?" he asked.
I squirmed around like a little kid in my bed.
"Well, you are ruining my first and probably only one night stand..." I said - delighted.
"I know. Sorry."
"But I would love for you to call me. I would really, really love it." I said. And I meant it.

That plan to have a one night stand was entirely shot, and I guess I never HAVE had one. But what I did have with Tweak was far, far better.

How I ended up calling John Pahmer 'Tweak' is another story. For another night.

Dear Roosevelt...

Dear Roosevelt,
I feel the need to write you a letter as my hair is drying.
I know that some people of our aquaintance have expressed that I have been too harsh on you/about you in my previous writing. But... you scare me. Let me explain.

Over the last few years, I think we have become friends.In the beginning, you were just 'my brother's friend'. Then you became more familiar to me as we worked together on some genuinely crazy stuff. (Charlie Wilson's War footage, Boy Whores, etc.) And now - after all this time, and having you live below me for a couple of years now, I feel like I have heard your stories, you have heard mine, and we are actually friends. We have come to the point where you take me for granted - as true friends do. You help yourself to my whiskey and brandy, you actually PET Zyll (our cat), and are concerned when Izzy is out too late. And though I don't take you for granted in the same way - I ask you to bail me out by paying rent early often enough, and I am quite aware that you know more of my secrets than anyone who is not a real friend could ever know.

And as your friend - someone who genuinely cares about you - you scare me. But wait! Perhaps it is NOT the way you think...
The thing is....that lately, I've been feeling like you and I have more in common than I have previously realized. We both feel very deeply about things, I think - at least love - only we have totally different ways of dealing with these feelings.

You, it is clear, shut yourself up and away. You feed yourself a daily mantra of bitterness and disdain. I know, because I hear it. And yet you are human. You need affection like anyone. And it has pleased me more than I can say to see you change your course about the cat. It seems a little thing - but - when you first moved in you claimed to be allergic, and tossed her off of you always. Now you call her to come and sit on your lap. The same with the kids. Especially Sophie - who will not take your bitter attitude no matter how you try to feed it. I love to see her interact with you. She laughs at your sarcasm, no matter how sharp, and ends up engaging YOU - the scrooge of the world - in a tickle fight, despite yourself.

This is all to say, that I am rethinking the idea that I have dealt with this pain of love (or lack of it) in a better way than you.

You are very idealistic at your core, I think - and so was I once. And though our ways of dealing with our own heartbreaks are almost polar opposites, perhaps we are more alike than either of us have imagined. At our centers.

You are intelligent (no one would argue that), and talented and surprisingly kind beyond your harsh words and exterior.

But there is a great part of me that believes that we all make (more or less) our own worlds. Of course unexpected things can happen - OF COURSE - but, even when they do - ultimately is not our outlook our world?

I have made so many mistakes in the name of love. In that great search. I admit it freely. And because of some of those mistakes I have four amazing children, and have lived 13 lives. 13 roller-coaster lives. Not peaceful and steady. Not predictable - but I guess on some level that's what I've wanted...right?

And you.
You scare me because I feel like I am falling into YOUR trap. YOUR world. And believe me - I understand why you are there. I understand the desire to numb one's feelings. I want more than ever to numb my own right now - you know all about this.

I know that you judge me quite harshly. At LEAST as harshly as I judge you - and probably more so - and that's ok. I don't have answers any more than you do - I guess I thought I did. I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry if I thought that I was in some way more 'enlightened' than you - or that my way was better. I no longer think that it is.

Please accept my apology.
It is hard being both a human and an animal. Some of us are more human - more cerebral, and some more animal. I don't think it makes either of us wrong.

Please believe me when I say that I truly hope you find what your heart desires.

your friend, jennifer.

Mark meets Mark

Well, now I am inspired to tell this story, because there is the cutest photo of little Keen staring at me on my desk.

If you want to hear what happened with Peter and I, you'll have to ask. That's all there is to it.

Now, this story is NOT first hand. I apologize - but it is key - and I was not here when it happened.

