Izzy didn’t need a perfect figure to attract attention. With an easy laugh and a gift for spinning tall tales, her magnetism pulled at everyone. She’d share a conspiratorial look with me after every punchline. Like it was just between us. Like everything was just between us. She got her break first, a show she wrote in three weeks. The night it opened in the city, I’d landed my own gig, in Poughkeepsie. On the train home, I saw the post. Izzy wore a perfect midnight-blue gown, held a bouquet of roses, and was giving the photographer that look. My look.
By John Affleck