Opening The Vault: Part Fourteen

When I think about my college days, I can’t help feeling nostalgic -- especially when it comes to my junior year in London.

My nine-month stint in England’s capital served up a series of memorable sights (including the late and lovely Princess Diana) and equally memorable entanglements with the opposite sex.

Things heated up on the romantic front during my final week abroad, at a dorm party that found me reconnecting with former flame and genuine good guy Stuart. I now Open The Vault and take you back to the summer of 1994...

June 10th, 1994

London, England
Commonwealth Hall

Dear Diary,

As Stuart and I danced, I scrambled to think of a plausible reason for inviting him up to my room. Inspiration soon hit me, and I told Stuart I needed his help with a computer problem.

Being a computer whiz/addict, Stuart didn’t hesitate to oblige my request and upstairs we went. He sat at my desk and I pulled up a chair right next to him, making a point of leaning in close as we talked, and flashing him my best seductive smile.

My Humble Abode: Room 725 at University of London's Commonwealth Hall

It turned out that my technical difficulty with accessing computer sound files perplexed Stuart as well.

“So,” he asked, “what do you do?”

Though he was referring to how I had tried to access the sound files, the playful smile on his face confirmed he had more than computers on his mind.

I continued flirting, happily remaining at only a breath’s distance and resting my chin on my hands. When Stuart briefly left, I decided to create some ambiance, by turning off all of the lights except one, putting on music and shpritzing myself with perfume.

Upon his return and at his request, Stuart moved to the bed. Enjoying the slow, sensual pace of things, I restrained myself from laying next to him and chose instead to remain in the chair.

* * *

Before the night was over, Stuart and I would re-cross the platonic line with a kiss, and the promise of another encounter before my imminent departure. He would also predict that, once I was back in New York, my year abroad would seem like a dream.

He was absolutely right.

Opening The Vault: Part Thirteen

My junior year in London brought with it the opportunity to explore a lot more than just England’s capital. Having been preceded by two years at Mount Holyoke College, my stint abroad was a welcome chance to experience life in a very co-ed setting, Commonwealth Hall.

London's Commonwealth Hall: A 2-to-1 guy-girl ratio made for an eventful year at this college dorm

New love and California native Mark (a.k.a. Sparky) captured my heart during a memorable week together in April. Though I was sad to say goodbye to him -- not knowing when our next encounter would be -- I didn’t let that interfere with enjoying my final weeks in Londontown and reconnecting with some previous suitors of the local variety. I now Open The Vault and take you back to June of 1994….

London, England
Commonwealth Hall

June 10th, 1994

Dear Diary,

As usual on the night of a Commie Hall party, the bar was packed. Still, the party itself (in the cafeteria) was pretty dead, so I decided to go upstairs and bond with Carine for a little while. We lamented our single status and mutual desire to have a fling.

We both decided that Stuart would be my best prospect, so Carine and I went down to Eddie’s room and sure enough, Stuart was there. He greeted me with a big hug and kiss.

“You’re looking very shwingsome tonight,” he said as we left Eddie’s room together arm in arm.

I don’t know if it was because we hadn’t seen each other in a month, but Stuart was noticeably interested in me. Still, I wanted to make sure he knew I had more than platonic bonding in mind…without throwing myself at him. A woman has to plan her strategy carefully in situations like this…

At the party, Stuart and I danced a lot, inching closer and closer to each other with every song. During a breather at the bar, he murmured--

“I have a proposition for you.”

He paused intentionally before adding that he was referring to a possible visit from him once I was back in New York. He asked if I was disappointed he wasn’t referring to another kind of proposition, and I wondered if perhaps I was being a little too obvious. When he squeezed my lower back with both hands, I knew I had nothing to worry about…

* * *

There was a nice bit of symmetry to my reprise with Stuart. We had gone out a few times during first semester then decided to be just friends when one of his friends emerged as competition for my affections. Little did I know that, before my final week in London was over, I would also get reacquainted with the first man to turn my head in England’s capital.