I have told you that Mark has been my babysitter among many other things. Dear and wonderful Mark - who only today helped me carry LOADS of crap down to the curb from my back yard, 40 steps up, for trash removal tomorrow. My house looks like the Beverly Hillbillies thanks to our endeavors. But, hopefully, the entire mountain of crap will be removed tomorrow. (thank you, LA!)

Well, a few years ago, I asked Mark to babysit for a long weekend. He was in charge of Izzy, Sophie, and August while I was in Arizona for a work/romantic weekend rolled into one. While I was looking for glow in the dark scorpions in the middle of the desert, Mark was in charge of the house. I trusted him completely. I knew the kids wouldn't be left with the TV for 3 days in a row, but would be doing fun things like building tents, or playing board games.

And sure enough, when I got back, the entire TV room was a giant tent, and the girls' room was mostly tented, too. I had left Mark with some fun activities, I thought. I bought face paints especially for the trip, and stocked up on Sophie's fail-proof food of choice - macaroni and cheese. She was going through her 'difficult' period then. Uncle B said she was on the 'white diet' - which meant she only wanted to eat things with very little color. You know, mac'n cheese, bread,pizza, pasta with only butter, french fries - that kind of thing. White food. The one thing she loved that WASN'T white was chocolate ice cream. Which Sophie proudly wore on her face and clothes until she was about 13 years old MOST of the time.

One recent development in our lives, was the arrival of new and fabulous neighbors - Mark and Sunrise Ruffalo. They had initially looked at my house to rent, and ended up (after a call from me) moving into the house right next to us on the cul-de-sac. It was a happy arrangement for all. I adored them both, and was overjoyed to have another cool, young mom around to shoot the shit with. Keen (their little boy) was just a little younger than August, and loved to come over and play. Izzy loved Keen and was very mothering to him. It was altogether adorable.

So, upon my return from the glowing scorpions in Arizona, this is what transpired....

MARK: Oh my God, you have NO idea what this weekend has been like!

ME: Why? What happened? It sounded like everything was going fine....?

MARK: Well first of all you are EVIL, leaving that face paint! I don't think I can ever babysit for you again!

ME: WHY? What happened?

MARK: What DIDN'T happen!?? Your DAUGHTER is just TOO MUCH, first of all! But you will NEVER believe what she did to me!

ME: What did she do?

MARK: Well, she tortured August, first of all, AND she was a complete DIVA about her damn macaroni and cheese! You would think it was some gourmet delicacy that I couldn't get right for a food critic! - but that's not even the STORY! You will NOT believe it!

ME: Believe WHAT???

MARK: Well, after hiding those damn face paints successfully for THREE DAYS... Sophie finally GUILTED me into 'finding them', and talked me into letting her dress me up like some kind of freakish superhero - I mean not even COOL - you know? Like, some kind of crazy, caped Green Lantern or some ghetto superhero - with green paint ALL over my FACE....I mean, I looked CRAZY!

ME: Yes? And what? WHAT???

MARK: Well, I'm running around the house in this cape and green face paint, and someone knocks on the door.... (BIG pause for dramatic effect) ....it's MARK RUFFALO! Asking for SUGAR! He wants to borrow SUGAR - and I'm in this crazy outfit - I mean I just felt ridiculous! A HUGE movie star comes - not when I'm looking COOL, mind you, but when I'm in a cape with a totally GREEN FACE! Who borrows SUGAR, anyway? That's like something out of the FIFTIES!!!!

I burst out laughing, of course (pretty funny story) - and then say (as soon as I can breath)

ME: Oh, Mark! That probably just made him like you MORE!

MARK: OH my God! He probably thinks I'm CRAZY!

And sure enough, that was the event that REALLY sold Mark and Sunrise on the kind of people that they were living next to. If they had had any doubts - they now knew that THIS was the kind of family that made their living room into a giant tent and had super tall, gay , male babysitters running around with capes and green face paint on. They came over ALL the time after that! In fact, they came over so often, that THAT is how we started calling Mark 'Gay Mark'. It was to differentiate him from Mark Ruffalo.

Mark and Sunrise live in upstate New York now, and I only see Mark Ruffalo once in a blue moon. But, unfortunately for my best mate, 'Gay Mark' has stuck like glue.

