It started as an innocent Sunday night supper out. My glamorous cousin Jean had come to town for 36 hours of girl talk, leaving her husband to babysit their boys. I’d been looking forward to her visit. We’d been talking about it even before her brother died and we discovered how alike we were. 

After dinner that first night (which took me inordinately long to cook) Jean said, “Let’s go out tomorrow. My treat. Is there some place close by?”

 

 “Sure, I’ll show you several and you can pick,” I said.But when 5 o’clock rolled around on Sunday afternoon it felt mighty appealing to stay home, drink wine, eat leftovers, and put our poor, tired, walked-out feet up on the white wicker porch furniture, and I said as much to Jean.

“Let’s go out,” Jean said, not budging.

OK, it sounds like she means it and I need a push, I told myself. She wants to do something for me and it’ll be good for her to see more of the town. Plus, this was my time off, like she said. Old patterns do die hard because I used to try these same arguments on my husband and I always gave in to him, too - going out when I would rather have stayed home - and for the same reasons.

We hopped in the car and did a zigzaggy route around town so she could peek at other restaurant possibilities, obsessive compulsive as I am. Since she is, too, I thought she’d appreciate having options, especially since she was paying.

While stopped at a traffic light in the center of town, I pointed over to the right and said, “There’s Ted Turner’s new restaurant.” Jean didn’t pause, “There he is, isn’t that him?” she asked excitedly.

She was right. A man who looked like Ted Turner was seated at a table on the sidewalk with two other people. Since he was talking, I didn’t think he could hear me even though Jean’s window was down and I said, ”It looks like him.” Then, because we could only see his profile, I backed the car up three feet to get a better gander.

“He’s putting his hand up to his face,” Jean said, starting to giggle. “Oh, gosh,” I moaned. But seeing how into this she was, I suggested, “Do you want to try it?”

“Yeah!” she said. With adrenalin racing like kid sleuths we parked and, as we crossed the street, I warned her, “If you talk to him, I’m running.” I think part of me knew she was crazy enough to do that.

I tried to tell Jean about all the mishaps I’d had with celebrities when I worked at National Geographic and Time and Life but she was rubbernecking Ted as she opened the door and she didn’t hear me. I was remembering how I slipped in new heels and fell on my back running from Charlton Heston at National Geographic, after trying to find him with my co-workers. And how he ignored me and walked on by, never offering me a hand to get up.

The hostess showed us to a table with a bird’s eye view of Ted’s table. I sat with my shoulder to the action as protection from whatever could come, but it didn’t keep me from stealing many guilty, voyeuristic glances to google whom he was with and what he was drinking. Was the younger woman a girlfriend or a daughter? It was hard to tell age, my eyes are getting so bad.

Jean and I chatted about subjects other than Ted over a fantastic Philly Chicken sandwich and Big Sky wine. We weren’t brave enough for bison, which the waiter said came from one or more of Ted’s seven ranches, but the wine was his label. I started picturing Montana, what I had seen and what would be dreamy to see more of someday. Then I stopped when it brought up memories of an old boyfriend with a home there and how that was over before I’d had a chance to take him up on his offer to visit, and update my last trip, which had been decades ago.

When I finished eating and was at my most mellow point, Jean was girding up for action; by her body language I sensed she was ready to strike. Sure enough, she announced, ”He’s getting up. He’s coming over.” (She’d been facing him the whole meal.) I wriggled as if to grind my body into the seat a little deeper, held my breath and watched Jean’s eyes. Oh, oh, something was going to happen, I knew it. I stole a look at Ted as he was coming towards us, then quickly down at my empty plate. I could hear him coming closer, saying “Thanks for coming,” to the guests lined up on benches behind me, waiting for a table.

When he was behind me, Jean shouted out loudly - like really loud - “How’s it going, Ted?” Even though I had sensed it, I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to be anywhere but there. Not only did she not care how her actions effected him, she also hadn’t listened to my plea. After a pause that seemed like eternity, Ted said something like, “Fine, fine, I’m looking for my daughter,” in a softer voice. He took it well but AAH! Did this happen just because I feared it? And why did the whole thing matter so much to me because he doesn’t seem like the type to hold back?

The truth is, I would have loved to have talked to Ted Turner for hours. I have great respect for his risk-taking, business sense, brains, caring about world issues and philanthropy. I watched his back as he walked away, shyly and kind of longingly I suppose, which maybe he sensed because he turned around and stared right at me. I gave him a resigned and humiliated smile.

Back at home, Jean said, “You know, sometimes you have to speak to people because it’s the only way you learn about them. How else could you see them react?”

Because I knew what she meant and I admire people with guts, I said, “I know. I just like to give people privacy when they’re with their families.” I kept it to myself that it seemed like she was reacting from her own needs and not from what might have been Ted’s.

So we’re not as alike as I thought, with me needing to be doused in risk-taking and she being a candidate for empathy training. But being different doesn’t mean we can’t be good for one another.

Actually, respecting someone’s privacy can be situational….situational etiquette. I’m sure that could cause a stir underground of protocol espousers long gone, both male and female, but I do think we have to feel our way into situations in determining sensitive behavior. Though I’ve greeted distinguished people I didn’t know (“prominent people,” my grandmother and Jean’s used to call them), and I don’t usually shy away from conversing with those I’ve met previously, many of those instances were different - nodding hello on an airport concourse or the sidewalk, or going up and speaking at a reception. I even spoke to Jane Fonda, Ted’s ex, several times when we had jury duty together, before Ted knocked on the window to get her out early. I just know I would like space if I were a celebrity and so I like to give the same to others. And I know part of the reason I clamed up this time was because it had to do with an attractive and powerful male.

Before bedtime, Jean laughed and shouted with glee, “And you backed up!” We burst out laughing again, this time both embarrassed and both delighted. It was good to have the juices flowing again, which comes from interactions with people; not staying at home.

“I’ve got to get out more,” I said and I meant it more than the last time I made that declaration, which I make often. Maybe this time I’ll keep my promise; feeling like a silly school girl is one of the best parts of life. 

I wonder what made him turn around and look? I’ll have to go back.