A cousin is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.
~Marion C. Garretty
My cousin was absolutely starstruck. If she saw a movie star or rock star in person, she would go bonkers. The bigger the star, the more bonkers she went. She was already an adult, not some impressionable teenager, but she lived in a small town in the middle of Kansas so the probability of seeing a major star — or even a minor one, for that matter — was slim to none. On the other hand, I grew up in Los Angeles. Seeing stars wherever we went was no big deal. I went all through school with some stars or the kids of stars. My father worked for some of the major studios in Hollywood, and he was always taking me “on the lot” for one reason or another. A pretty major recording star lived a few doors away from us, and another lived a few blocks away. Seeing stars was no big deal for me. I mean, it was interesting, but not earth shattering.
But for my cousin, it was the biggest deal of her life. If she saw a star, she didn’t just look at him or her and then go on with whatever she was doing. Oh, no. She would point and gasp, and then start squealing like a pig, jumping up and down. How embarrassing. The people who lived in Los Angeles knew not to act like that because we saw stars all the time — at the market, picking their kids up from the same schools we went to, at the doctor’s office, etc. — but my cousin didn’t have a clue. She thought that seeing a star could change her life.
My cousin was older than me by more than a few years, pretty opinionated and obnoxious, and she liked to boss me around. But when she visited me in Los Angeles, I was the one she looked up to. I was the one who had all the information she wanted. I was the one in charge. She would ask to go for drives into the different neighborhoods where the stars lived, so that I could point out their houses.
“See that house?” I would say.
“The big one with the iron gate?”
“Yes. Do you know who lives there?”
“Who?” And I would tell her. She would almost faint with excitement. Then we would drive on. When it was time for lunch, I always took her to a restaurant where I knew at least one star might be dining. And if no stars happened to be there, I would point to some poor, unsuspecting person who had never been in a movie or on the stage and tell my cousin that he was a star — a very minor star and one whom she probably didn’t recognize — but a star nonetheless. It was a harmless lie, but it made her day.
The best star sighting that ever happened was when we went to a black-tie charity event. The room was full of stars. Although I told my cousin she couldn’t make any of those squealing noises and jump up and down, she was in her glory. She did try to behave for the most part.
My husband and I, along with my cousin and some of our friends, were seated at one table, and my parents were at an adjoining table. Because my parents were directly involved with the charity putting on the event, they were at an important table that included a few stars. My cousin was gaga with excitement!
One star in particular got my cousin’s attention right away. He was seated right next to my father. My cousin was facing that table while my husband and I had our backs to it. I heard some gasping noises coming from my cousin, so I gave her the look that meant “stop that and behave!” She looked at me and swallowed… hard. Once, twice, three times. She was sputtering and stuttering and flustered. She looked like she wanted to talk, and her mouth was moving, but no words came out. A blessing, for sure! Then my father called me over to his table. He and the gentleman he was seated next to stood up as I walked over.
My father introduced me to his friend. His introduction went like this: “Paul, I would like you to meet my daughter, Barbara. Barbara, this is my friend, Paul Newman.” We shook hands.
Paul Newman! You had to tell me who he was? Really, Dad? Like his blue eyes wouldn’t have given away his identity? Duh! (And, oh my, they were so blue!) Like I said, my father worked at the major studios and was friendly with many stars. He had worked with Paul Newman on different occasions, and he just wanted to introduce his daughter to his friend. It was as simple as that. How nice for me! Now I am not starstruck, but I must admit that meeting Paul Newman made my heart beat just a little bit faster. The three of us talked for a few minutes and shook hands again, and then I went back to my seat.
My cousin was paralyzed. Her eyes were as big as saucers. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. Dinner was served. She could hardly eat. She just sat there with her mouth open, staring at my father’s friend Paul. She wanted to hold my hand — the hand that had held the hand of Paul Newman. She told me I could never, ever wash my hands again. Before dessert was served, she got up and walked around in back of his chair so she could say she had been within three feet of Paul Newman. Later, after he had left the event, she jumped up and ran back to his table to steal the napkin he had used. Too late — someone else had already taken it. His glass was gone, too. I think she would have tried to take the tablecloth or his chair if she could have figured out how to do that without making a scene.
My cousin never forgot that evening, and she told many people about the night she had dinner with Paul Newman. I guess you could say she did, technically, have dinner with him because she was in the same room. But maybe I’m being too critical. Just recently, we went to dinner at a little restaurant in town. The hostess seated us, and when I looked around, I saw that Rod Stewart was sitting at the next table. Rod Stewart! Right next to me! I could have reached out and touched him — we were that close to each other. I was having dinner with Rod Stewart! Well, technically, we weren’t having dinner together — or maybe we were. My cousin got some things right.
~Barbara LoMonaco