Peter and I spend the night in a mansion. 2

Sorry about that. I had to take a break in the story to pick my beautiful daughter up from the airport. Where were we? Ah yes! The house!

Peter's family house revealed herself to me in the moonlight like a scene out of a movie. And not just any movie. This house was GIANT - and old and beautiful. It looked like the mansions from all of the old black and white movies I loved so much - 'The Philadelphia Story', or 'Sabrina'. It was that kind of a house. I stopped in my tracks, my jaw dropping to the ground.

Peter turned around to see my awe. "Pretty neat, hu?"
I shook my head, 'yes'. Little bit of an understatement.

As Peter showed me through every room of the deserted house, I felt like I was trespassing in one of my own dreams. All the furniture still remained, perfectly arranged in all of the main rooms of the house. The inside looked like one of those movie houses, too. Complete with an entire servants' wing that had it's own separate stairway. That was the only section of the house that was mostly bare. The other rooms had furniture that was straight out those movies, too. Like nothing had been touched since this house's glory days - with Katherine Hepburn types running around in white tennis outfits designed by Edith Head.

We turned on very few lights. Some of them didn't work - or bulbs had simply gone out and not been replaced - so most of the tour was in the movie-like moonlight. There was a slight powder of dust over most of it, but not so very much. It must not have been completely empty for too long. The house reminded me of a strong, elegant old woman. You know those women. They might be 75, or even 80, but they still have impeccable posture, and wear white gloves. They smell like a perfect combination of moth balls, cedar and Chanel number 5.

I was in a movie. Or a dream. This place was so unreal.
And as Peter led me around and saw my delight in every detail of the place, his face revealed how proud he was of bringing me here - of giving me this night.
"Before we go upstairs, I want to show you one more thing..." he said.
"Ok." I gave him my hand, felt half in a trance.
He led me out the back door onto a perfectly soft, damp lawn. Just before us, a little way down, something was sparkling, moving.
"What's that sound?" I asked as we walked towards the back of the yard.
"Well, I imagine it's just the geese. Or the swan."
Sure enough, there they were - two beautiful geese and a swan, waddling right in front of us. They honked a greeting - more movie/dream magic as far as I was concerned - and kept waddling by.
And then I could hear another sound. It was the ocean lapping gently and rythmically up against the back of the yard. The moving sparkle was the ocean in the moonlight. The Long Island Sound. "Maybe that's why it was called a 'sound'", I thought. "Because it sounds so pretty."

We took our shoes off and put our feet in the water. It wasn't TOO cold. Then we sat on the damp grass and just looked. Looked out at that quiet, calming body of water. It was so beautiful. All of it. The water and the sky. The spring smells and the salty smell of the water mixing like a tonic. The sounds of that lapping water and the soft honks of the geese every once in a while, then a turtledove cooing from a high branch.

I snuggled up to Peter. Traced my fingers to the back of his neck, then into his thick hair at the base of it.
"Thank you, Peter." I whispered. (A whisper was imperative, so as not to break the spell) "Thank you for dragging me here."
Peter chuckled really softly, in this way he had of doing. "You're welcome." he said."I thought you'd like it." He looked really happy. "Are you ready for bed yet?" he asked.
I nodded 'yes.'
"Good." He kissed me on the lips. Softly and deeply. "Because...", he continued as he took my face in his hands and kissed me all over my face - my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, my chin, "I intend to take all of your clothes off myself..." (more kisses moving to my ears and neck)"..one by one, very slowly, and do wonderful things to you."
"You do?" I whispered even more softly - under his spell.
"Yes, Jennifer. I'm going to make this a night you will never forget."

I followed Peter through the beautiful dream house, all the way up to the third floor. He took me into a story-book bedroom, right out of the 1930's. There, in the moonlight, he carried out his promise. He peeled off one damp garment at a time. Slowly, gently...kissing every inch of my body as he went.

From the moment I saw this amazing house, everything felt like a dream. Time moved slowly - as slow as can be. My breath entered and exited my body as if I were in some strange element. I might as well have been drugged on some blissful substance - the way that I felt. I had stepped into another world that night. An elegant, old world of grace and black and white fairy tales.

