Valentine, I'm doing it for Love!

8/13/2019 Valentine, I'm doing it for Love!

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Valentine, I'm doing it for Love!


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Preface / Introduction

A love story in a different form in this article by Dr. Jeffrey Lant ""I'm doing what I'm doing

for love." Valentine's Day, 2014. "


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Table of Contents

1. "I'm doing what I'm doing for love." Valentine's Day, 2014.


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http://www.20WaystoProfit.com Copyright Patrice Porter - 2014 4 of 7

"I'm doing what I'm doing for love." Valentine's Day, 2014.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. She was the best of wives and the best of mothers. She was such a Yiddishemomme right out of Sophie Tucker, we used to laugh about it. She was the life support for a fecklesshusband born into cozy wealth who discovered at mid life that he wanted to be a mime (no, I am notmaking this up) and left her to explain as best she could to her inquisitive Brookline neighbors thatJoel had selected grease paint, vacant stare, and rigid immobility in preference to her and the 3 kids.

She was on the cutting edge of every progressive issue, as every good Jewish mother is. And thismeant the whole feminist shtick, especially gender equality. She was also a card-carrying member ofthe "Thatsa my boy" club in which the beloved elder son accepts for a pampered lifetime not just

praise but sacred veneration and constant service. And that's why I'm starting my story here, theplace you discover just how very splendored love can really be.

The first part takes place the year Ruth and Joel finally hit the divorce courts in the most amiable ofactions. She was down but most assuredly not out and wanted to show her nosey friends andrelations that she still had what it takes; that she'd had it with clowns of any age or shape, and thatshe'd snagged herself a wow of a man for her big come-back, one impressive dude, a Harvard man,

someone cute and brainy, a goy of a boy, and what a kisser.Using these enticing features and a slew of others made up to enhance the brew soon had her BBFMarie salivating, a Wagnerian sized shrew who hadn't a single feminine attribute or charm of anykind, but made up for these unfortunate lapses by being really REALLY rich. Marie, interested,

became Marie, nagging. When could she meet this prodigy who put her own male lapdog in theshade? And the sooner, the better... "So, stop with the excuses, already". It was put-up or shut up.How about a Valentine's Day dinner for 4 at the Cafe Budapest in Boston? There would be theirfamous cherry soup, tokay and Gypsy violinists, all on Marie of course. As I told you, she wasREALLY rich.

"Jeffrey, I have a BIG favor to ask you."

The white stretch limousine was ontime to the minute, 7:30 p.m. All the characters were present.Marie was over dressed in what she called a Hungarian hussar costume; a tight fitting blue bodicewith miles of gold thread and epaulettes that would have made a minor Habsburg archduke proud. Ididn't know whether to laugh or salute... so I muttered the usual "glad to meet yous" and scruncheddown to get in the Guido-mobile. But where was Marie's 'til death do us part?

Marie later told me she thought it would be "fun" if she dressed him as a Viennese coachman, circa1880. No symbolism here, of course. He looked ridiculous, of course. Maybe that was Marie'sintention. If so, she got her wish. His uniform was clearly two or three sizes too big for him. His tophat fell over his eyes... and his boots, while polished, were like flip-flops. I saluted him and tried tolimit my smile to the appropriate length Emily Post recommended when you meet hubby the lap

dog. I made it just a bit bigger because I felt sorry for the schlemiel. After all, he looked like Marie'slunch.

Ruth looked... well, I was bowled over. She was cute as a bug in a rug with a (was it?) mink collar."Ruthie," Marie said,"you look..." and then she said it again as if she didn't quite believe what shewas seeing "Henny, doesn't Ruthie look..." As her eyes took in every feature of my winsome self,you could see she was licking her lips, thinking Mazel tov... Mazel tov! And as if to answer Marieand establish ownership, my friend Ruth planted a kiss on me that was a lollapalooza of the genre,the real deal. I never saw it coming.


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Okay, I looked terrific that evening. For a guy as disinterested in clothes as I was, (except for theblue cape with red silk lining I got on Carnaby Street in London), I could look like the well turnedout gentleman my mother always demanded. I was wearing black tie evening dress, the duds cut byOxford University's comme il faut tailor.

I was washed, brushed, combed, ironed, buttoned, zipped, bow-tied, with a smile nicely calibrated tobe just proper enough to meet her friends and just wicked enough that she'd want to dump them assoon as possible. Rarely has any friend done so much to achieve the desired result. As I was

complimenting myself, extolling my finesse and magnanimity Ruthie snuggled up as if there was notomorrow. As for Marie, she never took her eyes off Ruth, which meant she never took her eyes offme. There was certainly a lot to look at...

"Madam, I understand today is a very special day. These flowers have just arrived for you."

With that the waiter handed over the biggest, most entrancing bouquet I had ever seen. And I got areal smacker as thanks. My initial was on the card... along with that fatal word "love." Only problemis, I didn't send them. I could guess of course, but I couldn't ask. The sender counted on mydiscretion, on not blurting anything out but playing my part in the play with consummate skill... andI did.

Ruth got up and hoisted a piece of exquisite crystal which featured the double-headed imperialeagle. The sommelier, standing by, filled it with the finest tokay, and then filled the other threeglasses, too.

She never looked more beautiful, more determined, more certain of what she must say or how shewould say it. The game had suddenly become very serious indeed. And every diner in the CafeBudapest that memorable evening, immersed as they were in their own rituals of love, knew it.

Ruth, a practised thespian of so many years, had what every actor wants... a dedicated andsympathetic audience, in rapt attention, waiting expectantly for whatever she might say or do. Shetook her knife and hit her glass three times in prescribed fashion... then she turned and looked atme... her song beginning.

" I am one of those the world looked down on. I'm not what they think I ought to be. Love has mademe do things people frown on. But love is life and everything to me."

She was singing to me. Her hands stroked my hair. Her eyes locked on mine. Her look was plaintive.She wanted me to know her, love her. She needed me to know that love wasn't just an importantthing.... it was the only thing.

She breathed, she loved. She laughed, she loved. She cried, she loved. It was who she was... whatshe did. There was no beginning to it... no end. She was the Biblical Ruth of old... whither thougoest, I goeth.

Every person in the restaurant knew he was hearing searing honesty... total integrity. There was noart... no artifice... nothing but one woman and the man she had selected, giving everything, hopingfor everything, too proud to ask for anything.

Then the song was over, its last words hanging in the air,

"If the after years bring me tears, it's all right, I'm satisfied. I've broken man made laws, but heavenwill forgive me because I'm doing what I'm doing for love."

I wanted to say something, but everything that needed to be said had been said. She knew. And sobefore I opened my mouth, she touched my lips and whispered "Thanks for tonight. Thanks foreverything." I should have gone down on one knee and said them to her...


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Envoi.

Sophie Tucker (1886-1966) was known for her brassy, over-the-top style.. Where men wereconcerned her tastes were insistent and voracious, entirely appropriate for the "Last of the Red HotMammas." But in 1929 she showed the world a very different, tender, beseeching side. The songwas "I'm Doing What I'm Doing For Love", and it was that song that was sung for me that eveningthat is one of a handful of perfect occasions of my eventful life. 67 this year, I haven't married. Gonow to any search engine and play this tune and remember your perfect moment and what you did

for love... or might still do.


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http://www 20WaystoProfit com Copyright Patrice Porter - 2014 7 of 7

ResourceAbout the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is an avid collector, as well as author of 18 bestselling business and marketing books, several ebooks and over one thousand online articles.

Republished with author's permission by Patrice Porterhttp://20WaystoProfit.com.
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Valentine, I'm doing it for Love!