Post by Josh Zinn.
This week, dear readers, I happened to stumble across a deliciously romantic love note written by one of the last true romantics—and star of ABC Television’s hit series “Hart to Hart”—Mr. Jonathan Hart. Rather than spend too much time telling you why his namesake show is, perhaps, the greatest achievement Aaron Spelling ever brought to the small screen, I will allow Mr. Hart’s delicate blossoms of handwritten affection to illuminate what was truly an unbreakable love. May we all know such passion…
My Darling Jennifer,
They say time flies when one is having fun; when it’s two, however, all bets are off…
I can still remember the moment I first saw you, my eyes gazing in disbelief as some ethereal creature stepped outside of Chanel and changed the channel in my heart to a station called LOVE. How beautiful and glamorous you were that day, beckoning me with your cinnamon eyes as if to say, “Yes, I will be your beloved. Just put a diamond on my hand, a Bentley in my grasp, and, darling, I’m yours.” I said yes to the angels that day, knowing my prayers would soon be answered.
Here we are now, forty years later, and nothing has changed. True, our tennis matches may have grown a bit shorter and our naps a little longer, but you still radiate an essence of femininity and grace that eclipses all the stars in the sky, not to mention all the starlets surrounding our palatial, Tudor-styled Beverly Hills home. I’d say, at my age, I should start considering writing a bucket-list, but this lucky fella’s bucket is already overflowing with amour.
Do you remember, darling, the time we saved Freeway, our beloved dog, from an addiction to the drug-laced Doggie Chow that was slowly transforming him into a vicious attack mongrel? Or the week we vacationed down in Colombia and ran afoul with a drug cartel that held a vendetta against you for exposing their dastardly cocaine trade in the column you write for the Rodeo Drive Weekly? And of course, who could forget how you saved my life when we were investigating those goombas that had taken control of Barry’s Hotheads, the hottest hair salon this side of Doheny? Using your ringlets to stop their ringleader, I’d say you put those criminal careers into a PERManent state of retirement, my darling.
Now as you get dressed in the other room for yet another lavish “Save the Condor” fundraiser being held at the Finkelstein estate, I sit here at my desk and wonder what new adventures await us. It seems as if it were just yesterday that Max, our ever-faithful butler, departed for a sake-swilling poker game in the sky. Though it was a difficult transition for us, we did embark on a learning journey TOGETHER as we traversed market after market searching for our favorite pâté and ever-reliable Pinot Grigio. It was rough, yes, but we discovered we could make it on our own and that, while Max may be gone, the sumptuous taste of beef bourguignon need not be lost to heaven as well.
I imagine people will talk about us when were gone, too. It was always so intrusive at the time, having those cameras following us as we took time out of our busy Hollywood lives to investigate the numerous crimes perpetrated against our friends and colleagues. At the time, I could have never imagined their footage would become a time capsule of our relationship, tracking the moments of peril and passion that seemed to ooze from our well-tanned pores. The only shot I cared about was the one that involved getting you home safe and then getting you in bed. Lucky me, then, they were there to capture the afterglow.
My darling, not even the blonde, buxom jewel thieves known to stalk the annual cruises we take to the Maldives could sway me away from your siren call. I have braved schizophrenic stalkers, murderous mummies, and devilish denim designers to keep you in my sights and in my sights is where you’ll stay.
Yes, darling, when we met it WAS murder, however, the only thing that died was my loneliness.