And our love making was no different. Slow and dreamy. Surreal, and yet so sensual. Every touch, every kiss, felt deeply. Every nerve was alive and receptive.

Afterwards, I felt like I was falling into a giant, warm featherbed of sleepy bliss. Every muscle in my body was relaxed, every sense sated, every nerve satisfied. Peter's warm shoulder smelled and felt so perfect and safe and delicious.
He turned his head sleepily to me as if he were falling into the same featherbed - gently being pulled and wrapped into happy sleep.

"I love you.." he barely whispered.
I don't know if I said it back to him, or only thought the words as I passed from one dream into a deeper one, and into the softest sleep I can ever remember.

Peter and I spend the night in a mansion.

The short time I spent with Peter in New york, were some of the happiest months of my life.
We told each other our dreams and hopes and plans. We shared our fears about the future as well. But mostly we made each other laugh and explored the city like two twitter-pated kids.If you don't know what that word means, I suggest you watch 'Bambi' again. We were just like those young Disney animal characters in the spring time. Drunk on hormones and love and youth. And what better place to be in such a state than NYC in the eighties?

On one of those fine, spring days, Peter asked if I wanted to visit his family in Rye, New York. Just a train ride away, on Long Island Sound.
I was reluctant - again - with out knowing why. Even now, I don't know why I was reluctant. He proposed visiting his Aunt and cousin who lived there. I ADORED Peter's parents - BOTH of them - so I don't know why I was so hesitant.

"Come on, it'll be fun. It's so beautiful out now - let's get out of the city. It's really pretty there, you'll see. And, the thing is, our family is selling this old house that's been in the family for a really long time - so it's probably my last chance to see it before it's gone.." His face looked so sweet and eager. How could I refuse?
"We'll just stay for one night." he said reassuringly.

So we packed one little overnight bag for the two of us and hopped on a train to Rye.

I knew nothing about Rye. I had been to one neighborhood on Long Island that I thought was hilarious. It was the kind of neighborhood and house that made me think of Hilary's exaggerated Long Island accent when she'd say "What's a Jewish American princess' favorite wine? " (dramatic pause - Hil is the BEST joke teller) "I want to go to Miaaaaaameeee!"
And along with her tails of growing up on long Island, I pictured housewives with big hair and long painted finger nails driving around in big cars, wearing too much make-up. I thought Rye would be like that.

But Rye was quite different.
We got there just as dusk was touching the branches of all the newly sprouting trees. Peter's aunt picked us up from the train station, and I was immediately pleased. Like his parents, she was warm and witty, super smart and FUN. She drove us a short way to her house, and though it was getting dark, I could tell that Rye (at least this part of it) was OLD MONEY. Stately old homes that sat down long driveways lined the streets along with giant old trees and flowering bushes.

We pulled into the gravel driveway that led to Peter's aunt's house. I remembered that I loved the sound of tires on crunchy gravel. Inside, it was warm and cozy. I should have expected nothing less. No wonder Peter was so great. These were the people that he came from. Today, Sarah Palin would call them "elite". You know, because they had been to good colleges and were well read and had done some traveling. Because they read the New York Times, and actually LEARNED things on their travels.

We drank good wine, had a great meal that these lovely ladies made for us - and great conversation, sprinkled with lots of laughter. I could, and CAN, be pretty shy sometimes - but they made me feel at home immediately. I must be completely honest right now and say that I did allow myself to fantasize about what it would be like to be a part of this family into the future. But only for a moment. Much like Jeff's family,this one was right on the verge of being too good to be true. I had read about these kinds of people, and seen them in movies - but never had I experienced them for myself until now.

During the evening, it was explained to me that they were living in the old coach house of the the primary family house - which I hadn't really even caught a glimpse of. The "big" house was down a long driveway - and it was the house that was going to be sold shortly. Peter and I were going to sleep in the "big" house tonight. My curiosity was piqued.

