Early in my marriage, my new wife caught me looking at a pretty woman walking past us. I was a bit embarrassed, but Judy said, "Don't worry about it. You're married, not dead."

I found out pretty fast that the love of my life really was not into jealousy, despite the fact that my job often put me close to bevies of beautiful and sexy women.

It was not uncommon for me to phone home after a nice evening in which I had dined with a group of racing people, often including lovely, young public relations women.

At some point, I asked Judy if it bothered her that I was around these women all the time. Her reply, "I have no problem with you going out with them, just don't tell me what you ate."

We've been married almost 53 years now and her trust in me and mine in her remains solidly intact.

But I still like to look.

Over the years, I've had the opportunity to spend a little time with some of the most beautiful women in the world. Three in particular come to mind.

I was in Montreal early in my racing career for the Canadian Grand Prix when I was introduced to an aspiring young driver named Olivier Chandon. He was set to race in one of the preliminaries, but was considered a possible future Formula One driver.

He was also an heir to the French Moët et Chandon champagne fortune.

I started to ask him questions, but his pr person interrupted and said Olivier had to get ready for a practice session. The youngster suggested we continue the interview the next morning at breakfast, since we were staying at the same downtown hotel.

I was already sitting at the table when Olivier walked in with one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

He introduced me to his girlfriend, super model Christie Brinkley, and sat down. It was one of the most difficult interviews I had ever done, since I had trouble concentrating on my questions while trying not to stare at the lovely Christie, who seemed unaffected by the whole thing.

Olivier, who had been educated in both France and the U.S., was a lively, fun interview. And he tried to keep Christie involved by asking her to tell me what it was like to be with a race driver.

Her answer: "It's scary as hell, but he's cute."

I was still hoping to run into Olivier at other events in the future. But, very sadly, the young man was killed in a crash the next year while testing his car at a Florida track.

My next meeting with one of the world's great beauties was a complete coincidence.

I was flying from Newark to Daytona Beach for a NASCAR race early one morning. The trip included a change of planes in Atlanta.

In those days, I was flying so much that it was not uncommon, thanks to the frequent flyer programs, for me to get an upgrade to first class.

On that particular trip, I was given an aisle bulkhead seat at the front of the plane. It was early and I was still sleepy as I tried to concentrate on a crossword puzzle in the Newark Star-Ledger to keep me awake until we got off the ground.

Moments before the door was closed, a slim young women in jeans and a drab sweatshirt, wearing a baseball cap with her pony tail hanging out the back, slipped into the plane, excused herself and sat down in the window seat next to me.

I wasn't paying much attention until the flight attendant came by the ask if we wanted a drink after takeoff.

"I need coffee, badly," I said to the young lady.

My seatmate said, "Oh, me too."

That was when I looked over and saw the lovely face of Kim Bassinger looking back at me with a smile.

This was shortly after she had been in the news for buying the town of Braselton, GA, which she planned to turn into a theme park and movie studio. That plan never worked out and she wound up declaring bankruptcy. But, since the Road Atlanta track was just outside Braselton, it gave me an opening to begin a conversation.

She was happy to chat and, after we got our coffee, the talk turned to what it was like to be a sports writer covering auto racing.

"Isn't it just too noisy?" she asked. "I told her that I tried to stay away from the garages and the track when the cars were running, spending most of that time in the press box or infield media center.

She also asked the usual question: "Isn't it boring just watching the cars go round and round?"

When I explained some of the strategy involved in racing, some of things that made the sport most interesting and fun, she actually seemed to take interest.

As we gathered up our bags after landing in Atlanta, she said, "Maybe I'll get to a race one of these days. It was fun talking to you."

I gave her my card and told her I'd be glad to show her around. Unfortunately, I never heard from her again.

Another beauty I got to spend a bit of time with was Emily Procter, one of the stars of the long-running CSI Miami television show.

Emily was entered in the annual Toyota Pro/Celebrity event at the Long Beach Grand Prix., pitting professional drivers against celebrities in a 10-lap race.

Each year, I would approach the Toyota pr people to set up an interview with one of their celebrity drivers during the race weekend. Over the years I got to sit down with Sir Patrick Stewart, Jay Leno, George Lucas, Gene Hackman, Donny Osmond, Ricky Schroeder and many others.

But, unquestionably the most memorable was my sit-down with Ms. Procter.

She was funny and engaging, with a soft southern accent, and quickly established that her knowledge of racing was mostly from watching NASCAR during her upbringing in North Carolina.

She also revealed that most of the time, CSI Miami was actually filmed in the Los Angeles area and that she often drove past the Long Beach Arena, where we were doing the interview, on her way to work.

Once she found out I was living in Raleigh, NC, her hometown, the talk turned away from racing to more about favorite restaurants and other places in Raleigh.

Most memorable for me, though, was the end of the interview. As we said goodbye, this lovely lady gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, the only time in my more than 40 years in journalism that an interviewee had kissed me goodbye.

After each of these meetings with gorgeous women, I told Judy, who is the least star struck person I know, about them in great detail. In each case, she smiled and said, "I'm happy for you."

Trust is a wonderful thing.