I
T wasn’t breakfast, but it was Tiffany’s. There I stood, remembering Holly Golightly. It was later in the day than breakfast. I was less elegantly attired than Holly and sans the foot-long cigarette holder. But it was Fifth Avenue New York, and here in front of me was Tiffany & Co.
Of course, it hadn’t really been Holly. It had been Audrey Hepburn in the movie that established her as one of Hollywood’s style icons and the world’s most successful actresses: a portrayal of the naive, eccentric socialite remembered as her most memorable and identifiable role.
The release of Breakfast at Tiffany’s in 1961 was before my time, but hasn’t every woman at some time entertained that romantic notion of stepping like Holly/Audrey from a New York cabby at the entrance to the world’s premier jeweller?
Besides, it was my 50th birthday, a three-week celebration 10 years in the planning; a manifestation of a starry-eyed dream.
The hours since the July 4 fireworks over the East River had taken my companion, JJ, and me to an early meal at The Boathouse in Central Park; a landmark 50th yoga session on the lawns; the Dean & DeLuca delicatessen on Madison Avenue before a park bench picnic, and The Guggenheim Museum.