I promised us some light-hearted fun, a few “this is my crazy life” stories to celebrate summer and get me off this “Dare To Be Yourself” kick I’ve been exploring the past few months.

You know me … I’m always looking for connections … then and now … what’s it all about Alfie?

Alfie - Dionne Warwick in Brazil 1993

The events of my life are just about the zeros: none or a bunch, and little in between. To illustrate, I have two tales for you … one about $1 and today about $1000.

More background in every story about me:

1. Anything is possible in my mind. I refuse to admit defeat.
2. I’m generally fearless, walking where Angels dare not tread.
3. I don’t comprehend the word “no”, “nada”, “not interested”, “not today”.

OPM

If my life is all about zeroes, it’s also about “other people’s money”, especially during my 10 years as an executive with Victoria’s Secret Stores.

In my case, I lived in two cities, working 80 hours a week plus, flying around the world every six weeks. London, Paris, Milan, Bangkok, Hong Kong, Seoul, Taipei. A getaway experience was 13 hours to Hong Kong on United, where the first class flight attendants called me Queen Victoria. It’s true that I got tears in my eyes when I heard the United Rhapsody in Blue commercial.

As head of our product development group and Victoria’s Secret’s first Fashion Director, I made decisions about money that might sound extravagant or even appalling to you … as I did in Italy, this March morning.

Victoria’s Secret brand

Action Please

Let’s get this party started. Actors and props please: one hot-blooded Italian chauffeur; a 7-series BMW; four helicopters; the Swiss police; Swiss Air seat 1A: Zurich to Paris; one gutsy platinum blonde; and an American passport issued in Paris.

Alitalia Bad Boys

The only chaos I want from Italian men in the middle of the night is Amore, so this call was not my kind of room service. You can’t possibly sleep through a phone ringing in Italy, and this one jolted me out of very sweet dreams, at the Hotel Principe di Savoia, Milano.

“It’s alright,” I mumbled to my secretary, sandwiched now between me on one side of the Atlantic and our travel office, on the other. Boo, not another strike! I was due in Paris, at Bourget Airport, the following afternoon, when my boss Grace Nichols, president of Victoria’s Secret, arrived in France.

“What do you mean there’s a strike at Linate tomorrow? There’s always a strike in this bloody country… . How about the train? … No seats… Oh, Christ … every fashion person in Europe will be in Paris this weekend… . Keep looking … You have to get me there… Lugano? . .. I don’t know how far Lugano is… . Maybe 90 minutes… You’re sure they’re flying and not honoring the strike… . If Malpenssa is not flying, I hope I’m not off on some wild goose chase.”

“Yes, I know that Lugano is in another country, but these guys stick together, you know. They’re the fraternal brotherhood or something.”

Convinced that this was my only shot of getting to Paris on time, I said OK. Understand that no matter what my travel agent said, I knew better. If we didn’t have fog grounding us in Lugano, we’d have men buddy-to-buddy in a work stoppage.

Lugano may have a Swiss passport, but its soul is Italian.

Arrivederci ItaliaPrincipe Di Savoia Milano

Five hours later, the porter came from my luggage and I walked out into a chilly, early Milan morning. “Buon giorno,” I nodded to my driver, holding open the passenger door.

The leather mixed with my own fragrance — male and female, uniting for the single purpose of getting me to Paris. What am I saying? I’m in Italy where nothing is a straight line, and all roads lead to a passionate kiss of heart and mind.

Your Anne appreciates a high-performance automobile at any hour of the day. “Too bad we can’t open this baby full-throttle,” I said to myself. “The road to Lugano isn’t exactly like driving on the Autoban.”

My popularity with Europeans is tied to my having a gracious attitude. I’m never the American woman who walks in, acting like she owns the place.

In those years, my style was noted often by Europeans and Asians, who couldn’t do enough to help me. They loved the fact that I was more than a Material Girl … even if I did carry a big business stick. I detest that kind of pretentiousness in people.

While this BMW commercial is about a bad girl that I’m not, I know more than one woman like her in the fashion business. Madonna is one of my favorite Smart Sensuality women. I know she would NEVER behave like this in real life.

BMW M5 with Madonna

Director: Anne, stop messing around and get back to your story.

Cruisin’

Daylight fell across the hood of the car, breaking the dark silence of night. Engaging the ignition, the handsome Italian asked me if I wanted a little music.