A little after midnight, we said our goodnights, gave big hugs all around, and Peter and I strolled down the driveway. The night was so sweet. It smelled like new grass and fresh air. There was a huge moon that night, and it poured soft light over everything. Already my heart felt like it would burst with unadulterated joy - and then, just passed another beautiful tree, the house revealed itself.

Sicky Mc Sick Sick. (Andre)

Ok, yes. Ryan got me started saying that. The Mc Sick thing.
Anyhoo- desperately sick for the last few days. Head on fire, throat feels like acid is being poured down it constantly...not fun. And the worst part is that I can't sleep. Horrible when your body needs to so badly.

What am I thinking about in this weakened condition? Well, love, naturally. Don't you always feel extra specially alone when you're weak and helpless and there's no -one to take care of you? No one even to do a load of dishes? I do. But then, again - it's been so long since I've had a REAL relationship that I also feel grateful that there's no-one in my life that has to see me this way. Eyes puffy,blowing my nose and coughing. Come to think about it, the last guy I screwed everything up with who was worth two bits went like this :

We went out on dates. I never let him pick me up at my house. I always met him wherever. He always asked me back to HIS house, made dinner for me, poured me excellent scotch - a new kind every time - DJ ed our whole night impeccibly from his excellent collection of jazz albums. He played me one song after another, as though he were offering up love poems. A night long seduction. He had this beautiful stereo where most people would have a TV. And his place was great. One of those 'Snow White' cottages that you hear about, sprinkled around in Hollywood and Los Feliz.

He was so handsome. Big and strong, with great big muscles and a big beautiful smile. Andre. he always wanted me to stay the night, and I would always slip out in the middle of the night. I loved sleeping with him - it was so cozy.He had a great big bed with million count white sheets and down everything, lots of pillows. And he was lovely to sleep with. Didn't suffocate me, or stay too far away. He snuggled for exactly the right amount of time before he rolled over and gave me a little bit of space - but still just touching me somewhere...like, maybe even just our feet were touching. Very reassuring. So why did I always feel the need to get up and sneak out at 3am? Not that it worked, anyway. He was such a gentleman. He ALWAYS woke up, and he ALWAYS insisted on walking me all the way to my car.I think that's REALLY what made me start staying over finally. The guilt of getting this poor man out of bed at that hour and having him walk down to the street in the cold.

I didn't want him to get too involved. Maybe I didn't want to get too involved.He was so neat and tidy. His world was so organized and perfect, and mine was such a mess. I figured the longer I could keep him at arms length - not seeing the reality of my crazy, messy life - the longer I'd get to hang out with him. For me, going over to his place was like going on a mini vacation. I was spoiled and romanced and pampered, and the only interruption to our perfect nights there were by his ridiculously odd and adorable cats. If he came over to MY house - it would be like sending him into a war zone! Max, his girlfriend, and the rock band, the other 3 kids, their friends...CHAOS! My house is clean and tidy approximately one fourth of the time these days. Gone are the days of Jennifer and her TV money ;therefor gone are the days of a full time housekeeper/nanny.

After months of going on like this, Andre finally talked me into staying over. But then I DASHED out in the morning, not wanting him to see me looking less than perfect.
"Jennifer...." he said very sweetly one night after we'd both had 3 glasses of scotch and another one of his perfect meals."Why don't you stay for breakfast tomorrow morning? I make a good breakfast, too."
"No. I don't think so." I said, coyly.
"Oh, but I just got the best coffee from that cheese shop next to Trader Joe's, and you don't have to get up early. You can just stay in bed until the smell of that good coffee and some applewood smoked bacon lure you down here.." He said this as he refilled my scotch and kissed me real softly on the neck, his lips just barely touching my skin. Oh! He was good. But I was not falling for it.
"Nope. I just don't think I can."
Now the funny side of Andre came out. He pulled back, crossed his arms over his chest (with scotch in hand) and gave me this pouty kind of look. He looked like he was about to stomp his foot.
"Well, that's not fair. Who's gonna read the New York Times with me?"

Tonight, I was out to dinner with my brother and Kristan and the kids and I saw this bumper-sticker that said "reading is sexy". I want one.

That was the line that finally made me cave. My perfect dream romance is one where we would read the New York Times together over good coffee and bacon. And with someone who has a body like Superman, AND he can cook, AND he has excellent taste in music and scotch!! WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WITH ME?????????

