I am not a stalker. This is not a gossip column. I do carry a camera everywhere I go and I often bust it out on the sly (mostly to snap shots of unsuspecting entrees and attractive desserts…), but I am not a member of the paparazzi. It’s fun to spot famous people around the Upper East Side, but I’d never take a photo. Likewise, I’d never do something tacky like request an autograph or approach for any reason. I believe that the famous amongst us deserve their space.In fact, I pride myself on keeping my distance and maintaining a high level of decorum whenever fate places me in close proximity to a star. My mother taught me that it isn’t polite to stare, and I agree with her. But I must confess: I have also found that staring is really the only way to see exactly what someone is wearing, track someone’s every move, and analyze what makes this fabulous person tick. After all, if you don’t seize the opportunity to examine fame when you stumble upon it, how else can you ever hope to achieve similar beauty, luster, and wealth?
This is why I have developed a method of facing my head in one direction and straining my eyeballs so that they can see in the exact opposite direction. This feat requires a combination of strength, flexibility, and, mostly, well… burning curiosity. Contrary to what “some others” may say, I assure you that my technique is the quite subtle. This is precisely how I was able to get through brunch just two tiny tables away from famous feminist Gloria Steinem at Sarabeth’s in the Whitney Museum. It may have seemed like I was looking at my Farmer’s Omelette but I was instead noting that Gloria was comfortably ensconced in her corner table, the picture of womanly self-assurance, sipping coffee long after her plate was taken away. Tried as I did, I could not recognize her girlish brunch companions.
This is also how I spent a lovely luncheon with Alec Baldwin. My husband and I were sitting at one of the communal tables of Le Pain Quotidien on Madison at 85th when he and his companion chose, amid many other options, to sit with us. He was literally two feet away. The fact that his back was turned to us didn’t make it seem any less like a cozy double date. Contrary to all accusations afterwards, I was able to engage in an extremely coherent conversation while using the aforementioned visual technique to stealthily size-up Alec’s leggy friend of the lustrous locks. Likewise, I did not flip my own hair with a hint of seduction. Nor did my laughter suddenly take on a sexier tone. I simply observed that real men do in fact eat quiche and noted how diplomatic Alec was when he inquired if his was “supposed to be served hot or cold?” The waitress quickly whisked it away and returned with a new, presumably hotter slice. We had the good sense to not interrupt his repast like some other eager beaver who foisted out his hand, claiming he was “a big fan.” We were on far more intimate terms: my husband was more than happy to share mixed berry preserves with Alec from the same communal condiment caddy.
The day I saw David Duchovny, I didn’t have to strain my eyeballs but I did almost sprain my neck. I was in the car, heading south on Madison Avenue and he was walking northbound, somewhere in the 80’s, with purpose. I managed to not get in an accident while registering that he had on a nice pair of sunglasses, though it was not very sunny out. He also had on v-neck cardigan in a tasteful auburn hue and a messenger bag strap across his chest.
It was my husband who first spotted author Tom Wolfe as he walked toward us, near the Carlyle Hotel. We pretended we were window shopping but we were actually gawking at this remarkable vision of uptown, old-time, insider New York. The author looked exactly as dapper as you’d think: he was be-hatted, perfectly groomed, and donned an elegant white suit. His Sherlock Holmesian type cloak bounced gently with each efficient step. We saw after he passed that this cloak was plaid underneath.
When Derek Jeter walked into the Starbucks at 75th and First Avenue, you could feel the entire place ripple with recognition. You could also see about 30 camera phones jut up into the air and snap pictures in unison. Derek was with two other men who, I guessed, based on their ample physiq
ues, were also athletes, possibly other New York Yankees. They strode across the coffee shop relaxed, yet ultra-confident, like a veritable pride of lions. I hid behind my laptop and peered at them as if through jungle fronds, while the baristas whipped them up a round of venti frappaccinos.Along the way, I’ve hobnobbed with other stars on the Upper East: Emmy Rossum (Phantom of the Opera, etc.), Rue McClanahan (Golden Girls, etc.), Richard Herd (George Costanza’s boss at the Yankees on Seinfeld, etc.) and the list goes on…
But the most quintessential UES star sighting occurred just recently, at the corner of 96th and Madison. I was stretching my calves in preparation for a run around the reservoir, while waiting for my husband who was picking up a pre-run latte. When I looked up, I saw none other than Woody Allen taking a stroll with a friend of similar age and comportment. They were engaged in what I can only assume was a discussion of a highly philosophical and perhaps somewhat sarcastic nature. Woody had on khakis, sensible shoes, a faded blue button-down and one of those hats most often worn by fishermen, sans lures.
I couldn’t help myself this time: I excitedly hopped from one foot to the other and beckoned for my husband to hurry up! The fact that we followed Woody and friend as they turned left onto 5th Avenue then continued south along the park was not a act of stalking but a complete and utter coincidence – really, we were headed exact in the same direction. We did not sprint ahead then peek from behind trees as they passed, nor did we get close on their heels then cup our hands around our ears in order to hear what they were saying. We maintained a perfectly respectful distance and when we reached our destination at the park, we forced ourselves to stop. We simply watched as they continued their walkabout, still deep in conversation. Gradually, they faded out of our sight, past the Guggenheim and into the city beyond.
What have I learned through my studies? That famous people aren't all that different from the rest of us and sometimes they even happen to occupy the same space. (Also, if you’re on the market for some prime star sightings, Madison Avenue is by far your best bet.)
