Once upon a time, that time being about roughly 20 years ago, I was driving (maybe for the last time) my family’s old 1964 Ford Falcon. I think my cherished 1985 Volkswagen Scirocco was in the shop. I was on Ventura Boulevard waiting to make a left turn onto Coldwater Canyon Avenue. I looked in my rear-view mirror, and driving the car waiting behind me was the lovely and talented Dana Delany.
This took place, I believe, shortly after the “China Beach” era. And the thought occurred to me, as a single man in Los Angeles, how nice it would be to meet Dana Delany. And then another thought occurred to me: What if I had to suddenly slam on my brakes after I made my left turn and Dana Delany collided with what was my family’s dated and rather expendable station wagon. She would be so apologetic, and naturally she’d want to make it up to me, perhaps over a drink …
I made my left turn, took another glance in the rear-view mirror as Dana Delany made hers … and then I kept on driving. It wasn’t my seize-the-day moment. What might have been … I’ll never know.
But this much I do know. The key to the whole plan was making sure Dana Delany thought she was at fault. Crashing into her with my vehicle: That never would have worked.
