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of being very, very embarrassed. “You are Michael?” I asked again, thinking that if somehow I was wrong, I would have to turn and run. He took a deep breath, and then he said, “You know me? Are you sure?” Oh God, this might just be really happening. “Of course I know you. I’d know you anywhere . . .” And then he said my name, just that. “Jane?” The Astor Court is a large room, but it seemed to be closing in around me. The sound in the room was a little off too. Everything was suddenly unreal, to put it mildly. This couldn’t be happening, but clearly it was. The beautiful woman with Michael was wiping her mouth with a napkin, and then she stood up at the table. “Ah, the mysterious Jane,” she said, but she said it kindly. “I have to go, Michael. Thanks for the ice cream, and the advice.” She gave me a smile, and I blinked, because she really was way more dazzling than I. “Take my

Thirty-seven THE NEXT THING I was fully aware of was that Michael and I were walking up Fifth Avenue on a sun-drenched Sunday afternoon and it was like being awake in a dream. Oh, I don’t know what it was like, really. But it was incredible and exhilarating and confusing and disorienting. When I was six or seven, I had known that Michael was funny and clever and really nice to me. But now, as a woman, as a grown-up, I realized there was so much more to him than that. For one thing, he was a terrific listener, which put him at the head of the pack of everyone I had ever dated. He said, “Tell me everything. Tell me everything that’s happened to you since your ninth birthday.” So I did, trying to make my life sound ever so much more interesting and exciting than it had been when I was actually living it. I found I loved making him laugh, and he laughed quite a lot during our walk together that afternoon. Once we were out on the streets of New York he became very loose and relaxed. And so

Thirty-eight “WHERE SHOULD WE GO FIRST?” I asked him, when we stood in the massive entry hall of the Met. “I’d like to show you —” Michael began, then laughed self-deprecatingly. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen it, a million times. But I always wanted to see it with you. Okay?” “Yes.” Frankly, at that moment he could have said, “I think I’ll eat a bunch of cat food. Join me?” and I would have said yes. Michael took my arm. It seemed a very natural thing for him to do, but it made me shiver and feel almost light-headed — in a good way. Except, of course, if I actually did faint dead away. That would be not so good. Arm in arm, we proceeded up the grand staircase. I loved being with him here, but I was aware that it didn’t actually matter where we were, because I had to be dreaming, didn’t I? We turned left, walked through a large wooden doorway, and then we were standing in one of the most beautiful rooms in the world. Enormous canvases of Monet’s water lilies covered the walls, surroundi

Thirty-nine I HAD A FAINT SENSE that it was morning, and that I was waking up, and that something about my life had changed dramatically. Then I remembered Michael, and my eyes opened wide. Please, God, let it not have been just a dream, I begged silently. Feeling fragile, like glass, I slowly turned my head toward my bedside table. There was my white gardenia, the one Michael had given me yesterday. I touched the flower to make sure it was real — it was — and then I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. It hadn’t been a dream. So this is how “happy” feels, I thought. The energy, the automatic smile. This is what it’s like to look forward to the day, to believe there could be good things coming. It was a new and different feeling. Out in the kitchen, I poured myself a large glass of orange juice. My answering machine was blinking urgently at me, and I drank my juice and hit the Play button before it had a heart attack. “Jane, it’s me. What can I say? I’m so, so sorry. I do

Forty “HERE ARE YOUR MESSAGES. Here is your coffee. And that jackhammer-like noise is the sound of your mother’s high heels coming down the hall.” My secretary, MaryLouise, handed me a mug with a History