Opening The Vault: Part Eleven

When you’re in the throes of new romance, simple moments tend to take on a larger-than-life quality. California native Mark (a.k.a Sparky) and I enjoyed many storybook-worthy moments during our time together in England’s capital.

As our week in London drew to a close, things between us intensified and I began to wonder if Sparky just might be my Mr. Right. I now Open The Vault and take you back to the spring of 1994.…

London, England
Commonwealth Hall

May 2nd, 1994

Dear Diary,

Sparky and I made our way to Paddington Station, the departing point for trains to Oxford. Oxford was lovely -- quaint, charming and, on this particular day, bustling with university students taking part in a parade.

Sunny Day in Oxford: Sparky bought me this hat just before taking this picture

Classical Charm: Oxford's majestic architecture, visible at every turn

At one point, as Sparky and I strolled hand in hand, we walked past a bridal boutique and mused aloud about the possibility of getting married. That conversational thread was picked up again when we stopped for ice cream in a cobblestone square. It felt like fate was smiling down on the possibility of Sparky and I ending up together for good someday….

* * *

The next morning, after a chaste night of cuddling and conversation, I woke up feeling a contentment I never had before. With his arms around me, he murmured--

“I love you.”

I knew I was falling for Sparky but I remained silent. It was too easy to say it because of his proximity. I needed to be sure.

* * *

Today, after strolling past Trafalgar Square toward the Houses of Parliament, we paused on a stoop to look at some pictures we developed at a one-hour place. I lingered for a long moment on one of the pix. There was a smile on my face I’d never seen before. I knew Sparky was the reason for that and I felt a surge of feeling toward him. The words came tumbling out.

“I love you,” I said. “I really love you.”

“I love you too,” Sparky said, and we kissed.

* * *

My final day in London with Sparky brought with it the promise of another encounter in England’s capital. Little did I know that this was only the beginning of frequent flying for both of us.

Months later, as a senior at Mount Holyoke College, I would be recognized for my romance-related travel with a dorm award -- Most Likely To Fly To California On A Whim.

A Year Of Firsts

My junior year abroad in London brought with it many firsts. First time I fell in love, first time I juggled multiple men, first time I became good friends with someone I met in an elevator.

That someone was my Commonwealth Hall floor mate, Carine. A smart, stunning woman with a big heart and beautiful smile, Carine offered a sympathetic ear during many a late night conversation in her room. I also credit her with introducing me to the remarkably soothing powers of tea.

During our year as neighbors, Carine and I celebrated many milestones, from her 21st birthday to the dissolution of our respective romances du jour.

All smiles: Carine and me in my room at Commie Hall, London, January 1994

My good friend recently marked another milestone -- the beginning of a year of firsts. For the next 365 days, Carine is going to try something new every single day. She is chronicling her year of firsts at http://do-you-remember-the-first-time.blogspot.com/

I’m looking forward to following Carine’s exciting journey and maybe even embarking on some firsts of my own.

Opening The Vault: Part Eight

It's not very often that real-life romance kicks off in fairy tale fashion. I’ve been fortunate to experience this unusual twist a few times, most dramatically with my first love, California native Mark (a.k.a Sparky).

After meeting in the middle of an “NYPD Blue” shoot, Sparky and I were quickly in the throes of infatuation. Our initial days together were a whirlwind of intimate dinners, carriage rides in Central Park and talk of the future.

That first weekend ended with a diamond band from Sparky and a promise – that he would spend his upcoming vacation time with me.

Over the course of the next five weeks, we burned up the phone lines and Sparky made good on his word, booking a trip to London, where I was spending my junior year. During one of our conversations, I let him know my stance on sex – specifically, that I planned to wait until marriage to have it. Though he was taken aback by my revelation, Sparky didn’t waver when I asked him if he was still coming.

“Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat.

And so it was that, after a 12-hour journey from L.A., Sparky made his way to London to woo me like no other man had before. I now Open The Vault and take you back to the spring of 1994...

