Hamish Robertson and Andi Teran
Met: June 2003
Engaged: February 2004
Projected Wedding Date: Oct. 23, 2004
“The boy standing behind you is the cutest boy I’ve ever seen. He’s the one ,” whispered Andi Teran, a sweet-talking Texan actress, to her friend. The two were standing having a drink at Pianos on Ludlow Street.
“I’ve heard that before,” the (male, gay) friend began to remark, but it fell on deaf ears. Ms. Teran, 29, was already two-steppin’ on over to 6-foot-4, floppy-haired Hamish Robertson, 24, asking him what the big red “S” on his pink T-shirt stood for.
He could’ve gone with Superman, but-“Stussy,” he said, naming the brand.
“I think you should think of something cleverer to say next time a girl asks you what the ‘S’ stands for,” Ms. Teran said with her native flirtatiousness, fluttering doe eyes.
The three of them stood chatting for about 45 minutes, ice cubes melting in the gin-and-tonics Mr. Robertson (a graphic designer and artist visiting from York, England) had been sent to retrieve by his mates. “I couldn’t keep away,” he said. “I thought she was lovely-beautiful, beautiful eyes, beautiful smile. I thought they made a lovely couple, basically; I didn’t realize he was gay.”
“He smiled the whole time,” Ms. Teran said. “He had the happiest face.”
Everyone exchanged e-mail addresses, and Mr. Robertson kissed Ms. Teran goodbye on both cheeks in the continental manner.
“That’s not how it’s done in Texas,” Ms. Teran said.
“Where I’m from, pretty girls always get two kisses,” said Mr. Robertson.(“Ridiculously cheesy,” he admitted later. “Sensationally corny.”)
But Ms. Teran ate it up. “Such a charmer,” she gushed. “Right to the heart-signed, sealed and delivered. Done.”
The transcontinental e-mail wires began to burn up.
About a month later, Ms. Teran-who was moonlighting as a concierge at the Mercer Hotel to pay the bills-got a call from a Brit asking for a hotel room. “My heart stopped,” she said. “I just knew .”
On their first official date, they shared wild boar carpaccio at Il Buco, then literally skipped up the Bowery to Solas, a bar on East Ninth Street popular with expats. “I told him I wanted to skip, and he concurred,” said the frisky Ms. Teran.
In the fall, she hopped over the pond and they flew to Paris for the weekend, where they walked around the Louvre and Notre Dame without ever actually entering. “Very Before Sunrise ,” she said.
Only Mr. Robertson, thank God, proved a far more supportive partner than that Ethan Hawke character. Once, Ms. Teran e-mailed him about wanting to start an online magazine, Verbose Coma . “Because I’m always talking so much and putting everyone into a coma,” she explained. “Within minutes I get an e-mail link and he had created the Web site. He completely believed in me. It was like, ‘You want to be a writer? You want to write about this. Well, I’m gonna make it happen for you, because you deserve it.'” Wait a minute, honey-we thought you were an actress!
Mr. Robertson proposed spontaneously one night at around 2 a.m., when they were hanging out in her Nolita apartment.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, it just seemed utterly appropriate and correct,” he said. After returning to England, he sent over a laser-cut plastic ring in the shape of a speech bubble from her favorite London shop, Tatty Devine.
He moved here in May, and they’re planning to wed at St. Malachy’s Church (known as the Actor’s Chapel), with a reception at Astra on Third Avenue and an after-party at the Bryant Park Hotel. (Texans and Brits? Better stock up on the booze!) Ms. Teran will be sporting a “modern Shakespearean” dress she bought at Veka, down the street from her apartment.
“I love her,” said the groom-to-be. “What can I say?”
Rafik A. Cezanne and Linda M. Terrasi
Engaged: July 2004
Projected Wedding Date: October 2005
Linda Terrasi met Rafik Cezanne back in that simpler time of big hair, shoulder pads and Pac-Man. She was an art-department manager at Price Waterhouse; he was a self-described “lowly mail clerk” 10 years her junior. One day, puffed up with women’s lib, she boldly dialed the mailroom. “Rafik was this gangly youth,” said Ms. Terrasi, now 54, with a chuckle. “He had these gorgeous legs, so muscular that they were like braided bread, and he was this rich caramel color.”
Mr. Cezanne, the son of African-American actor Leslie Scott and a French mother distantly related to the artist Paul Cezanne-“I’m literally the black sheep of the family,” he likes to joke-was flummoxed by the summons. “He thought I wanted him for something, like to help me move,” Ms. Terrasi said. In fact, she wanted to take him by the hair and drag him to the caveman movie Quest for Fire . They arranged to meet at a theater near their midtown office. “When I turned the corner, I could see him in the wind, clutching these flowers, looking worriedly around like I wasn’t going to show up. It was all I could do not to run straight into his arms,” she said.
“It was a bit of a scandal,” said Mr. Cezanne, now 44.
“In those days, there were a lot of scandals going on-we weren’t the only ones,” Ms. Terrasi said, adding, “I knew we were meant for each other when I found out he was a fire sign, like me!”
But her family tried to throw cold
“She always roots for the underdog,” said Mr. Cezanne with affection. He eventually left the mailroom to work in computers and currently works in the I.T. department at the law firm Cravath, Swaine & Moore (playing a mean sax on the side). It took him 13 years to move into his older woman’s West Village apartment, which is stuffed with her collection of vintage clothing and handbags. “I figured if it ain’t broke, then why fix it?” he said.
The Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, however, caused them to reassess.
“That evening we sat together, listening to the sirens, and talked about how it put everything in perspective,” Ms. Terrasi said. “You find yourself thinking about how sudden things are,” Mr. Cezanne said.
After a few more years of procrastinating, he gave her an emerald-cut garnet stone with diamond baguettes set in a gold band that he’d made himself, and they began planning a small, private ceremony in the Arizona desert area of Sedona.
“I’m tired of introducing her as my girlfriend,” Mr. Cezanne said. “I’m ready to call her my wife. We figured we love each other-why not make it official?”
“We knew from the beginning that it was going to be more than just some hot affair,” Ms. Terrasi said. “We just didn’t know what.”