The first one was Adriana Johnovich.
Sexy, skinny pouty.
She undressed him with her heavy-lidded eyes.
Guess he proved to her that he wasn't gay.
Sophie Miller came and went.
She thought there'd be something more than a few stolen hours.
But he pecked her cheek on a park bench and made one of his riveting exits.
I witnessed her eyes burning holes in the seat of his pants.
Kristina was determined but he wouldn't give her a tumble.
Then came Tamsin, the pointy-chinned witch.
That was short but sweet.
Then came the daughter of the casino boss, and the mistress of the corporate honcho and the hypnotist murderess and the con woman and the heiress with the kidnapped sister and the dying epidemiologist and both Walter's ex-wives and the weathergirl and the willowy blonde drug dealer.
And the lanky Miss Karen Cross.
Who could rest her chin on the top of his curly blond head.
And Dr. Montagu who turned out not to irk him at all.
And me?
I knew all but I kept it to myself.
I preserved the pretense.
The devoted family man.
Chaste. Incorruptible.
His story plays so much better that way.
Makes him even more irresistible.
And our lives depend on him being irresistible.
Hightower was an ongoing thing.
Poor Kristina came back for another try.
But he still showed her no mercy.
Ditto for Susan Darcy.
Erica Flynn got lucky both times.
And Lorelei.
She was quite a bit more than a one-night stand.
I had to admit I was jealous.
What was I?
Chopped liver?
Now after six years, twelve in TV years, it's my turn.
And I understand what all the fuss is about.