By AMY DICKINSON
Many people more talented than I are eulogizing Nora Ephron. She surrounded herself with talented people (both her parents were celebrated screenwriters and her sisters, husband, ex-husband and closest friends are writers), and she was universally adored by her legion of friends and fans.
Credit: Jonathan Wenk/Columbia Pictures via NYTimes
I circumnavigated Nora Ephron?s orbit on the outer ring of a constellation of friends and admirers whose lives she touched. I can?t claim a friendship, but she was the sort of person who made you wish for an intimate?connection. I knew her just well enough to know that she wouldn?t deny a friendship if I claimed one, but I didn?t dare claim one.
I first met Nora about seven years ago when my boss at the Chicago Tribune contacted me to say Nora was visiting Chicago and that I should make an attempt to entertain her at a dinner out.
I froze, paralyzed at the prospect of dining out with a famous foodie in a famously foody city. Such was my terror that I agonized for days and basically took to my bed. What would it be? The culinary masterstroke of Alinea ? or the more low-key authentic Mexican at Frontera Grill? Street food? Salad? Frozen yogurt? And would Nora Ephron, like her famous character from ?When Harry Met Sally,? deconstruct her meal and order everything to be served ?on the side??
Photos via Cheers to the Good Life
I was in over my head. Overwhelmed. So I threw a Hail Mary and simply walked her across the street from her hotel to the Drake Hotel?s dusty?rathskeller for a bowl of Bookbinder soup.
I can?t?say this was a good idea. In fact, it was a terrible idea. Our dining experience lacked every single element a food lover would seek ? including an attractive atmosphere, decent service, and yes ? good food. By making her eat soup, I had even denied her the opportunity to have anything on the side.
I?m sure Nora wasn?t thrilled, but she didn?t seem to mind, either.
Food may be everything, but it?s not the only thing.
During our dinner she was fun, she was charming, and she thrilled me by signing my old copy of ?Heartburn.? How appropriate, I thought, having been responsible on this particular night for Nora Ephron suffering a case of non-fictional heartburn.
A major effort that night was devoted to suppressing my impulse to quote Nora Ephron movies, which is something I like to do ? because, (as she pointed out in ?You?ve Got Mail,?) while ?The Godfather? is the I-Ching for men, lines from ?When Harry Met Sally,? ?You?ve got Mail? and ?Sleepless in Seattle? definitely have a way of bubbling up, certainly for women of a certain age. At our dinner I was trying very hard not to behave like the superfan I was, but I did manage to tell her that her parents Henry?and Phoebe wrote my all-time favorite movie, ?Desk Set.?
Credit: 20th Century Fox/Photofest via Skirball Cultural Center
Photo via Deeper into Movies
The day after our dinner Nora Ephron?s agent called me. Before leaving Chicago Nora had called her speaker?s agent to suggest he represent me. I?m not sure how this came about, except I remember her saying to me at dinner, ?Do you ever give speeches? You?d be good at that.?
And it was done.
That?s when I first encountered what was to be the primary dynamic in my relationship with Nora: She would do very nice things for me and I would be very grateful.
Some months later she came back to Chicago to speak at the massive Harold Washington Library downtown to celebrate her massively bestselling essay collection ?I Feel Bad About My Neck.?
I caught a cab and went downtown. The crowd was such that the first several hundred people got to sit in the auditorium and watch Nora Ephron speak in person.
I sat with 200 other overflow attendees in folding chairs in an underground bunker in the building, watching Nora Ephron speak on a movie screen with a slight audio delay.
She was the way she always was that night ? funny, nice, honest, and perfectly charming. I enjoyed her, even from the basement.
By the time I made my way upstairs to the auditorium after her talk, several hundred women were already in line waiting for her to sign their books. I stood at the end of the line. It turns out that many, many, many women do feel bad about their necks, and as our line inched forward, I listened to their complaints as they overshared and laughed and got to know one another.
I just wanted to say hello and thank her personally for the agent-matching. I thought of her generosity every time I gave a speech, which, it turns out, is fairly often. Nora?s instinct about me was good ? I am good at it.
I was the very last person in line, and as the books were being packed up I quickly swept up, reintroduced myself and told her I wanted to thank her in person for her kindness.
And then she asked me to dinner.
It went like this: ?Oh Amy, come to dinner with me!?
