how it might go down

I love that line. It's so Hollywood. So kids-on-The-OC-in-trouble. I never expected to hear it in a conversation I was part of. Here's how it happened.

I spent many nice July days working on the Entertaining Guide for Toronto Life (now out in the November issue). I interviewed caterers, florists, stationers and a fellow named Arnie the Ham who delivers singing telegrams as a tuxedo-clad gorilla. But my favourite assignment was "the host with the most" - a round-up of entertaining tips from fashionable party throwers around town. One of my sort-of idols, Lynda Reeves, was on the list. I'm a big fan of her magazine. In fact, I have just about every issue from 1995 on. At the handful of media-type events I've attended where Lynda's been present I admired her from afar. She sees everything and everyone without one second of unneccessary or accidental eye contact. Fierce. I'd work for her if she didn't scare me.

After vetting the interview through her assistant Ryan, actually arranging a time to speak was no simple matter.

Ryan: "Lynda's very busy with taping right now so here's how it might go down. We might call you and say 'Lynda's available in five minutes, can you be available?"
Heart sinking. Dude, I have a 3-year old and a 3-month old rattling around this house. There's very little, short of fleeing my burning home, that I could pull off on five minutes notice. But the conspiratorial "here's how it might go down" had me hooked. Me: "Yes, of course. I'll wait to hear from you."

It played out like a scene from Three's Company. You know, where Jack has a date in the kitchen and one in the bathroom and he's frantic but managing to keep them separate. After waiting all day the phone call came just after five. I have call display so in the seven seconds between the first ring and call answer kicking in I handed baby H off to my mother in law like you'd pass the cashier a frozen turkey, stuck a freezie in Stella's hand and ushered the three of them on to the porch, locked the door behind them, pounced on the phone, exhaled and in a very oozy, breathy Jack Tripper kind of way, said "hello, this is Nicole."

Unlike Jack, I ultimately pulled it off. Half an hour later I hung up the phone triumphant. I had interviewed my sort-of idol and she had no idea I was sitting cross-legged on my bed with grass-stained feet, shooing my kid away from the window with a grimace and hand gestures the entire time. Love it.