London, England
April 27, 1994

Dear Diary,

After our long cab ride from Heathrow, we finally arrived at the Regent’s Park Hilton. Up in Sparky’s room, I began unpacking his suitcase while he freshened up in the bathroom. When he poked his head out and saw what I was doing, he said --

“I should just propose to you right now.”

“Haven’t you already?” I replied with a smile, and he laughed, remembering that he had.

* * *

I treated Sparky and me to a show -- the haunting, dazzling “Phantom of The Opera.” Toward the end, I heard a sniffling sound coming from him and sure enough, he was crying.

After the lights came up, Sparky apologized for being so sentimental. I assured him he had nothing to be sorry about. Overcome with emotion, he looked at me and said with great urgency --

“There’s so much I want to share with you.”

* * *

Hand in hand, we walked to Trafalgar Square. There, with the majestic fountains behind us, right in one of London’s most sublime spots, we kissed -- over and over again. As Sparky remained standing, I sat on the edge of the fountain and rested my hands on his shoulders. Forget soap operas and novels, this was the real thing!!

London's Trafalgar Square: The perfect spot for romance

Next, we strolled into Covent Garden for dinner at one of my favorite Italian bistros, La Quercia D’Oro. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a surprise given that Sparky and I were still very much in the getting-to-know-each-other stage.

Back in my room at Commonwealth Hall, I lit some candles. As soon as Sparky touched me, I could feel my entire body respond. All we did was kiss, but it was a thousand times more passionate than anything I had experienced before.

After we said goodnight, I knocked on my floor mate Carine’s door to get her advice about whether I should spend any nights with Sparky at his hotel.

“If you want him to respect the decision you’ve made [to not have sex], then you have to respect it too,” she said.

* * *

Though I resolved to follow Carine's counsel, resisting temptation proved to be easier said than done….

London was only the beginning for me and Sparky. Not too long ago, he reminisced about our time together in England’s capital.

“The week we spent in London was the best time I ever shared with someone.”

Fourteen years later, I feel the same way. Even when there’s 3,000 miles of geography in the way, some loves never leave you.

Opening The Vault: Part Five

My junior year in London brought with it a whirlwind of romantic activity -- a welcome change after two quiet years at my Massachusetts alma mater, Mount Holyoke College.

With a two-to-one guy-girl ratio, my dormitory Commonwealth Hall served up a steady stream of male distractions -- including an unexpected fling with a good friend. The fling ended so badly that romance was the last thing on my mind when I flew back to New York for spring break. Fate, however, had other plans.

It was during this break that I ended up meeting the man who would become my first true love and real-life version of Mr. Big. The day our paths crossed, my sister Hilary and I were invited by Bill Clark, a family friend and producer of “NYPD Blue” to watch a taping of the show in Tompkins Square Park.

Hilary, actor Dennis Franz and me on the set of "NYPD Blue," March 1994

I now Open The Vault and take you back to 1994...

New York City
March 23, 1994

Dear Diary,

As I rounded the corner where "NYPD Blue" was shooting, I was enchanted with all of the hustle and bustle unfolding before me. There were police cars, movie cameras and those monogrammed folding chairs that are de rigeur on TV and movie sets. I’d never been so close to the action before…I wondered how we were going to find Bill amidst all of the commotion. I spotted a crew member standing by a sound mixing device and approached him.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know where I can find Bill Clark?”

The man graciously suggested that if I stood right there, Bill would come by. He continued to engage me in small talk and I learned he was sound mixer for the show. We had only been talking for a few minutes when he said--

“You’re so beautiful, you should be in front of the cameras.”

A delighted smile crossed my face. Though his name was Mark, he said his on-set nickname was Sparky so that’s what I called him.

Bill Clark appeared and chatted with Hilary, as Sparky and I continued flirting… For some reason, I didn’t feel the need to subject him to my usual sarcasm and anti-male rhetoric. Probably because of the immediate attraction between us and the fact that he was more charming than any guy I had met before.