What I really wanted was to take a nap, after getting up at 4am to pack and checkout early. Linate was closed down, but I was moving ahead of schedule.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Do you like Aretha Franklin?”

“Are you playing that for me? Or do you enjoy Aretha?”

“Soul Train” Aretha Franklin “Rock Steady”

Click to watchKissing his fingers, my driver paid homage to the Queen of Soul, and turned up the volume. Whoa! Smiling to myself, I settled back, considering the prospect of another long, taxing, full-throttle day. We were moving… fast enough that I felt the car’s, aggressive but polished power vibrating in my body.

Dualing Identities

Lugano may be Swiss, but her soul is Italian. This day, Lugano didn’t run with the precision of a Swiss timepiece. Mother Nature was our chief navigator, and she was pouting.

A dense morning fog settled over the small Lugano airport, leaving no doubt that we were on a low-visibility delay. My driver left me waiting in the comfort, returning with news that I should be airborne by 9am.

“Espresso, senora?”

“Si per favore.”

As an international traveler, I have great patience, masking then unusually high cortisol levels. My stress hormones were off the charts, but I didn’t know it yet. Life on the road was often about waiting … especially in Romantic countries like Italy.

I didn’t know about ‘slowing down’ movements in those years, and I was always rushing somewhere … but nicely, with grace.

Lugano Arrival

Flickr: ticinoinfotos’s Lugano Photostream

Problema Grande

Sunlight finally broke through the clouds, inviting me to get ready to board my commuter flight to Paris. Luggage now out of the trunk, I walked into the quiet airport with my American girl smile in departure mode. It soon faded.

“Senora, senora … we have a problem … a big problem. Your flight is cancelled.”

“What do you mean, my flight is cancelled! The plane is right there and the fog has cleared. We’re going to Paris.”

“No, senora. The flight is cancelled. There’s a strike at Linate.”

“I know that, sir. That’s why I’m flying out of Lugano. You’re in Switzerland, and Linate’s in Italy. “

“Ah, senora, I’m so sorry, but we cannot fly. We are honoring the strike and have cancelled all our flights today. It’s not my decision, senora. I would fly you myself.”

“What can I do? I MUST be in Paris this afternoon. MUST BE. You can’t just leave people stranded like this!”

Damn! Do Something!

The Lugano airport clerk searched his computer for options. Shaking his head, pursing his lips, making long, drawn-out sighing sounds, he was dedicated, in the search for an answer.

Pausing, considering, calculating, he turned to my driver. “How long to get the senora to Zurich?”

Turning to me, the driver laughed. “Senora, do you like a big challenge? Can I drive fast … faster than you ever drive in America?”

“How fast?” I asked.

“Very fast, senora. You must fasten your seat belt this time.”

“Three hours and 15 minutes to the gate,” my driver responded.

“No, senor. It’s longer.” The clerk shook his head.

The Swiss wall clock said precisely 9:35 am.

“Three hours and 15 minutes to the gate. I can do it.”

“In that case, senora, I have one first-class seat on Swiss Air, leaving at 13:05 hours for Paris. That’s it. Nothing more out of Zurich to Paris, all day. You must fly tomorrow, senora.”

“I can’t fly tomorrow,” I replied.

And the Answer is?

There was little time to think. Every second increased the risk that I would not make the flight.

“You really believe you can make it?” I asked the driver.

“If you move now, senora. We’re wasting time.”

“How much?”

“$1000.”

Bugatti-Veyron fastAdventure wraps itself around me, seeking me out, daring me to push the adrenalin buttons one more time. Life is like a poker game … will I win my hand one more time?

Is it my DNA? My upbringing? My Myers-Briggs personality type? Who knows.

Without asking the price of my new ticket to Paris, I responded, handing my AMX card to the clerk.

“Let’s go, senor. Load up the car.”

Minutes later, I actually did buckle my seat belt. Smiling his Italian eyes at me, my driver nodded: “Don’t worry senora. I will get you there in time. No problem.”

Remember the ingredients of my story, dear readers: one hot-blooded Italian chauffeur (check); a 7-series BMW (check); four helicopters; the Swiss police; Swiss Air seat 1A: Zurich to Paris (check); one gutsy platinum blonde (check); and an American passport issued in Paris.

To be continued Saturday Jan. 23, 2010, but a little foreplay:

James May’s Bugatti Veyron Top Speed Test - Top Gear - BBC Autos

With love,
Anne