So, I started to stay for breakfast every once in a while. And I even allowed him to meet the kids - one at a time, in controlled settings. But I pretty much kept him AWAY from my house. I just wasn't perfect enough for this perfect guy, and I did NOT want it to end yet.He asked questions - specific questions - about my life. I'd say things like "You don't want to know..."
He told me he wanted to stay over at my place some time, that he wanted "in" to my life. I didn't let him in. I didn't want him to know how vulnerable and NOT together I really was.

And then, I got sick. I got the flue. Really, really, bad.
What did Andre want to do? Bring me chicken soup and flowers OF COURSE. He wanted to take care of me.
"DON'T come over." I said to him on the phone, in a super nasally voice."DO NOT come over. I MEAN IT! I do NOT want you to see me like this."
"I'm comin' over.." he said, relentless."I'm comin' over there with some soup, so too bad. You sound terrible."
"Oh NO!!! DO NOT come over here!" I demanded. "The house is a mess!"
"Of course it is." he said. "You're down with the flu, you can't be cleaning the house right now. Don't worry about it, I'll clean it up for you."

I pretty much want to kill myself right now as I'm writing this. This is how moronic I am.
Andre came over with chicken soup from Victor's (the best in town) and flowers and orange juice and vitamins - and I was HORRIBLE to him. Horrible and mean and ungrateful.

So that was pretty much the beginning of the end. The end came quickly after that. Andre had seen an opportunity to show me that he was open minded to my crazy, sometimes messy house, and the kids and he jumped on it. He wanted to be needed. Don't we all? I would have wanted to do something nice for HIM if he was sick....
And I ruined it.
So I deserve to be sick and alone.

I saw Andre a couple of months ago at the dresden, where we first met. I think he was on a date. I didn't think she was pretty enough for him. And he didn't seem to be as into her as he had been with me, but SHE was REALLY into him. She wouldn't kick him out if he brought HER chicken soup.

I called my one and only back-up man. Mark. My gay husband/girlfriend/traveling companion/creative partner/design and gardening consultant. I told him all about it.

There was a big sigh on the other side of the phone line before Mark answered, "Well of COURSE you screwed it up, honey - he has a JOB!"

Marieke.

Forgive me. But I must take a break from the Peter story.
You see, all that has to happen is for me to see a photo, or hear a word from my daughter, and I am reduced to tears, and no other thoughts - sometimes for days.

Marieke will absorb many more pages of my writing at some time. But for now - well, we'll see.

This is one of the most important stories of my life. It is so influential in how I think, how I make decisions as a mother and a person. It has affected me in every way.

But let's start with Mieke, Marieke's mother.
I met Mieke in a most unusual way. I love hearing her tell the story of how we met for the first time, and often ask her to repeat it. We'll be at a party (for example) and someone will say "How did you two meet?"
I will then look at my beautiful friend, and by now, she knows from my look that I want HER to tell the story.
So Mieke says ( with her slightest of slight Dutch accent and her lovely sweet and forthright way) "Well...the first time I saw Miss Jeni, she was in a golden dress and she flew right over my head on a trapeze."
And then we both laugh - because it's true, but so many more important and remarkable things have happened to and with us since then. About a million years ago (it seems), Mieke was with her husband, Chris Douridas, in Dallas, and they saw me in a play where I, indeed, flew over Mieke's head wearing a gold lame prom dress.

Although Chris has since become more well known for being an incredibly accomplished DJ and interviewer, and music supervisor for huge movies, he was, in Dallas, an actor as well, and part of the small theater community. Luckily for me.

We all moved out to LA at roughly the same time, and Mieke and I began to be friends when we were both pregnant with our daughters. We would see each other at MTV events, and parties - but we didn't become GREAT friends until we both went through our own versions of our own rocky divorces. Mine was first. And both she and Chris were so good to me. So supportive.
By the time she was divorced and moved closer to me into my adjoining neighborhood, Los Feliz, she was the single mother of two incredible children, and I was the single mother of three incredible children. And they all ended up going to the same incredible school. The Hollywood Little Red Schoolhouse. Much more about this VERY special place later. So much has come from that place with such an old - fashioned, funny name.

