Meeting Warren Beatty is high point of trip to Los Angeles
If we are even remotely acquainted, I have probably already told you this story. But just in case you're in my very narrow reader audience and have yet to hear it, well, here goes.
The day after we landed in Los Angeles was a Sunday, and my daughters and I actually went to two different church services; one in the morning and one in the evening. I'm not the avid churchgoer that my daughters are, so after the second one I was mildly jet lagged, in sensory overload and starving to death. I needed to sit in a quiet, dark place, have a glass of wine and eat some carbs.
So we were sitting in a booth at a very quaint and possibly historic Italian restaurant named Rao's, which is somewhere in LA, but I have no idea where ... maybe West Hollywood ... and I was foaming at the mouth about something to my daughter, whose attention was definitely over my shoulder and to my left. I believe I snarled at her for not listening (still needed carbs) when she shushed me and I turned around to see what she was starting to stammer about.
And it was Warren Beatty.
Earlier that day, in my best Mother Knows Best voice, I had instructed my daughters that when and if we see a celebrity, we needed to keep our cool, because they hate it when people freak out over them, disturbing their privacy and right to coexist. Clearly those rules did not apply when it comes to meeting Warren Beatty.
After The Sighting, the dialogue happened like this:
Oh my gosh, who is that? I dunno, I think it's somebody, I just don't know who. GASP! Wait a minute ... is that ... Warren Beatty! It is! Oh my God. I'm going over there.
Warren (as I call him) was standing beside his booth, graciously smiling and chatting with two adoring fans whom I have to say scattered like scared deer when I had my out-of-body experience and floated over to him.
Suddenly it was just me and Warren, and I blubbered and fawned and he kindly let me, and we exchanged words but I'm not sure what they were then I hugged him and I floated back to my seat two booths down.
By the time I got to my seat I was going viral on my daughter's FaceBook (OK, four people liked her status), and the three of us giggled and laughed and enjoyed a wonderful meal. Our waiter, Jonathan, had by then recognized our full Celebrity Stalker Potential and was leaning into the booth whispering and dropping names of other people who frequent the restaurant, one of whom was there that night; Johnny "Roastbeef" Williams, an actor from the movie "GoodFellas," who is apparently on the payroll at Raos, schmoozing the celebs and customers and, I suppose, lending personality and flavor to the restaurant.
After a while we saw Johnny leading (my) Warren to the back room, where he was introducing him to some other customer. I will admit that I was a little put out that he would bother Warren like that, when clearly he was exhausted after our encounter. Admittedly, Warren is getting up there.
Anyway, when Warren and his friends (all male, BTW, that night my Warren was single and out on the town) passed by our booth, he stopped to say goodbye (yes, he did). Although the sight of my two beautiful daughters may have had something to do with it. Wordsmith that I am, this is what I said:
Warren, these are my daughters.
Warren smiled and said hello, then he took my hand (which was extended for some odd reason; I may or may not have been reaching for him) and kissed it. We said a woeful goodbye, they left, and by then we were all atwitter.
Next week: The celebrity hunt IS ON.