April 15, 2009

I cursed myself as I stepped from the cab last night. I put on my favorite Cole Haan loafers (yes, I am a Cole Haan fanatic, people are surprised by my love of them) and they got speckled with rain. I did not realize it was raining and I was too lazy to head back up to the apt. to change.

I walked into Minetta Tavern, ahead of my friend Paul. He had suggested the new restaurant, which is actually not new, but newly reinvigorated by the folks who bring you Pastis and Schiller's. The room was abuzz. Pretty people. Rich people. Gays peppered throughout.

Paul arrived and we had a drink and sat down in the 2nd best seat in the house, pivoted in a corner of a triangular restaurant. We had a view.

Paul excused himself to use the little boy's room. As he did a woman, head down and in hat, whisked by. I thought to myself that she must be famous.

And she was. She took her hat off and then I saw her. Madonna. Sitting directly in front of us, a few tables away, occupying another of the room's corners. Occupying the best seat in the house. She let down her pigtail-knots and her long blonde hair glowed. She gossiped with two guys, one of which Paul spotted as the photographer Steven Klein. She seemed happy and pulled and everyone stared, whispered, not in an obvious way, but God, she has something special.

I have met a million celebrities. Worked with some in the shops. I dined by Sissy Spacek and helped Linda Evangelista decorate her nanny's room. They're at the gym. On the street. At the restaurants I dine in. I was side-by-side with Susan Sarandon just this Friday at the New Museum.

But nothing was like watching Madonna for 3 hours eat, laugh, talk.

She too is recently out of a relationship. And she's fine. Glowing.

After a week in which I was saddened by financial burdens, uncertainty, and the thought of being alone, I am now comforted. In the kindness of new friends (one of which gave me a pair of Etro slacks, just because). In the fact that it looks like I will be moving into a great apartment soon. And by Madonna's symbolic appearance in my life.

A symbol of freedom, fun, and life beyond heartbreak. She's not an angel. She's a real person. But God, it was that classic NYC experience. The reasons why I live here and eat here and laugh here. Where we're all the same. Just sacks of blood and bone, made up of stars, getting through life. The clouds fill the sky. But my day is oh so bright.