Mieke and I had many things in common. We were both very young mothers. We both came here from Dallas - (via Holland in her case) - we were, in fact, SUCH young mothers, that both of us had been mothers our entire ADULT lives, pretty much. In her case, she had been married to Chris her entire adult life. Our youngest two children were the same age, and got along like gang busters.

Her daughter, Marieke, was my daughter, Izzy's age. They went to school together in this tiny, lovely school that felt like family. They both had health issues. My daughter had to go to the front office to take pills and powders three times a day, and Marieke went with her - to make it more fun. Marieke had to be taken to the hospital in the middle of the night sometimes - or sometimes while on vacation from the middle of the woods - she had epilepsy. And Mieke called me to come and sleep over with her son, Luka.
Luka was Sophie's age. They got along like gang busters, too. Izzy and Marieke were best friends. They believed in fairies, and went on "spying missions" together in the neighborhood. Sophie and Luka could be left together for hours - we wouldn't hear a peep.

This made life wonderful for me - and I think for Meike - for a time. We became best friends at the same pace our daughters were becoming best friends. We had parties together, we went dancing together, to movies in the middle of day, we went on trips together. I joked and referred to our power as "double blonde". When we went out - nothing could stop us. And as much as we shared fun adventures, we shared painful things, too. Mieke has ALWAYS been there for me. ALWAYS.

After a few years of crazy fun times, our friends melding together into one big raucous group, Mieke and her sweetheart, Jim, moved out to South Pasadena with the kids. For the kids. The schools there are the best public schools in the entire LA area. They were happy, bought a sweet house, and I saw less of them than before. Simply because of the distance. Driving in LA traffic can take it's toll on many things. We were still close in our hearts, we just didn't spen as much time together.

One of the many friends that had melded into both of our worlds, was my "gay husband", Mark. He still babysat for both of us from time to time, and after a gig at Mieke's house with Marieke and Luka, he would call me up and say, "That Marieke is SO GOOD. She's almost TOO good! She gets upset if I get them to bed even 5 minutes late! You really have to be on your toes with that one!"
To which I would laugh. I knew that side of Marieke very well.

Marieke was a beautiful little girl with long, shining blonde hair, perfect, delicate features and sparkling eyes. When She and Izzy were young, people always thought they were sisters. She was the sweetest and kindest person I have ever met. Young or old. She became a vegetarian early on, because she couldn't bear the thought of killing animals for food. She was universally loved in all of her classes, and she was always rescuing one animal or another. Mieke's house began to be filled up with wounded birds,squirrels, - you name it. If they couldn't find a home for the creature, it was welcomed into their own.

And then, as she came into her teenage years, Marieke was drawn more and more to acting. She got her heart set on going to the performing arts high school, which was very hard to get into. It was by audition only, and loads of kids were turned away.
So, Mieke gave me a call.
"I'm so worried she won't get in." she confided in me."It's really, really hard, Jennifer.I just don't want her to get her heart broken, you know?"
Of course I knew. I had done it myself at Marieke's age.
"Can you help her with her Shakespeare monologue, Jeni? I don't know anything about that, and anyway - you know how they are - they won't listen to their MOTHER."

So I helped Marieke with her monologues. And it was such a treat. I LOVE working with young people on acting projects of all and any kind. And this was especially wonderful for me because it afforded me some very rare and lovely one on one time with one of my favorite people in the world.It allowed me to see a real glimpse of the teenage Marieke that I had seen too little of since they moved away and were all in different schools. She was the same sweet girl I had always known - happy, and shy - AND - a GOOD actress.

She got into the performing arts high school and won a rather big award for her acting in a film that year.

I guess another reason that Mieke and I didn't spend as much time together was because I was still single, and she was happily settled down with Jim. They weren't married yet, but they may as well have been.
Not long after we had seen a screening of Marieke's big movie debut, I went out on a date. I had 4 children by this time, and August was still pretty little. So - of course - Mark came over to babysit. Wonderful, patient Mark. Mark who put up with Sophie's fickle needs and sometimes bossy attitude towards her little brother.

