A friend of mine wrote a musical. I knew he'd been working on it for a few years. I mainly knew because he asked me to go to some recording studio and scream into a microphone for a demo reel. After a few takes, they thanked me for my time and sent me home. Not a soul was surprised. I'm a writer, not a yeller.

Then one day years later, he mentioned, in passing, that his musical was being performed off-broadway in New York City. Oh, and he was playing the lead role. Before he finished his sentence, I knew I was headed to the big apple. I shared this news with the family at dinner. With a conviction and decision as quick as mine, Bella asked if she could come too. Heck yeah.

When I told my friend Bella and I were coming, he lit up. He insisted we stay at his family's apartment. He did warn me that there would be a mess of people crashing there, so I should not expect much and should probably even bring some bedding. Given that I had no idea where I was going to stay (or how I would pay for it), I gladly accepted.

So Bella and I arrived in New York early Friday afternoon. We first went to my friend's house to drop off our stuff. When we arrived, he said, let me show you to your room. As we worked our way through a cavernous double (!!!) condo that took up the whole corner of a building, he explained that some plans had changed and we would have our own room. And it was a giant room with two double beds and our own bathroom, two bathrooms actually. This was seriously different than we expected and felt like full-on royalty.

Bella and I headed out for dinner after shedding our bags and saying our hellos. We were both starving as neither of us had eaten all day, saving every inch of stomach real-estate for the weekend. Regarding our plan, I told Bella that the only thing I needed to do was be at this show Saturday night. She could fully control the rest of the schedule, and she did in grand fashion. Our escapade began by eating (and learning how to properly eat) authentic Chinese dumplings. In the hours that followed, we visited a few staples, Rockefeller Center, St. Peter's Cathedral, Time Square, and the like. We also popped into several small shops during our walking campaign.

Bella had asked me about places I might like to eat. I said I'd eat anywhere she wanted. She did have a full docket planned, but she also knew how this slice of NY Sicilian pizza I had in the nineties created a religious shift in me because I have often told the story. Bella was determined to make sure I experienced my second slice of Sicilian on this trip. I told her not to worry, and I had no idea where I got it anyway. As we were leaving Times Square, she saw a sign for a traditional pizza shop and pulled us in. I said this was not the place. She nudged me forward and told me to go look. Sheepishly, I walked to the glass display. There was a geometric cacophony of colorful pizzas before me. All circles, though, and no right-angles, which are the mark of a bonafide Sicilian pie. As I turned to go back, a tray on the very end of the smorgasbord caught my attention, and there they sat, the cheese-laden, pepperoni-stacked rectangular slices that occasionally worked their way into my dreamscapes. The man asked if he could help me. I just pointed over there. He pointed at the piece to confirm. I nodded. He threw it on a paper plate and deftly tossed it into the oven to heat. I turned and gave Bella a thumbs. She flashed a maternal smile back.

When we sat down, we both took the slice in. The pizza was smothered in small pepperoni discs. They were sliced-thick, like the pizza they sat atop, and were cooked until the edges curled, each one looking like a small bowl, the top lip just on the brink of being burnt. I took the maiden bite. Oh. My. Goodness. Just as I remembered it. Better than I remembered it. I asked Bella if she wanted some. She said she was good. I understood as this was our fourth meal since the plane landed. Before I got halfway through, she said she had maybe changed her mind and wanted one. We got a second slice, and both moaned and drooled our way through each.

An older couple was sitting next to us. They struck up a conversation. They were on an anniversary trip. 50th. 60th. Something significant like that. The lady said they honeymooned in NYC. She said they started the weekend further south, like in Norfolk or Myrtle Beach but said the scene was a bore, so they jumped in the car and drove to New York. Once she learned we were a father-daughter (people sometimes think Bella and I are a couple, to the great chagrin of my daughter), she looked to Bella and told her with great sincerity to always stay a daddy's girl. The lady confessed she was until the day her father died, and that is the only way to do it. Bella graciously said she was and would probably remain so for all of her old man's days. When we stood to leave, I wasn't sure what I enjoyed more, the pizza or our conversation with this lovely couple.

Strike that. It was the pizza, though the conversation was also excellent.

The next day we lucked into, we were told by the locals, the best weather the city had seen all year. High seventies. Blue skies. Low Humidity. We slowly worked our way to Central Park and spent the entire day walking and biking the area. We sat and watched street performers, bought from sidewalk vendors, and took time to just sit and take in the grand spectacle. We hung out there all day like we were long-time locals enjoying another luxurious weekend in this wondrous city.

We headed back for the dinner and the show. We ate with my friend's family, which was quite large as people came from as far away as California to take in the show. When we were shown to our seats, Bella and I were dead-center in the first row. There was that royalty feeling again. The show was very entertaining, and watching my friend of many years perform the singing lead was mind-blowing. Afterward, we got to go to the cast party, and that was a fitting way to end-cap what was a stand-out day in the lives of both Bella and me.

The next day we spent with Marty's sister, who has lived in NYC ever since she hasn't lived in Marty's house. She asked us what we wanted to see. Where we wanted to go. Museums. Sites. Events. We asked her what she would be doing if we weren't there. She said she had some errands to run and had to stop by the farmers' market. We said we wanted to do that. She didn't believe us. But we convinced her what we wanted was to see what a day in the life of an actual new yorker looked like. So we ran errands with Aunt Suzy, and she introduced us to the local merchants, showed us her favorite little spots, and told us the stories that only a lifetime resident would know. Exquisite.

From there, Bella and I went back to our super-condo, grabbed our gear, thanked and hugged our hosts, and headed back to the airport, almost precisely 48 hours after we arrived. Having shared this weekend with Bella, I can't imagine it without her. It would have surely been memorable had I gone alone. What it would not have been was one of the best weekends of my life.

Thank you, Baya, for my weekend and my second-ever slice of Sicilian.