One Day in Paris…
The memoir of a love story that couldn’t happen. But did.
by
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On Saturday, February 5, in the year 2000, I walked aboard an airplane bound for
I saw her the minute I found my seat; she was just two rows behind me, on the opposite side of the aisle. Flipping casually through the pages of the magazine in her lap.
Now that’s a nice looking woman, I thought absently, enjoying the view for a moment before glancing away. As I crammed my carry-on bag into the luggage compartment over my head, I took another quick look at her. Partly accidentally, but not totally. Looks like she went to one of those famous women’s colleges, I thought. What do they call them? The “Seven Sisters” or something?
Had I taken the trouble to itemize what I’d so casually but interestedly noticed, I’d have cataloged a lovely face, smooth blonde hair in a sophisticated French Twist, a perky leopard-skin hat topping the whole affair, and jewelry, clothing and everything else that indicated a smart fashion sense, good taste, and all the other results of what was probably fifty or fifty-five years of confident living.
I didn’t bother to itemize all those delicious traits for the simple reason that I hadn’t bothered to think of women romantically for a long time. My wife of 42 years had died of cancer almost six years ago, and after a protracted recovery that I thought would never end, I’d made a few uncomfortable stabs at dating and promptly decided the hell with it. One good marriage ought to be enough for anyone, I figured.
On the other hand, there was that tasty little morsel in the seat just a couple of rows behind me...
I’ll think about that tomorrow, I decided. If it’s good enough for Scarlett O’Hara, it’s good enough for me.
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About the Book
Conventional wisdom said it could never happen. For starters, he was from >Arizona and she was from Pennsylvania.Almost a whole continent apart. And he was a widower and she was a widow. With 42 and 47 years, respectively, of happy marriage behind them. And if that wasn’t enough, he was a young 75 and she was a lovely 69; old enough to know better, one might say.Then one day they boarded a plane for . They noticed each other, but didn’t meet. When the plane landed they ended up in the same hotel. Arranged by the same tour group. But both so engrossed in Paris they still didn’t see each other. Then it happened. On the third day their group gathered for an introductory meeting and dinner. They ended up sitting across from each other. ">He said, “Hi.” She said, “Hello.” And the sparks began to fly. That’s when the love story that couldn’t happen began to happen...
About the Author
Wallace J. (Wally) Gordon has been writing for a living for something like forever--fifty-eight years and counting--and after piling up mountains of rejection slips for short stories and a novel, he made a successful and satisfying detour into the advertising business, writing ads and commercials for clients ranging from Coca-Cola and Dodge to the neighborhood bank.
However, after almost forty years of the advertising wars, he decided enough was enough, and is now writing books for himself, his wife and kids, and anyone else interested. ONE DAY IN
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