The Longest Goodbye: A Memoir

It was 1980, and I was heading toward the dangerous forties.  One day, after my routine physical, I was sitting in my gynecologist’s private office crying.  He asked me what was wrong and I blurted out, “I must be going through my middle-age crisis.”  My gynecologist denied me my feelings.  He responded that I had everything a woman my age would want: a successful marriage, a good husband, plenty of money, and numerous friends.  So, when my doctor said something in jest, I took it seriously.  He said, “Go and have a fling.  It will make you feel better.”  Affairs of the heart are so delicate that a vulnerable person, ripe for any answer, is susceptible to such benign, innocent suggestions.  It actually crossed my mind to take his advice, but, I thought, with whom?  In retrospect, the answer was stored in the deep subconscious of my mind. 

As fate would have it, a couple of months later, my close friend Anna called me and asked me to meet her in New York City for lunch.  She was going to a high-priced Madison Avenue jewelry salon to pick out a gift for her husband to give to her for her birthday.  Anna, her husband, my former husband, and I had met years ago when we were on vacation.  We clicked immediately; we all got along famously.  Anna and I contrasted and complimented each other; she was a stunning, earthy, blond and I was dark auburn-haired and classy.  There were many times when, unbeknownst to each of us, we dressed identically – like twins.  She knew my inner-most secrets, and I knew hers.  So it was not unusual for me to go into New York and pick out an expensive piece of jewelry with her.  We strolled with confidence and gusto down Madison Avenue arm in arm and excited about her future purchase and our carefree time together.  It was a gorgeous sunny spring day; my spirits were soaring.  I experienced an unexpected fullness of heart.  When we entered the jewelry store that day, my eyes immediately were drawn to this very strikingly dark-eyed, long and wavy black-haired, slightly built, sexy young man, 30ish, who was standing behind the jewelry showcase.  His intense eyes pierced into mine, almost setting me off balance.  At first I thought he was Israeli, but he was Middle Eastern.  Later I found out his name was Kamil.  As I gazed at him, his eyes stared back at me.  As handsome as he was, if you took him apart, he was not physically perfect.  He had small lips and a prominent nose, and was slim of hips, but putting the entire package together – his long, wild hair; his dark, piercing eyes; his sensual, confident walk; and the way he wore his clothes – he was sexy, and alluring.  He always wore a flashy diamond pinky ring, and in the winter, a long raccoon fur coat.  Kamil was a Mel Gibson type.  He would stop any woman dead in her tracks.  Love is blind, and I was intrigued by his flash and carefree confidence.  Neither of us knew it at the moment, but this was the beginning of a long, dynamic, intensely sensual, dramatic, dangerously illicit, and sexually romantic relationship.