So, this is what happened. My daughters and I had an appointment in downtown Los Angeles. We had to park in a conveniently adjacent structure separated by a generous access lane or easement. In normal terms, that means exiting an office building, crossing an access alley lane, and entering a parking structure.
In paranoid mom-escorting-pre-school-twins-alone terms, that meant catching ecstatic twins as they rocket out of the elevator before they zip into another open elevator for another "ride," getting each to hold one of my hands before we exit the building and any or all of us plummet the half-dozen concrete and steel steps of lethal brain-injury potential, stopping after surviving said steps and before dropping off the curb to check for any not-watching-slash-run-us-down cars, crossing the lane-and-a-half alley-of-doom without losing my grip on either twin (both of whom twist randomly and look for elevator or escalator ride opportunities), and get all three of our bodies up onto the opposite curb without any split-my-chin-on-the-curb tripping.
As we crossed the plane dividing the relatively safe inside from the hundred-hazards-a-second outside and just before we crested the Stairs of Imminent Injury, I noticed a lovely starlet and entourage headed our way. I recognized her at once, having seen her lately on a commercial, and I had a fleeting impression that she was as stunning and polished in person as I'd ever seen her on TV or film. In the alley was her almost cliche black SUV, around which her entourage of three or so hovered over bags and hesitated over their internal pecking-order, arguing in their unique code or short-hand over who got to follow on the heels of Miss Starlet and who had to lug all the darn stuff.
In the split second our paths crossed, I noticed two more things. Miss Starlet saw us coming (we were three-wide, after all, even if two of us are pretty little), and pleasantly braced for a confrontation. She's famous enough, she must get stopped often for autographs or whatnot, and to her credit her expression was lovely, steeled but smiling. But as we plowed ahead (I don't like stopping on stairs with tykes--they inevitably start to play, and before I know it end up bouncing out of reach and into triage--nightmare!), I also noticed the starlet flash something like startled disappointment.
I don't think she's used to being passed-by, or to yielding to others. Even non-famous beautiful people often enjoy presumed right-of-way because the rest of us simply enjoy taking a moment to watch them. But it wasn't until the three of us were in the car and safely belted that I relaxed enough to realize from the look I'd seen on her face that my face must have been expressing something like "get out of my way, I've got twins in hand!" Here she was, going about her day, minding her own business, yet making a concerted effort to greet (if we had stopped to bother her) perfect strangers and give us her time and attention, if only for a moment. Yes, she had things to do, but in just that brief encounter it was clear to me she was ready and willing to take time to greet a fan.
Maybe not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, no, but I was really impressed. And we almost never run into grand schemes. It's the mundane and the every day that really matter. Her pre-occupied entourage was not so gracious, and I almost mowed them down to get my girls to safety. We can't all be lovely all the time, though it would be nicer if we could.
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