When shooting resumed, Sparky invited me to sit in his monogrammed folding chair, and gave me headphones to listen to the scenes being filmed. I saw him whisper something to my sister and then walk away.

“He said he has some time off soon,” Hilary told me. “And he’d like to spend it with you.”

* * *

I had no idea then that Sparky would act on his words and woo me across time zones and bodies of water.

And so it was that we began the recurring dynamic of coming together and letting go that would define our relationship for more than a decade. Defying the odds stacked against us -- namely geography and a 16-year age difference -- we sustained a connection that forever changed my definition of love.

I’ve got the diary entries to prove it.

Opening The Vault: Part Four

During my junior year abroad in London, the first of several romantic distractions was my floor mate, Germany-born hunk Fabian. Fabian was not without his peccadilloes -- namely the fact that he had a girlfriend and a knack for pushing my buttons. Particularly when we had plans one night and he opted instead to go solo to a movie.

I was still smarting from this slight when he knocked on my door the next day. I now open the vault and take you back to November 1993...

Monday, November 1, 1993
Commonwealth Hall, London

Dear Diary,

Less than five minutes after Fabian had stopped by my room while I was with a girlfriend, I knocked on his door, closed it behind me and admitted that I didn’t appreciate being ditched for a B-rated horror film.

He said that I should have told him that I was upset when he asked me the night before. I maintained that I shouldn’t have to spell it out for him, adding that if he didn’t want to spend the evening with me, he could’ve just said so.

I chose not to tell him why I was afraid he was blowing me off -- my fear that he had had enough of being unfaithful to his girlfriend. Mercifully, she never came up as Fabian and I argued, and I wanted to keep it that way. When you’re the ‘other woman,’ you get possessive about the most trivial things, perhaps because you know what you want most is not yours for the taking.

Fabian said he prefers to be flexible with plans, that he likes to have his own way. The latter didn’t surprise me, and it dawned on me that most of the friction between us may be because we’re so similar rather than so different. Despite our little tiff, we managed to part on an amicable note.

“I apologize,” he said, giving me a hug.

“How civilized,” I responded condescendingly. I couldn’t make it easy for him, could I?

I admitted to Fabian that I don’t like letting tension between us go unresolved. What I didn’t say was that I would not have sought him out if he hadn’t come to see me first. After all, only then could the cat and mouse game between us continue.

* * *

My fling with Fabian continued for a couple of months more, with an unexpected and intoxicating reprise at the conclusion of my time in London.

In the interim, my love life took a few other unexpected turns -- including an encounter with an Oscar-nominated California native who became my first big love, one that ended up defying all odds to stretch across time zones and years.

Opening The Vault: Part Three

There’s nothing like getting hit by a truck to make you appreciate life’s fragility. On the night that happened to me in London, I was craving the comfort of my parents back home – and some comfort of the local variety from my on-again/off-again fling and floormate Fabian.

I now open the vault and take you back once again to Halloween night 1993.

Sunday October 31, 1993
Commonwealth Hall, London

Dear Diary,

I told Fabian about the accident and he immediately gave me a hug.

My room was a mess and I didn’t feel like dealing with it, so I suggested we go to his room. We did and I sat down on his bed. As I began to describe what happened, my voice quivered and I broke down in tears again. Fabian came over and put his arm around my shoulder.

“It was really scary, Fabian,” I said between sobs.

I began to shiver, both from anxiety over the accident and the sudden chill in Fabian’s room. I pulled his comforter over me and lying back, asked—

“Will you just hold me please?” Without hesitation, he replied—

“Of course,” getting up briefly to turn off the main light so that there was only the low glimmer of his bedside lamp.

Once he was beside me, he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. I placed my hand over his and slowly, felt myself calm down. Fabian caressed my face and kissed my cheek, urging me not to think about my brush with death. He also told me about being hit by a car himself at the age of 5.

I turned to face him as he spoke and rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair and we laid in silence for awhile. Sometimes, nothing surpasses the security and warmth to be had from this kind of quiet closeness.

