If You Can Make it Here . . .

Killing an afternoon in New York before my big interview tomorrow on the Today show. I should buckle down and write, but I'm far too wound up: How will I do? How will I look? Will I make any sense? So, instead, I do my favorite thing: take to the city's streets and people-watch.

Here's why I love this place ... at least to visit. In the span of a couple of hours, you see it all here. And more:

A man in a business suit and tie stands shouting in the street, exploding multiple F-bombs and using the universally understood New York City hand gestures for a traffic dispute. The delivery guy whose big truck is blocking the road shrugs and ignores the screamer.

Two young guys dressed like kitchen workers play chess outside with a plastic board, speaking occasionally in Mexican-accented Spanish.

A well-preserved blonde saunters past on Madison Avenue, chattering into a cell phone in French. A shopping bag dangles from one arm. The leash of a pampered white Maltese is on the other. Her tight Bebe t-shirt is bright green, the same shade as the bow on the little dog's
head.

A group of men play a rolling-ball game called petanque in Bryant Park. The best player has on a t-shirt advertising Vieuve Cliquot champagne. Another guy is in droopy blue jean shorts and a sideways ball cap with lots of bling. I'm amazed to see a third in a camouflage hunting cap and a shirt with a logo from the world bull-riding finals. Then I realize this is New York, so he's probably wearing that redneck outfit ironically.

Mama, we're not in little Himmarshee anymore.

Still in the park, I look longingly at a merry-go-round with French music, Le Carrousel. I'd love a ride, but I pass by, too uptight to ante up my $2 and join all the kids. I continue my walk, and see a dozen more New Yorkers carrying on in their unusual manner without regard to what people might think. I circle back to the park. I'm in New York to go on TV and promote my book to a national audience. If that's not taking a shot at the carousel's brass ring, I don't know what is.

I pay my money and choose my horse. A palomino, with flowers on its pink saddle and hooves painted gold. The bell rings, the ride starts. And as I go up-and-down and round-and-round, I realize not a single New Yorker bats an eye at a middle-aged woman on a magical horse.

It's the best 2 and 1/2 minutes I spend all day.

Man Plans; the Universe Chortles

Whenever I start feeling a little too full of myself, the universe has a way of yanking me back to earth. Oh, I don't know, say you sold a few books, got a couple of nice reviews, managed to snag an interview on the TODAY show (!) You'd be puffing up just a tiny bit with pride, no?

Well, yes. At least until reality smacks you upside the head. Case in point: I was thrilled last month to be invited to BookMania in Stuart, Fla. Pretty prestigious event, New York Times bestselling authors, famous memoirists, kick-ass suspense novelists. And me, the newbie.

My sister Charlene convinced me to climb out of my usual grays and browns and blacks and khakis, and really dress. ''You're an author now! People expect you to have a little flair.''

So she loaned me a fancy red shawl and shiny red earrings. She added some oomph to my makeup. I have to say, I was looking pretty fine. There I was at the authors' cocktail reception, sipping my soda water. She coerced me into heels, too, which definitely don't mix with alcohol. I was certain I was exuding an authorly air, when an older man came up to me.

"I loved your book,'' he said, big smile on his face.

Ah, this is what it's all about. This is how an author feels, I thought. I smiled warmly, ready to dazzle him with my literary bon mots. (Yes, I know I've written a redneck romp set in middle Florida, but I can fake it, oui?)

And then he took both my hands, clasped them, and stared deep into my eyes: "Hallie Ephron, I have waited so long to meet you!''

Crash.

"Uhmmm,'' I said as nicely as I could, "I'm not Hallie Ephron. She's standing over there with that crowd of people around her. She's the other woman in a shawl.''

He hesitated a moment, looked from me to her and back again. "Oh,'' he finally said, not at all embarrassed. "Then do you think you could introduce me?''

Double-crash.




So, the picture above is my sister and me at BookMania. Hallie Ephron, of the famous literary family, is not the woman on the left.

How about you? Who's the most famous person you've been mistaken for?