Since A-Rod is the only human with a “call waiting” on the busy zipper, a voice from On High whispered to Miss Lopez, “You’ve had enough.”
A born slugger, he’s great with his bat – Madonna, Cameron Diaz, Kate Hudson, Demi Moore and Jennifer – Google lists 20 female home runs.
Star connections follow a pattern: Meet. Data. Hide. Deny. Then, photos with hugs closer than Biden and his headset. Then the children play together. Then dating chat. Engagement talk. Talk about coexistence. Marriage talk. But with these two becoming BS Era, go slow … she’s working … the timing isn’t right … pandemic.
I reported that yes May get married. I knew it. I reported that yes May get the Mets. I knew it. He then declared well, that he would buy another team. I reported that yes May get another team. I knew it. A) I didn’t have the money. B) There was no other equipment for sale. C) Unload a ball club on a previous drug addict? It doesn’t happen. Financially, it worked for a while. They bought real estate, lived there temporarily, fixed it and resold it. To buy such a famous lifestyle, buyers paid well.
A staff member branded this gentleman as “unpleasant.” I myself have really experienced it. Lopez just wants Lopez. You just want your picture or talk about it in a newspaper every day. Forget the retouching of the dirty word. But she also doesn’t drop on a couch. Puff Daddy, Ben Affleck, Drake, A-Rod, several husbands. And another Boy Scout is already being prepared.
Listen, so do the birds, the bees, even the polite ones. He made money. He made honey. But even a Swiss watch stops. Remember that once, a long time ago, Mrs. Adams told you all this.
A little further from Kerry
Another story. Sunday’s Post quoted a writer who claimed that Andrew Cuomo’s ex-wife, Kerry Kennedy, was so “ridiculed, belittled, harassed” by him that she “slept in a locked bathroom.”
Years ago, Governor Mario Cuomo and his wife Matilda invited me to their table to hear their son Andrew speak at some function. Tablet. Just the three of us in the back of a ballroom. Introducing Mrs. Kerry, Andrew took a step to one side to give her the microphone. She talked about herself, her activities, her family, her goals, her plans, her skills for over 20 !!! minutes. It never stopped while the evening star remained – unattended, excluded, alone, never entering – for 20 years painful minutes.
Neither Mario nor Matilda knew my gaze. He didn’t even speak. Their faces, stiff. Looking forward. Frozen with anger. Not knowing what to do, where to look, I canceled the next dinner and left.
Now I ask: is it how hurt and harassed she was? Is it tight on john? Let no one say I don’t know what I’m talking about. I still have my column reporting it.
Night full of jams
My beautiful New York night: I leave a restaurant. But no car. Driving my mistress from house to house, she broke down on the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s dark, a questionable area, it’s hectic, crowded in a wrecked vehicle, no dinner, and it’s late.
I have a taxi. I’m bringing takeaway food. The content is hot. The wet bag was crushed. The containers are spilled. I’m sliding sauce from the seat, the floor, the clothes and my friend. In melee, I lose a gold earring. The soaked leftovers (wet salad, wet pasta, hot stracciatella soup) flood the kitchen floor and me. The phone rings. A dog bark. To feel safe, I run to answer. And I slide on wet bread.
Drag to the ringing phone. She’s a friend who tells me where she is, “Just in case.” In case what? In his car, in the middle of the Lie, his car had just stopped dead on the way to Southampton. Completely death. In the middle of busy weekend traffic. Bringing groceries, a dog. He is in panic mode. Why he called me, who knows. But police cars arrived. Trailer vehicles came. It ended well. She is safe. Just a good weekend night.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.