Be still, my foolish heart!
My torrid love affair with Barbara Amiel is re-kindled by an alarming chunk of her new autobiography that surfaces in Britain's Daily Mail.
By the excerpts, Friends and Enemies is an acrid page-turner.
It tells of Barbara's nightmare years.
Geezers. Betrayal. True and imagined cruelties.
Encounters with truly awful society swells.
She lay in a snowdrift.
Elton John gave her a diamond. Why? Just because.
And the shoes, the shoes, always the shoes.
I had no idea the terrible road she's traveled.
I say her name: Bar-ba-ra
My lips tickle.
I can only hope a celebrity book royalty is substantial.
It is my prayer.
Our love was humble. Unspoken.
Amiel was Toronto Sun editor in chief.
Smart. Exotic. Opinionated. Funny. Beautiful.
I was a fool.
A weirdo-beardo typist in flannel shirts.
Different social classes, we were, to be sure.
But in all Great Romances, is it not always so?
Yob and Lady.
Mark's Warehouse and Givenchy.
Peanuts and pate.
Beast and Beauty.
The Gamekeeper and Lady Charterly.
Weirdo and--okay, words fail me.
I was besotted.
I took cold showers to get the sott off me.
How could this loopy one-sided love affair ever end?
It hasn't.
Yet how I still remember our stolen midnights, as you trot across the Sun city room in exercise sweatpants. You ignored me, Barbara. But I knew. That you knew. What I know. Which is love.
Capiche?
My heart went potato-potato to see you swan in from TIFF, the Windsor Arms or Winston's in elegant frocks made by men whose names I could not spell. I was spellbound.
Late summer afternoons, as cicadas buzz outside the Sun offices, I stare, wondering if that amused look on your face was over your next Maclean's column... or ME?
Too soon?
Forgive me, sweetness.
I hid behind the city room palm tree for years in silence.
But I am mute no more!
Barbara Amiel, you are my damsel in distress.
And I am Don Quixote.
My days of tilting at windmills are not over.
I ride on the West Wind at dawn.
Leave a light on...
Perhaps, like Elton John, I shall call my jeweler ...
Demand he create some trinket to ease your pain.
I keep a spare diamond in my fork drawer.
My fever is cresting. My typing fingers ache.
Love is madness, we both see it now.
How could one of us have been so blind?
A curse on those who have wronged you.
Damn you, Manolo Blahnik.
P.S. None of this is in the book, right?
I trust your discretion.
For a glimpse of Her Life in Amiel's own words, see
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-8699261/BARBARA-AMIEL-takes-revenge-elite-spurned-her.html?fbclid=IwAR1p1-Ezd1QvZ-MV411usBBWS-5xFggX_YCCWpW5EZfs2Je4Nthphq8rLDk
But ye gods, there is more!
What Barbara did for love in part two at ...
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-8703447/BARBARA-AMIEL-Lord-wanted-lover-like-clutching-death.html
Will her torment never end?
Social monsters lurk everywhere!
More cruelty than any human can bear in part three...
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-8707389/Conrad-Black-wife-BARBARA-AMIEL-reveals-confirmed-money-buy-true-friends.html
Did I mention Amiel's Friends and Enemies (Signal) comes out October 13? She's one hell of a memoirist.
Over 600 pages!
Drop the book on a cat and that kitty's kaput.
I count the days, my beloved.
To the book, not the cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment