HOLLYWOOD, CA—I’ve been in this town for only 10 minutes, and already have had an ugly encounter with a Star. It was an unfortunate case of accidental stalking, and it was not my fault, no matter what the Star might say.
This Star was in a very popular 1980s sitcom. She was a kid in the series, and is now a woman. Sadly, she is not on my “list.”
You know the list I’m talking about. It’s the list of famous people you and your girlfriend agree you can sleep with if you ever have the opportunity. Before I landed in Hollywood, I was granted reluctant permission to sleep with Catherine Zeta Jones and Jessica Lange.
“But that’s it,” I was told. “There’s no wiggle room.”
Which is simply unfair, because she knows how much I love to wiggle.
After I checked into my hotel, I wandered across the street to a famous mall. (I think it starred in Clueless.) My objective was to get a snack, and then to get the hell out of there, because I hate malls. But there was no easy way out of the place.
Escalators led to other escalators, and elevators took me everywhere but to the ground floor.
It was on one of the escalators to nowhere that I first met up with the Star. I immediately recognized her. For some reason, this made me giggle uncontrollably, which caused her to glare at me.
This made me giggle even more. I did not say, “Hey, I know you,” because I’ve been told that Stars do not like to be recognized. But this never made sense to me, because why did they become Stars in the first place if they didn’t want to be recognized?
Apparently, though, giggling counts as recognition, because the Star seemed highly irritated by my snickering.
I immediately called my girlfriend to tell her of the encounter.
“I’ve just met a Star, and I think she likes me!” I exclaimed, undeterred by the Star’s obvious disgust. “Plus, she’s a lesbian!”
The Star recently had come out after marrying her girlfriend.
“She’s not on the list, so you can’t sleep with her,” my girlfriend chirped, which made me mad.
I never had been attracted to the Star, but now that I was told I couldn’t sleep with her, I suddenly found her quite fetching.
As we launched into a lively debate on whether I should be allowed to sleep with the Star, the Star wandered near me. This touched off another giggling fit, which caused the Star to snarl at me.
“The Star just snarled at me,” I whispered excitedly into the phone.
“You’d better get out of there before she files a restraining order,” my girlfriend said.
So, I hung up, and began searching for an exit. But no matter where I went, there was the Star, who was becoming increasingly peeved at my omnipresence.
Finally, I found an elevator that would take me out of the building. But just as the door was closing, an arm pried it open. In walked the Star. She groaned when she spotted me. And then, she spoke.
“Stop stalking me,” she said.
“Hey, just because you’re the Star doesn’t mean that you always get to be the one who’s stalked. Maybe it’s you who’s stalking me,” I said.
When the elevator finally released us into the relentless California sunshine, the Star pointedly pulled off her sunglasses, and granted me a half-smirk.
So, I didn’t get to sleep with Catherine Zeta Jones, but I did get a sort-of smile from a has-been actress, which is about the best a middle-aged suburbanite can hope for from the Entertainment Capital of the World.