With Apologies To The Beatles, It Was 20 Years Ago Today

Twenty years ago this evening, I was sitting in the booth in the top left of the picture. It was my favorite booth because it offered a view of all of Ouest, the now-shuttered restaurant that my friend Tom Valenti used to run on Broadway on the Upper West Side. It was a special place where the staff was great, friendly, wonderful. I had not wanted to be at the table that evening but was told I had no choice.

Dining with me that evening was Amy Solomonson, a communications manager at NYC & Company, the city’s convention and tourism bureau. It was our first date.

I had fallen in love with Amy just by talking with her. Her boss would call me up from time to time – I was the city editor of The New York Sun at the time – asking if I could do a story on a certain topic. “Call Amy. She’ll give you the details.”

And I would do just that. And her voice was magic.

Short work conversations turned to longer conversations that turned to after hour conversations. She had absolutely no idea what was happening in my head. Honestly, it was for the best because the montages would 1) put any rom-com to shame and 2) scare off any sane person.

Eventually, I would start asking her out for coffee. She always said no. It was only later that I learned she doesn’t like coffee. I mean, she really doesn’t like it.

After being shot down repeatedly, I went for broke and asked her to have dinner with me at Ouest. She said yes.

In the, I- only-learned-later-category, she almost hadn’t come. She would eventually tell me that she almost hadn’t come. First, there was some work event at Madame Tussaud’s. Second, she was tired. Third, she didn’t like dating reporters. Also, she was ambivalent about trekking to the Upper West Side. Despite all that, she showed up.

Now, back to the table.

I was friendly with most of the staff at Ouest if not actually friends. I practically lived there, especially on Sundays when I would show up for brunch with all the newspapers and stay pretty much until dinner. I had use of the phone, use of the espresso machine.

People there knew I was excited about the date with Amy and had decided they wanted to give me some special treatment. While I had wanted a table with a little privacy, they wanted me to have what was probably the best seat in the house. They also wanted to make sure that anyone on staff who wanted to drop by, say hello, take a look at how Amy and I were doing, could.

I’m pretty sure that we never saw the same person twice that night. One person seated us, another brought us water, another menus, another appetizers, another the main course, and another dessert, and so on. She probably met a dozen people that night. It wasn’t just me she was on the date with, it was the staff of the restaurant. Later, she would confess that it had been a little “odd.”

Dinner was more than a delight. Apparently, she could tell I was having a good time because I had a grin on my face that would have made the Cheshire Cat seem shy.

After dinner, I walked her to the subway and then we kissed good night. I floated the rest of the way home. The next morning, Thursday, May 2, I sent her a dozen tulips. My friend Julia told me not to go with roses. She was right. I then sent flowers every Thursday for months.

One day, Amy received no flowers and her boss, my friend, called me upon demanding to know what was wrong with me. I explained that I could keep sending flowers or save up for the ring. There was no more questioning about the deliveries or lack of them.

Every day since that first date, I’ve been the luckiest person out there, having had the opportunity to love and be loved. And there’s nothing better than that.