We went to a cool little Italian place, on a corner in the fringes of downtown, hard by the el tracks. It reeked with Chicago authenticity and was the exact opposite of the food experience I had given to her. I knew instantly how lucky I was and I told myself to drink it in and enjoy every moment.
Before we went inside, while we were sitting in the car, I did the second smartest thing I?ve ever done.
I asked for Nora?s advice. I was contemplating writing a memoir and I wanted to know how much I could reveal without hurting my relationship with family members. She told me about her own story ? about being the child of screenwriters, including a mother who famously said, ?Everything is copy.? She described the thievery of having your story and identity borrowed by parents to use as material. She said to me, ?You have your own story. Tell that one. Your daughter has her own story, and that story belongs to her. Don?t tell anyone else?s story, except when it intersects with yours.? She told me to ask permission of the people I wanted to write about.
Credit: Warner Brothers/Photofest via Academy of Achievement
We talked about the tension of describing the painful breakup of a marriage (the way she did in ?Heartburn?) when you have children whose feelings you don?t want to hurt.
She told me to tell my daughter the truth privately and to protect her feelings in print.
After that I did the smartest thing I?ve ever done.
I listened to Nora and decided to follow her advice.
While waiting at the bar for our table to be set she got a call from her publisher saying that her essay collection had just passed the 750,000 sales mark. In hardcover. Later I would understand more deeply what a stunning accomplishment that is, but on that night I simply watched her be delighted. It was fun.
Nora?s husband Nick Pileggi joined us, along with two old friends of theirs from Chicago. I was looped into the group of seasoned friendships, and they acted like I belonged. I was so entranced I wanted to ?All About Eve? her on the spot ? to worm my way into her life.
Credit: Pacha/Corbis via Academy of Achievement
The next day I told my daughter about my dinner with Nora and told her about the advice I?d received. I asked my child?s permission to let me write my story, and a told her a couple of important things about her own history that I had never told her ? things that I might choose to write about later.
This, also, was Nora?s suggestion. She said to tell my daughter the truth about her life, because the truth is the truth ? aside from what you write about.
Credit: 20th Century Fox/Photofest via Academy of Achievement
Our contact was sporadic over the years. I published?my memoir (?The Mighty Queens of Freeville?)?and got married; she brought another book out and directed an Oscar-winning film. We were in touch back and forth to congratulate one another, but I was too shy to puncture her niceness, and I regret that. I wish I inserted myself a little more. I wish I dared to call her on my infrequent trips to New York. I wish I had known her better.
Regardless of my intentions, the primary dynamic between us was of an older, wildly successful woman being kind to a younger writer, and then graciously accepting the ing?nue?s gratitude in return.
Credit: Michel Arnaud via Oprah
Nora was nice, and I treasured knowing her. She set a great example ? not only by her professional success ? but also by the way she lived. Her life seemed beautiful to me. Her desk was clean.
As I write this I am on a brief trip from my hometown to New York City. As usual, whenever I?m headed to New York I think a lot about Nora. I have an old poster from her parents? movie ?Desk Set? that I was going to send to her. I delayed sending it along because I loved the poster so much. But on the bus ride to the city I reminded myself to get it together and finally pack up that poster when I got home.
On my bus trip I sat near a younger writer who sought me out to say she was my biggest fan. She sweetly praised my work and from our conversation it was clear she had really been paying attention ? maybe too much attention (she assured me she wasn?t a stalker). This younger writer quoted things I had written back to me.
She was headed to the city to have a meeting about a book she was working on. I was coming in to see my agent. She had her city clothes in a backpack and was going to find a public bathroom to change her clothes in before her meeting.
I invited her to come to my hotel room to freshen up and change her clothes. I looked over her book material and we talked about her complicated situation. I offered to introduce her to my agent.
As she was leaving we exchanged contact information and vowed to have coffee one of these days. She asked for my street address: ?I want to write you a proper note to say thank you!? she said.
Three hours later I heard that Nora had died. I started missing her immediately. I would never be able to know her better. I?d never be able to impress her with my gratitude.
What a fool I am. But I get it now. Like all my lessons, I learned this one the hard way. The way I paid Nora Ephron back was to be kind to another writer, the way Nora was kind to me.
Source: http://askamydaily.com/my-dinners-with-nora
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