Fresh off the latest Toronto International Film Festival, I am reminded of the time that Brad Pitt and I met. There I was, standing at the red carpet for hours, waiting for his limo, when the security people decided we were too close. They sent us across the street! Incensed, as soon as I saw Brad’s blond head above the car roof, I yelled out, “Brad! They made your fans stand over here!” Of course, he was incensed, too, so he got out and headed straight for us. Some unruly women spoiled it all by rushing him.
I touched his elbow before the security people spirited him away.
The next day, an article appeared about us in the newspaper. It stated that Brad was ogling “a comely blond” at the festival party afterward. My friends all believe that was me. Sometimes I do too. It even said, “Her husband was not amused” even though mine was.
Now I’m a published writer, older, unable and unwilling to stand for six or seven hours at the red carpet. But I’m still hoping Brad will want to star in the screenplay I’m writing based on my book. Is that pathetic? Or prophetic?
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