Sophie hated it when I went on a date, and sometimes tried to sabotage my evening so I'd have to come home earlier.So, when my cell phone started to blow up right after we had ordered dinner, and before we were even halfway through our first martinis, I put the thing on silent, and hoped that Mark could handle whatever terrible macaroni and cheese crisis had come up on his own. I was having so much fun with this handsome writer, the restaurant was excellent,and our waitress could not be more lovely. She came to our table right after the mussels had been served.
"Miss Nash?" she directed at me, "There's a phone call for you at the front.." she said, indicating that the phone was at the hostess' station by the front door.
"I'm sorry. " I said to my date, "It's probably just my daughter."
"No problem. Im not going anywhere." he said with a smile.

I picked up the the heavy, old fashioned phone. It was shiny black, the kind my Grandmother used to have in the office of her dress shop.
"Hello?" I asked.
Mark's voice came through the phone. But even in that second - that very long second - before I heard his voice, I could feel that something was wrong. I felt instantly sober and sick to my stomach before he'd even had a chance to tell me.

"Marieke...Marieke is dead."

Mark's voice sounded strange and small. It sounded twisted and far away. He said more things to me - but I was in shock, I couldn't hear him. Or understand him. Once again I found myself crying "NO! No, no NO!!! "
I think I might have said something to him about it better not be a sick joke - but I could tell that it wasn't. As much as Mark likes to joke around, and as dark as his humor can be - he would never do that.
I felt the tears and pain twist my body into a crazy shape. The gentleman that I was on a date with came over immediately, and the waitress held me up. They were both saying they were so, so sorry. I think his name was John.
Somehow he got me home. Somehow Mark and I got through that night. I don't remember him leaving my house. I think he may have stayed the night, just to make sure I was ok. I spoke to Jim. He sounded like a ghost. Mieke was sedated.

The next few days and weeks were hell for me, for my family,and for Mieke and her family of course.I felt so helpless. And so angry. I wanted to take God on. I wanted to fight him - to strangle him. It didn't make any sense. This wasn't supposed to happen. Marieke was supposed to go to the performing arts school. She and Izzy were supposed to grow up together. Be at each other's weddings. They used to to come to Mieke and I and say, "We want to have girls at the same time - like you guys did - so that there will be three generations of best friends. Grandmothers, mothers and daughters."
THAT'S how it was supposed to happen! Not like this!

Marieke had a seizure and died in the bathtub, in her mother's arms. She hadn't had one in almost two years. She was celebrating after a performance of 'Grease' by having ice-cream in the tub. In the five minutes it took for her mother to go get the ice cream, it happened.

I have never seen a Church so full of people as I did at Marieke's funeral. It was so full, that when I got there, I thought the overflow of people outside WAS the funeral.I was inconsolable. Sophie held me while I sobbed in her arms.I just couldn't stop.

A few days later, I took Luka and my kids to Disneyland for his birthday. What a suck birthday for him. But he was great. Luka kept everyone amused by doing magic tricks in the weeks following.

We lost my little brother, Paul, when he was only ten. We lost Marieke when she was only fourteen. I am sure they are somewhere good. But it's hard for the people that miss them. That feel cheated out of their rightful time with these bright and beautiful children.

All we have is time on this earth. All the money or power in the world couldn't buy Mieke or I more time with these two amazing people.
And that is what shapes my world.
The ever present question of "How have you spent your time?"

A couple of years later, I began to see John (my date) at the gym sometimes. At first,he pretended not to recognize me, avoided me at all costs. I guess it was too uncomfortable for him. But after a while, he got to the point where he would nod to me BEFORE he high-tailed it out of whatever room I was in.

And not long ago, I went to a new Italian restaurant that I'd heard about from an old Italian bartender at the Dresden.I walked into this funny little restaurant in a strip mall in Silverlake, and there was the waitress that had held me up when I got that awful call.
Without any words from either of us, she came over and gave me hug. A total stranger. We stood there, hugging one another for what was probably a couple of minutes. A couple of minutes well spent.