Chapter 1: GIDDY!
It was June 1996. I remember it as if it were
yesterday. Sometimes I feel as if it were yesterday.
I was sitting on the bed at the Paramount Hotel in Manhattan on the night he asked me to marry him. Complicated and addled New York woman, sitting in a complicated, addled New York hotel, ice available whenever needed or appropriate, is as usual talking on the phone, Vogue
on lap, when his words etched the air.
"Will you marry me?" Woodrow asked.
"Yes," I answered without hesitation.
There had been clues. The five-hour phone conversations. The crucial and palpable need to call him...