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of the flight from Heathrow to JFK. If he was half as attractive as the photo indicated, then this would be a great experience!
    I finally discovered the essence of his writing talent during our telephone conversations. He claimed that he wrote political exposes regarding the White House and its internal affairs, as well as other political issues. Wow! A far cry from the comic books I feared he wrote. Although as a child I loved Archie, Veronica, and friends, unfortunately Jughead is the character I most resembled before this debacle ended. I didn’t really delve into exactly what he did; I just got caught up in this “James Bond” type and was hooked by talking to him.
    When I saw him in the crowd of passengers, he looked exceptional! Staring at his radiant smile, flowers in hand, I nearly fell over someone’s carry-on bag. After a polite peck on the cheek, which I felt proved his gentlemanly manner, we collected his bags. I drove him to the Marriott Marquis in Midtown as we exchanged small talk. After introducing him to a few friends, we headed to Central Park for a picnic. Since this was not his first time in the United States, or in Central Park, he knew exactly where to go—Sheep’s Meadow. I was impressed! I was so relieved that I had worn my light blue sundress that day, because it was perfect. Although I had an itinerary planned, he took the reins; this too impressed me, for that’s exactly what I needed at that time of my life—someone to take control.
    By the end of the weekend, his control was dominating. At the airport, Simon bought a first-class round-trip ticket to London for me to use a couple of weeks later. Talk about hook, line, and sinker. I was netted and gaffed before I knew it.
    For the next two weeks, I couldn’t think of anything but Big Ben, Piccadilly Square, and fish and chips. I even went so far as to listen to old Elton John albums, just to get into the British mind-set. Even the Oxford English Dictionary looked good, for I needed to brush up on my British terminology. Did you know that the English call an eraser a “rubber” and a cigarette a “fag”? I didn’t. Nor did I know a bundle of sticks is a “faggot,” an apartment a “flat,” and a wastepaper basket a “dustbin.” Odd!
    Minutes before landing, I put on my spectator pumps once again, which matched my stylish sailor dress brilliantly. When I landed at Heathrow, Simon was at the gate, looking exceptional. How he got his teeth so white, I’ll never know. We loaded my luggage into the car and spent the remainder of the day in London. We even stopped to “take” high tea with scones and fresh cream. At that point I felt strangely like a Charlotte Bronte character, except that I had everything I wanted.
    But nothing could have prepared me for what came next. After a wonderful day we went back to his so-called “cottage,” which was actually an English Tudor mansion! I was so jet lagged that I went to sleep in one of his many bedrooms, which was actually an apartment containing a dressing room, a parlor, a lavatory, and a view of the veranda. I was thankful that he truly was the gentleman he portrayed.
    The next day we enjoyed muesli and cream and took a ride to Canterbury, where we experienced the beauty of the cathedral where Chaucer’s pilgrims journeyed, the burial site of Saint Thomas a Becket (the blissful martyr), poet’s corner, and a plethora of enchanting country roads and village shops. Before we knew it, even Simon admitted we were lost and I believed him. You might think this was the oldest trick in the book, like an American high school boy running out of gas to cop a feel or, as the British put it, steal a peck. Nevertheless, we were indeed lost! As we veered down one country road after another at a very comfortable speed of forty miles per hour, I never felt apprehensive or worried, because both Simon and the Jaguar were handling the situation brilliantly. The bucolic scenery was