…Of course, there is only so long that two youthful, excitable bodies can be in close proximity to one another before the hormones start getting charged up.

Soon, our cheeks were brushing and we were looking right into each other's eyes. Finally, we kissed, a long, lingering kiss.

“You know,” I said, planting kisses on his neck for added emphasis, “I don’t think (kiss) you and I are destined to have a platonic relationship.”

Before Fabian, I never experienced such physical excitement. Given the circumstances (i.e., he has a girlfriend), I often feel guilty about our intimacy, even though my virginity remains firmly intact.

Fabian's guilt was obviously resurfacing, because in the middle of fooling around, he suddenly sat up.

“I know I’ve said this before,” he said, “but I really think we should just be friends.”

I burst out laughing. Fabian had made this recurring suggestion as recently as a week ago.

“I think we should play it by ear,” I said.

It was late (after 2am), so I left his room. I had gotten what I needed from Fabian and felt much better for it--apart from lingering soreness in my knees because of the accident. Ouch.

* * *

I still remember the many nights I would creep out of Fabian’s room at some ungodly hour, hoping none of our floormates would see me. I could never have imagined that the real romance between us would blossom months and months later, after I was back in New York.

Up next…a sweet Dave Matthews tribute band and the downside of warp-speed romance.

Opening The Vault: Part Two

One of the benefits of revisiting your past is that it makes you appreciate just how far you’ve come. As I comb through the archives of journals spanning more than 25 years, I can’t help feeling grateful for the learning curve that comes from weathering life’s many trials and tribulations.

Admittedly, my learning curve has been, ahem, flat at times when it comes to affairs of the heart, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve never been happier being single, so I must be doing something right.

I think the last time I enjoyed singlehood this much was during my junior year in London. That eventful time brought with it a diverse menu of romantic distractions. On the October night when I was hit by a truck, I was very fortunate to have one of those distractions step up to the plate.

I now open the vault once again to Halloween night 1993….

Sunday, October 31st
Commonwealth (Commie) Hall, London

Dear Diary,

“Oh my God!” I heard someone scream as Eduardo caught me in his arms and carried me into Uncle Alf’s building.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said, trying to reassure myself as much as Eduardo, but tears rolled down my face anyway.

Although I told Eduardo he didn’t have to carry me, I was glad he didn’t put me down until we were inside. I could feel my entire body weakened from the shock.

Eduardo, Gaby and Camilla urged me to go to the hospital but I knew that I didn’t need to. Still, I sobbed for a moment, overwhelmed at how close I’d just come to losing my life.

Though I managed to walk away with only a headache and grazed knees, Uncle Alf insisted we go to his doctor so I could get checked out. The doctor covered my wounds with bandages and gave me a tetanus shot. I felt better now that I had doctor-certified proof I was okay.

* * *

Later, back at Commie Hall, I went down to the bar to find Eduardo and Gaby. Gaby seemed much more concerned about how I was than Eduardo, but that could be just because Gaby is nicer to me, generally speaking, than Eduardo is. Eduardo made me feel like I was intruding and I didn’t appreciate that. I thanked him for the ride and made my exit.

I decided to knock on Fabian’s door but there was no answer. Back in my room, I tried to think of what I could do to lift my spirits. I didn’t feel like reading or watching TV. I wanted my mother and father or Fabian, period.

I ended up chatting with my next door neighbor and good friend Lionel about the accident. Suddenly, there was a knock on Lionel’s door and I was euphorically surprised that it was Fabian. I told him I’d stopped by his room earlier and he said he didn’t want to interrupt. I got up to leave. Maybe it was rude to exit Lionel’s room so quickly, but I needed Fabian more than anything else. He came through for me – more so than I ever could have imagined.

* * *

Indeed, Fabian was full of surprises…including an encounter on this side of the pond that caught the attention of a local NYPD officer.

Coming up…A review of The Boss at Giants Stadium and following your bliss to a new career path.