A remembrance: My night with Farrah Fawcett
I had "the poster".
Like most boys in the 70's, it hung over my bed and I spent countless hours staring into those perfect eyes thinking "someday I'm going to marry Farrah Fawcett. We can live in Hollywood and be big movie stars."
It didn't quite work out that way, but I did get to spend one amazing night with my dream girl and yes, it was better than expected.
Nine years ago, I was in the middle of a long and very sad divorce (as if there is a happy/fun divorce). I was in Los Angeles working and became friends with super agent Jay Bernstein. Jay's self-given title was "Star Maker," because he discovered such iconic beauties like Mary Hart, Suzanne Summers and yes, Farrah.
Jay at the time was, I don't know about 140 years old and was going through yet another divorce himself, from his 30-something wife, we bonded over the sadness. Or rather I was sad, Jay was cool.
As we sat one day at his house looking over Beverly Hills, he told me his philosophy in life, "out here you can live your life like it's a movie, there is always a happy ending, if you choose, you never have to be sad for long."
I argued that it was a crap excuse of way to live and left it at
that. A few days later, Jay invited me to his house for dinner, it was
near Valentines Day, and I was particularly down, so I gladly accepted.
When I arrived at his house, it was just the two of us, a lonely
hearts club, having a drink and a cigar in LA LA Land. As we jumped
back into the argument, "the movie" began.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Jay went to answer, and before I knew it there Farrah was: the poster had come to life.
I was 12 years old again, my knees weak, throat dry, no idea what to
say. Before I could blurt out "I love you, marry me," she was hugging
me, a kiss on the cheek, I was living the dream.
We talked, we laughed, we hung out. She was just as amazing as I had
dreamed: gracious, glamourous, amazing. The 12-year-old boy inside me
was singing and dancing and jumping up and down with joy!
As in all movies, it had to end. It ended as quickly as it began.
She gave me another kiss, a final hug and was gone, only existing in my
memory.
This morning, as I put my newborn son down to sleep for his morning
nap, I thought, "buddy you will never know who Farrah Fawcett was. She
is gone, only a memory for 40-something guys like your dad."
As I walked down the hallway and passed my 9-year-old daughters room
and glanced at the life-size poster of Zac Efron, it was history
repeating itself. It made me laugh.
Zac, Miley, Jessica, they are all bad copies. For me there will only
be one and I was fortunate enough to have spent a little time "living
in the movie with her, my starlet, the dream girl of a generation,
Farrah."
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