STARSTRUCK

Many years ago, in Rio de Janeiro, the Motion Picture Association used to host fabulous screenings for new movies, many with the presence of famous actors. We were amongst those invited and it is how I came to shake James Stewart’s hand. The actor was by then quite old, white-haired and with big horn-rimmed glasses, but he stood tall and calm next to Gloria, his lovely wife of many years, waiting patiently to shake the hands of the long line of starstruck carioca fans. When it became my turn, I muttered something heartfelt, forgotten now, but I still remember how honored I felt to have shaken the hand of this legendary actor.

Not long after this Oswaldo and I stood in line for a flight from Paris to NY, when it became clear that it was overbooked. The airline was offering $300 and a seat on the next flight back to the US for whomever gave up their ticket. We were discussing whether to do this when the man in front of us, who turned out to be a very handsome Ben Gazarra – we’d just admired him in the unsettling “Tales of Ordinary Madness” – turned his famous blue eyes on us and said, “Have you something important to do in NY?” 

We shook our heads, no. “Well then, what have you got to lose?  Take the money – you’ll be on the next flight!” At that moment Sophia Loren swept by the long line of awestruck passengers, tall, gorgeous in a red leather trench-coat and big square sunglasses, leaving a trail of delicious scent. Gazzara and Loren made us seize the moment and we left the line to collect our bonus. 

A few hours later we were on our way to Washington D.C. seated in first class and being plied with drinks by the Brazilian steward.

Years later, Victor and I were in NY visiting Nanda, our Italian relative, who has lived there for decades. Nanda ran her Galeria Bonino for years, first on the Upper East side, when that was fashionable, and later was one of the first to move to Prince Street in Soho. As a consequence, she is a font of fabulous stories and has strong opinions about what is cool – she will eat only at a handful of very specific restaurants to which we return whenever I visit. On this night the three of us dined at “her” table in the back of the dark, traditional Japanese restaurant, Omen, savoring a perfectly cooked seared tuna and bowls of slurpy soba noodle soup. Satisfied, we got up and made our way towards the exit, Nanda nodding her thanks to the maître, when we suddenly stopped in our tracks. Sitting along the wall, surrounded by her husband and two daughters, was a luminous Meryl Streep. 

In spite of being fairly blasé about famous people, at that moment we became salivating fans and somehow wanted to impress on Meryl Streep how very wonderful we thought she was. We bore down on her table, ignoring the startled, and, frankly, annoyed, looks of its occupants, and then as one explained in high excited voices where we were from and how much we admired the fine-featured blond lady in front of us. I even managed to praise her actress daughters, and briefly wondered whether she’d recognize my accent, “I had a farm in Africa…” Then we came to and bustled out with many excuses noting the amused relief on the faces of the family. Outside the restaurant we wondered what had come over us – why bother this lady in her private moment? But we did – and we felt a little glow from having talked to the wonderful actress.

Which all goes to prove, I think, it’s quite reasonable to be starstruck and befuddled when we meet these legendary giants of the screen. They have, after all, entered our dreams and fantasies leaving delicious trails which have had a role in who we are now.