See Kate Imbrie’s story on the finale of The Sopranos on Page D1.

Ten minutes to 9, Monday night. My guy, Phil, and I have stumbled upon a surprisingly good movie about Beethoven — no, NOT the one about the St. Bernard, the one about the composer and his tragic life and lost love. Looks like we’re going to watch Gary Oldman in Immortal Beloved till 9, when the penultimate Sopranos episode will be repeated. (Of course, we had seen Episode 85 when it first aired the night before, and like everyone else who loves the show, can hardly bear to wait to find out what happens in the ultimate episode, The End, tomorrow night.)

My cell phone rings in the kitchen, and away I go to see who it is, not wanting to miss the twist that sealed poor Ludwig’s fate. I didn’t recognize the area code, but answered it anyway. It was Lorraine Bracco. LORRAINE BRACCO! my brain said, taking awhile to jumpstart from 18th century Germany and its most famous musician to 21st century New Jersey and its most famous family show. Bracco is, of course, the 51-year-old actress who plays Tony Soprano’s psychiatrist Dr. Melfi on the Sopranos. (Besides his late mother, you notice, only she calls him "Anthony," which gives you some idea of the kind of relationship they have.)

It wasn’t a total surprise to get this night-time phone call from this particular star: My editor had been working to arrange a phone interview for the last couple of days. But we hadn’t been able to connect with the publicist, and so I had sort of given up on it.

But here was Bracco on my phone, and me without a pen or paper handy, and the Mac screen in the other room in its usual E-mail mode. I raced in there, opened up a Compose Mail screen and tried to compose myself so that I might sound like a responsible reporter and not a starstruck geek. It didn’t help that with the cell phone in speaker mode (so that I could type while talking), the sound is kind of tinny.

We got going. About 10 minutes along, Phil pushes the door open and sticks his head in. I could tell he was a little perplexed that I had abandoned him and Beethoven so abruptly to take a phone call. "Hey honey," he said, "It’s on. The Sopranos is starting. Didn’t you want to see it again?" In mid-sentence with Dr. Melfi, I could think of nothing to do except wave him away furiously, mouthing, "Go away!"

I felt badly about it, but what could I do? My brain was already on overload. We finished the interview soon after that, when Bracco announced she had to go. She was calling from California.

I strolled into the TV room just in time to see Dr. Melfi kissing Tony off in her office.

"GUESS WHO I WAS TALKING TO ON THE PHONE?" I said. It felt good to be able to drop the "real reporter" bit and let out the starstruck geek, at least in the privacy of my home.

And I got the reaction I knew I’d get: "Lorraine Bracco! HOLY SMOKES!"

kimbrie@projo.com