MY DINNER WITH SUSAN LUCCI

So there I was last Sunday night, sitting with my son and his family at the Quogue Club in Quogue, New York, way out on Long Island where the fabled Hamptons begin to hum, and a long long way from the Wells woods. 

Chris and daughter-in-law Jen were our dinner hosts. Grandsons Miles and Henry were wolfing down every bun in the bread basket and I was studying the menu when Chris whispered, “Mom, over your left shoulder, DON’T BE OBVIOUS, BE COOL, but it’s Susan Lucci.”

SUSAN LUCCI! OMG! Erica Kane! Pine Valley!  Adam Chandler!  “All My Children!” And sitting right at the next table!  (Well actually, two tables away with a banquette or two and an aisle in between, but close.)

I turned my head, ever so slowly, and surreptitiously eyeballed the petite coiffed woman in her mid-70s, looking New York chic and elegant, smiling and appearing quite friendly, and not at all like the conniving vixen with the mega-hairdos that she played on television and for which she received an Emmy …. finally. (Which, by the way, was a big day in our house. “Erica won her Emmy!”)

“Let’s send her a glass of champagne,” I suggested to Chris. 

“She’s already got a drink,” he replied. 

“That’s not the point,” I said. “If we send her champagne, even if she refuses, she’ll probably stop by our table to thank us and we can chat. Let’s do it for old time’s sake.”

(Let me explain “old times sake.”  Way back when, my kids and I rarely missed an episode of the popular daytime soap on ABC. I even purchased one of the first VCRs on the market so that if Chris had soccer practice after school or Alex was at gymnastics, we could watch a taped “All My Children” that night. We discussed the comings and goings of Tad Martin, Skye Chandler and Billy Clyde Tuggle as if we would be seeing them at the next family reunion.)

Jen whispered, “Val, I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” and quickly buried her face in the menu.  Fourteen-year-old Miles asked, “Vivi, do you even know this lady?” Henry was noncommittal and kept slurping his Shirley Temple. 

Chris put on the kibosh. “Mom, NO!” And gave me a steely look that only a 50-year-old son can give his mother when he thinks she’s gone a little dotty.

But honestly, even living in the fabulous Kennebunks of Maine, where Patrick Dempsey strides through Dock Square several times a week, where numerous Bushes walk their dogs on the beach every morning and chat with passers-by, where Kenny Chesney and Taylor Swift have popped in for lobster dinners — me having dinner with “Erica Kane” was a new high.

And amazingly it came only hours after my lunch that day with Eli Manning, when the Super Bowl-winning New York Giants quarterback was sitting right at the next table at the kids’ beach club … well, actually, four tables away and a pole in between, but close.

Yup. I’m starstruck!