Finding My Voice. Nita Whitaker LaFontaine
We were there for two weeks and I’d given Don a call on our second night there.
It was February, near Valentine’s Day, and flowers came. I was thrilled to get them. One day he called my hotel room. I asked where he was thinking he was somewhere in his house. He said, “I’m in the lobby.” I thought he was joking; we had only shared a couple of smooches so far, and yet here I was in Florida and he was supposed to be in California.
I said, “What lobby?”
He said, “At the Diplomat.”
I reminded him that he lived in Hollywood, California, and I was in Hollywood, Florida.
Then I said, “What are you doing here?”
He simply said, “I was in the neighborhood and I came to see you.” “I’ll be right over,” I said. I hung up the phone, jumped and danced a little and squealed with delight (at least a high C) in my little hotel room, brushed up my makeup, and did another little dance. Never had any man gone out of his way for me or had any man other than my Dad done something so over the top for me. I wondered what Don’s gesture meant. I asked myself, “What does he want from me?” We had only gone on two dates, so you can imagine my shock and delight in the same moment.
He had flown all the way across the country to be with me and to get to know me better. Was he trying to impress me or woo me? I didn’t know because I didn’t know him so well, but assumed perhaps it was a little of both.
I ran across the street and dashed into the lobby where he stood leaning against a giant post near the lobby entrance wearing a medium blue V-neck sweater that matched and accentuated the blue of his eyes. His dark brown blow-dried hair and mustache added to the Burt Reynolds–like drama set against the dark wash jeans; he was very sure of himself, all five-feet eight-and-a-half-inches of him. He looked six- feet tall to me that day.
I ran to him but didn’t want to give the signal that because he’d done this for me, I was supposed to do something for him, so I was cool and didn’t fawn over him, but I was really touched.
He came to all the shows that weekend. We spent time together during the day and continued getting to know each other. He had a sweeping suite at another hotel overlooking the ocean, and each night I went back to my dinky room with no view and modest amenities because I did not want to be perceived as an “easy” girl. My standards were too high for even this grand gesture to make me give in to the moment. I wanted his respect more than anything else and I wanted to get to know him better, to see if he was real and if we could really be a couple. I was not giving up the coo-coo!
We took long walks, ate delicious lunches and dinners, and spent lots of time talking. He seemed wonderful and terribly romantic and I was learning that his playboy exterior housed a really gentle man. I could feel that he was growing more special to me by the minute; he had always been clear about his intentions. “I want you to be my lady,” he’d said. We were gently reminded that we were in the South, and felt stared at a bit, with my being tall and him shorter, but getting used to that came easy. That time together marked the beginning of something wonderful and significant between us.
I learned later (long after we were married) that Don had gone to Ben to ask his permission to come around and date me. Ben reminded him that he was not my father. Don nodded and acknowledged that he was my employer and he wanted it to be okay for him to come around. He gave Ben an expensive bottle of wine I was told as a gesture of goodwill and gentlemanly behavior. Ben was very impressed with him and ended up being one of two best men at our 1988 wedding. He and Don had tremendous respect for each other’s brilliance. They had a quiet friendship based on that respect and mutual love, never judgment or competition.
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