Once, when I was famous, famous people came to see my show.
I was in a show that ran about three months in the Lower East Side (or was it the East Village? Give or take a block or two.)
One of the biggest famous people to come see the show (besides David Byrne, who sneaked away post-show before I could stalker-stare at him closer up and not in character), was Timothy Hutton.
He waited around after the show and chatted with the four of us in the cast and told us:
"What you are doing is so important. It's really phenomenal."He was kinda gushing, I must say...
Of course, I didn't know what the f**k we were doing, it was really just the writer/director who was phenomenal, but I followed up right away with a...
"Oh thank you! I'm a huge fan!" and a fat blank stare afterwards.At least I got that much out! Nothing after. No mention of his films, no mention of his hotness [if you are not from my generation then you'll just have to trust me], no tossing around the idea of some type of follow-up date, or just the fact that I was single...
Oh well. Woe is me.
Around the same time frame I happened by him on the street. Not far from the theater.
It was getting a little more Fall-ish, he was wearing a sexy, beat-up jacket, and not really walking that fast.
So I stopped him!
I mean, we're buddies, right?? We're fellow artists.
"Oh hi! I don't know if you remember, you just saw my show. Showy Lady Slipper?"
"And ...[seeing blank stare] oh, at PS 122?"
He's nice enough to throw me a:
"Oh yes! Yes."
"Oh thanks, thanks" he nods, walks away.
Ok, not-yet-TwynMawrMom, you blew it again. Whatever!! YOU SUCK. Just learn how to shut your mouth after you've missed an opportunity. Just learn from your...
Yes, put that image in your mind for a special part of this story.
Many months later, I was in SoHo, and I happened to walk into the Patagonia store.
It was winter. It was COLD. So it had to be at least two-three months since my show closed.
But still, if it were important work to you, you'd remember it, right?
I see him from across the room.
"Oh! Timothy!" as if I'd just been reunited with a close friend.I am more brazen now. We're like, totally soul mates, meant to be together, and I just haven't given him the right opportunity to ask me out.
"Mr. Hutton?"He is intensely browsing through a pile of clothes. All the winter clothes we have on, and those stuffed in the racks around the room, are clearly muffling my attempts to get his attention.
I approach him. [oh God, I can't even type this part of the story. This is the last time I'm telling it!!]
I tap on his shoulder. And again. And again, Sheldon Cooper-style.
"Excuse me?"He finally turns around.
"Hi! I don't know if you remember me but you came to see my show a few months ago, and we talked afterwards, and you mentioned how important it was and I just thought maybe sometime we could get some coffee and talk about it..."
"I'm sorry, what?"
And I: oddly and creepily, watch for a minute, at first confused, as if I had been interuppted mid-sentence and was trying to re-compose the rest of the thought in my mind before continuing but then realize there is no audience for me to continue for, so I: quietly walk away. Try to take an eraser from a chalk board in another plane of existence and erase the words and feelings I just put into the air.
Try to explain to the person I was with, that we need to leave the store immediately.
Embrace the cold air outside, allow it to remove the color from my face.
Begin to compose, in my mind, the phrase that I have to. this. day. stuck to, when encountering any celebrity of any kind in any circumstance, no matter the incidence of encounter:
"I love your work."