The Owner Takes a Wife
Pizzuti soon left for Europe, and Henry went on with his life. A week after he and Werner watched the Celtics’ championship win over the Lakers from his courtside seats, they hosted a victory bash at Fenway. During the festivities, it began to rain.
That night, Henry e-mailed Pizzuti.
A man needs a muse. Well, he doesn’t really. He doesn’t need nearly as much as he generally thinks he does. A man is greedy. Greedy for what he doesn’t think he has and what he thinks he wants.
We probably wouldn’t have wandered far beyond the basic necessities without that pushing us. Progress is one of its most important byproducts.
So you will ask, "Why are you writing this?" Because a brief encounter-and-a-half with you gave a cool spin to this little blue planet from my vantage point.
We feted the Celtics tonight and the skies opened. The sun emerged and created a giant rainbow between the city and the park. We were transfixed.
You only saw it if you were in the right place. I was in the right place when I noticed you.
I barely know you. I don’t have any illusions about capturing your heart. But the world is brighter, better, lighter and warmer when a man imbues a woman he knows—even tabula rasa—with the attributes I believe reside in you. It’s the small things that ultimately matter. The subtle things.
I am honest. I don’t play games. And I see no reason not to say that I’ve been smitten by you and you’ve done me a great service.
You’ve very innocently made my world brighter, better, lighter and warmer.
No response is necessary because a man doesn’t need nearly as much as he thinks he does.
But Henry waited for her response anyway. When it finally came, it wasn’t quite what he’d hoped for.
A man may not need as much as he thinks he does, but courage and honesty should be acknowledged. I am not so naive as to believe I actually possess the qualities you attribute to me. But thank you.