Although Raquel was the conquest about which Sam reminisced with most pleasure, she was neither as passionate nor as fulfilling a lover as Jenny. There were no shared moments in the 1970s that had as much mutual significance as those early days with Jenny. She had no fondness for Sam’s mimicking of Norman Wisdom, Spencer Tracey or Humphrey Bogart, and Sam had difficulty in truly understanding the appeal of Robert de Niro or Harrison Ford. They shared very few cultural pleasures. He really did not enjoy Marc Bolan, Al Stewart or Rod Stewart. The Beatles was probably as modern as his taste in music ever progressed. And much as he enjoyed Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly, he preferred Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennet. Sentimental fool that he was, Sam once took a holiday to Casablanca in the long gap between wives number three and four. This was a disappointment in one sense. The crowded, sweaty North African city hardly resembled at all the Casablanca of his imagination, except for the. “My life was on a totally different track up until that snowstorm. That changed everything.”“For me, too,” I added. “You know I’m not religious, but I can’t help wondering if there isn’t some master plan that had our paths crossing during that blizzard and changing our courses.”“Or,” Andrea remarked, “maybe it is totally random -- a butterfly’s wings in Asia stirring up the atmosphere to grow into a storm that happens to hit us while we’re together. If that lightning bolt had hit that tree half an hour later, things would be totally different.”Our servers brought our entrees. One of them popped the cork on the Champagne. “Which of you gentlemen would approve the wine?”“Go ahead, Walter,” I said.Walter sampled a splash in his glass and pronounced it excellent. She filled our glasses and we held them up.“To Andrea and Casey,” my step-dad toasted. “A long and happy life together.”“I’ll second that,” Mom added.We clinked glasses and sipped the cold bubbly.Andrea regarded her glass. “This.
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