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Since A-Rod is the only human with “Call Waiting” on his busy zipper, an On High voice whispered to Miss Lopez, “You’ve had enough with him already.”
A born slugger, he’s tall with his bat – Madonna, Cameron Diaz, Kate Hudson, Demi Moore, Jennifer – Google lists 20 female home runs.
Star connections follow a pattern: Meet. Dated. Hide. Refuse. Then photos with hugs closer than Biden and his earpiece. Then the children play together. Then talk about dating. Commitment speech. Live together, speak. Wedding speech. But with these two that became BS It was, go slow… she’s working… the weather is not right… the pandemic.
I reported that they had never to marry. I knew. I reported that they had never collect the Mets. I knew. He then said OK, he would buy another team. I reported that he had never get another team. I knew. A) He didn’t have the money. B) No other team was for sale. C) Unload a ball club on a former druge? Do not arrive. Financially, it worked for a while. They bought real estate, each lived temporarily, repaired it and then resold it. To buy such a famous lifestyle, buyers have paid well.
A member of staff packaged this lady as ‘not nice’. I have experienced this myself. Lopez only wants Lopez. Only wants her photo or to talk about her in a newspaper every day. Forget about touching up dirty words. But she is also not left out on a sofa. Puff Daddy, Ben Affleck, Drake, A-Rod, several husbands. And another Boy Scout is already in the works.
Listen, birds do it, bees do it, even the educated do it. She made money. He made honey. But even a Swiss watch stops. Remember that once upon a time, a long, long time ago, Mrs. Adams told you all of this.
Just a little Kerry’d away
Another story. The Sunday’s Post quoted a writer as saying Andrew Cuomo’s ex-wife Kerry Kennedy was so “ridiculed, belittled, intimidated” by him that she “slept in a locked bathroom.”
Years ago Governor Mario Cuomo and his wife Matilda invited me to their table to hear son Andrew speak at a reception. Small table. Just the three of us in the back of a ballroom. Introducing his wife Kerry, Andrew stepped aside to give her the microphone. She has been talking about herself, her activities, her family, her goals, her projects, her abilities, for over 20 years !!! minutes. She never stopped as the star of the night stood – unattended, outcast, alone, never stumbling – for 20 painful minutes.
Neither Mario nor Matilda met my gaze. Neither spoke. Their faces, rigid. Looking straight ahead. Frozen with anger. Not knowing what to do, where to look, I canceled their next dinner and left.
I ask now – this is how hurt and intimidated she was? Cringing in the John? Let no one say I don’t know what I’m talking about. I still have my column reporting it.
Jam-packed evening
My beautiful evening in New York: I leave a restaurant. But no car. While driving my cleaning lady home, she broke down on the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s dark, a questionable area, she’s restless, huddled in a broken down vehicle, no dinner and it’s late.
I take a taxi. I carry take out food. The content is hot. The shredded wet bag. The containers overturn. I slip sauce on the seat, the floor, the clothes and my friend. In the fray, I lose a gold earring. Soaked leftovers – wet salad, wet pasta, hot stracciatella soup – flood the kitchen floor and me. The phone is ringing. The barking dogs. To hear she’s safe, I run to answer. And I slip on wet bread.
I crawl over to the ringing phone. It’s a friend who tells me where she is: “Just in case.” In case of what? In his car, in the middle of the LIE, his car comes to a stop on the way to Southampton. Completely dead. In the middle of heavy traffic on the weekend. Carrying provisions, a dog. She’s in panic mode. Why she called me, who knows. But the police cars arrived. Tow cars arrived. It ended well. She’s safe. Just a good weekend night.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.
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