"Adrienne and I met about ten years ago, after being fixed up by mutual friends who felt we would be perfect for each other. And, with no disrespect to my amazing wife, Hanne, who really is perfect for me, it didn’t take long for me to realize why their guts told them to try and get us together. Just minutes into that very sweet, romantic, and yet very innocent first date in Los Angeles (a town she hated even more than me), it felt like I didn’t have to keep my eyes on the road, my foot on the brake, or my hands on the wheel. It was like my car was driving itself, floating above the gridlock. Seriously, it was like a dream from the moment I picked her up for dinner. I felt like I was stoned or something. We had so many things in common that it was frightening. And, for her, literally. I looked at the litany of connections we shared to be all signs from above, declarations that my seemingly never-ending and vain and naive search for the ‘right’ woman could very well be over. But she told our aforementioned pals afterwards that I seemed “too perfect” for her, that it almost seemed I like I had been reading journals or something, and that she was spooked to her core. And, in the end, it was that same frustrating wariness about it all that doomed our ever having the chance to find out where we may have gone, and how far.

The last time I saw her was yet another freaky occurrence. We had both been cast in the same television pilot, but didn’t know that until we bumped into each other on the set on the first day of shooting in Atlanta. Once again, I took it as yet another gesture from God. And, once again, it scared the crap out of her. And our very last phone conversation had to do with that very same encounter. I was pissed that she was fucking us up before we even had a chance to be “us,” and she very humbly and sincerely agreed, and apologized for being a chicken-shit. Then she said wanted to make it up to me, and that she hoped we could somehow hook up again soon (she lived in her beloved New York, and I, unfortunately, in Hollywood), and just do what it seemed like we did best together - walk and talk... and talk, and talk, and talk. Sad to say, though, we never got the chance to see each other in person again. But what I'll always remember - those wide-ranging, rambling conversations, and that voice of hers... along with her stunning, strangelic face... and what a huge presence she had considering her rather diminutive stature... As well as, of course, the very first time I ever saw her and was cast under her spell, back in the late Eightie's, in Hal Hartley’s ‘The Unbelievable Truth’ - a title which (although I’m sure it’ll soon be hijacked by one of those damn tabloids when all the dust settles around her mysterious death, and, thus, perhaps render this trite) really does sum up everything we shared in the short time we were actually face to face, and absolutely describes this extremely disturbing, heartbreaking, and numbing news."

 

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