Fergie and Me

by Norman Horowitz

My father instilled in me the notion that the more important a person was, the more approachable they were. For the most part, he was correct.

About 20 years ago, I attended a film market in in the south of France in the upscale small city of Cannes, and I was invited to a dinner party at a restaurant in a nearby village. The event was sponsored by Westinghouse Broadcasting, who were selling a children’s series with Sarah Ferguson, The Duchess of Kent.

I was sitting at a table of Brits during dinner and looking for a way to discretely escape.

I was paying little attention and talking with one of the Brits when suddenly he stood up, and there was Fergie, escorted by her PR people, who knew me and introduced her to me.

I took her hand and said that I understood how difficult all this must be, being introduced to so many whom she would never meet again and doing it with charm and grace. She thanked me for saying what I did and how difficult it all was.

I then asked permission to say something that I shouldn’t. She smiled and said, “Please do.”

I went on to tell her that she was far more beautiful than her pictures. She blushed a little and thanked me.

We spent a few more moments chatting before she was taken away by her handlers, and I sat back down at my table.

The Brits couldn’t understand how I had chatted with Fergie. They all wanted to know what I said to her.

I mustered up my “serious face” and told them that I had asked her if she ever had sex with a Jew from the Bronx in her life.

In retrospect, I regret that I whined as much as I did about dealing with my “managements.” I led a great business life.