Don't call between 12 and 1.

It happens all the time. We think we know someone and then we find out we don’t—or at least not as well as we thought we did. I’ve decided that we may not know someone at all until we know what he or she does during the lunch hour. Life is full of surprises, and we may discover that a friend’s plat du jour may not be at all what we expected and that he or she has a taste for something different—something we may never choose from the menu in a million years. This happened to me recently. I found that a friend of mine spends her lunch hour in another state of mind...and most definitely in another world.

The title of this article purposefully alludes to the lunch hour—specifically the hour between noon and 1 p.m. You might be thinking “nooner” at this point…and you wouldn’t be wrong. It’s actually my friend Su-Z-Q’s nooner to which I allude. It’s an almost daily event that I had no idea took place—and continues to take place Monday through Friday. Let me clarify this statement. I know this nooner takes place all over the world, I just didn’t know it was playing out in my friend’s family room. Have I whetted your appetite? Are you ready for lunch? I’m certain that search engines all over cyberspace will “pick-up” hungry patrons enticed by my nooner references. Alas, I fear they may be disappointed in the fare. What’s spicy to one isn’t as spicy to others.

It’s true that Suzie’s nooner may not be what you or I have in mind as a great way to while away our lunch hour, but it turns her on…or at least the TV in her family room. It’s not a twosome, or even a threesome, but it does involve Erica Cane, whom some may recognize better as Susan Lucci. Yes, Suzie’s nooner has a large cast that’s been entertaining audiences far longer than most nooners ever last. It takes place in Pine Valley and every lunch hour the players serve up a hot and steamy dish for my dear friend. Of course, I refer to the “been around forever, and “probably be around forever,” soap opera “All My Children.”

Okay. Suzie is one of my beloved muses and I’m known for being a keen observer. How can it be that all of our friends, male and female, knew not to call Suzie between 12 and 1 except me? How did I not know that she was addicted to this program—and I do mean addicted. The answer is simple. Suzie didn’t want me to know. She went to great lengths (and personal agony) to hide her obsession. She hid her daily nooner fix from me for years. She’s more addicted to “All My Children,” than she is to “Nip Tuck.” If you knew Suzie like I do (or thought I did) that’s saying a lot. She’s been having this nooner far longer than we’ve been friends. She’s been keeping track of Ms. Kane for over 30 years.

I had no idea. We’ve traveled together for days and weeks at a time and never once did she watch, or even attempt to watch, the goings on in Pine Valley. She’s never mentioned that she watches this program and she’s certainly never dropped any overt hints. However, there were a few telltale clues that I missed. Guess I’m not that keen of an observer after all. Here are just a few of the road signs to Pine Valley that I ignored.

• Name Dropping: Through the years Suzie’s made several references to Susan Lucci, which I chalked up to our age difference of 10 years and because Suzie knows everything that goes on in the entertainment industry, compliments of “Entertainment Tonight” and “Access Hollywood.”

• Telly Interruptus: I’ve called Susie during 12 and 1 and unknowingly interrupted her nooners. I’m positive about this now because I distinctly remember several times when I’ve hung up the phone wondering why she was so distracted and abrupt…and even rude to me as she cut our conversation short. There have been times when I've actually worried about what I said or did to make her mad. Now I know. Telly interruptus was my sin.

• Before or After: Suzie always schedules lunch, or errands, well before or after the 12 to 1 p.m. time slot. I always assumed this was so she could walk her dog Annie. Now I know that it’s so she and Annie can curl up together in the family room and watch Erica Cane strut her tiny little “it can’t be 60” fannie.

• Don’t Bother Knocking: I’m certain that I’ve dropped by Suzie’s house during the 12 to 1 p.m. no fly zone. Perhaps to return forgotten sunglasses, a dish she left at my house, or deliver something I picked up for her at the grocery store. If she didn’t answer the door, even though I suspected she was home, I always assumed she was in the shower. I would leave the items at her front door and call later to make sure she found them. I see now that I eventually stopped knocking or ringing her bell during 12 and 1. I didn’t realize I was doing this or that her noontime behavior had hit my radar. I only knew that Susie was not all that friendly midday…at least not to me. I certainly didn’t know that something else was ringing her bell and getting an enthusiastic welcome and come on in greeting.

While these may not seem like obvious signs of a secretive assignation to you, they certainly link together enough so that I should have formed a question at some point...and asked another of our friends, “What exactly happens at Suzie’s house during the lunch hour?” I never did.

Suzie was “outed” by accident. If it weren’t for the slip of the tongue of another friend, Mrs. C0x, I’d still be in the dark and interrupting Suzie’s nooner on a regular basis. One day I innocently mentioned to Mrs. Cox that I needed to get a hold of Suzie and that she wasn’t answering the phone. Mrs. Cox forgot that I wasn’t in the know and replied that I probably called her between 12 and 1 p.m., to which I replied “So?” After some rather nasty threats (and a few bribes) on my part, I finally drug the truth from Mrs. Cox. She spilled the beans on Suzie’s nooner, and I laughed so hard that I cried.

Of course, I didn’t let on to Suzie that I knew her secret for quite a while. It intrigued me that I wasn’t to know about her nooner…when everyone else did. I was patient. I waited to expose her in front of her husband, who already knew about her regular lunchtime tête-à-tête with “All My Children.” Finally, one evening when we were all feeling no pain, I dropped the bomb on Pine Valley. Her husband started laughing hysterically and Suzie looked like the deer caught in the headlights, or the kid with his hand in the cookie jar, or better yet, the manipulating and conniving Erica Cane caught between the sheets of another man when her husband walks in and says, “Hi Honey, I’m home.”

It seems that Suzie was embarrassed about her addiction to Pine Valley. She knows that I don’t watch soaps...and that I never have and probably never will. She was ashamed to admit her little secret to me. She would rather have me interrupt (and irritate her) during her nooners than fess up. She preferred to have me think she was a rude biatch on occasion than tell me the truth. She chose to suffer silently over the episodes she missed while we traveled, than admit her attachment to this program.

Do I think any less of Suzie for keeping this secret? No. We all have our secrets. Do I think any less of her that she watches “All My Children” obsessively? No. It’s not like she's addicted to Jerry Springer. Do I feel sad that she thought I might think less of her? Yes, of course I do. She should have known that our friendship is not based on a script, or what we like to watch on TV. Now she does. Plus, there’s the added benefits: no more noontime telly interruptus for Suzie and no more biatch treatment for me.

I’m glad Suzie’s secret is out in the open…and that she finally, albeit accidentally, came out of the closet—or rather her family room. Some secrets are meant to be kept, others to be shared. This one was meant to come out—if only to educate me on the goings on of “All My Chicas.” I hope it’s the longest running soap in her-story. It may never be number one in the Nielsen ratings, and it may never win an Emmy, but Susan Lucci take notice. My Suzie’s secretive nooner performance didn’t take her 19 years to grab the “Outstanding Actress” award in my book.

Dedicated to “All My Chicas.” What would I do without my muses...and the boundless material they serve up willingly for my weekly essays?

©2006 Teresa G. Franta