怪我過分“浪漫”

I once 1）fondled Angelina Jolie’s elbow.

This was back in the early 2000s， when I was a writer for Entertainment Weekly. I had flown to Montreal， where Ms. Jolie was shooting 2）Taking Lives， to interview her over lunch for a cover story.

While I watched the star slice into a bloody steak at a five-star hotel restaurant， she told me how she had chipped a bone in her elbow doing a stunt， and the tiny bone chip kept migrating under her skin. Then she put down her knife and fork， took my hand in hers， and invited me to squeeze and 3）pinch her arm to see if I could find it.

I nearly fainted.

Of course， millions of men fall in love with movie stars every day， but usually from the safety of a theater seat. As an entertainment journalist I didn’t just rub elbows， I occasionally fondled them.

Over the past 20 years， I’ve sat in restaurants and engaged in conversation—what in another context might be called a date—with 4）Michelle Pfeiffer， 5）Halle Berry， Nicole Kidman， Julia Roberts and many others. It was one of the best parts of the job， meeting such women and watching them chew， but it was also， frankly， one of the most challenging. It totally 6）fouled me up when it came to real dates with unfamous women.

Actors are professional charmers. They also have a 7）vested interest in making journalists like them. And to a young reporter starting out， and even to a seasoned veteran， it can be 8）heady stuff， having a star flirt with you. Sometimes， that thin line can get awfully blurry.

For instance， I did go on one real date with a star I interviewed. At least I considered it a real date. I won’t tell you her name because I don’t want to embarrass anyone other than myself. But when I first interviewed her at a coffee shop on Sunset Boulevard on a drizzly afternoon two decades ago， just as she was breaking out， I thought she was the most Bambilike creature ever to wander into Hollywood. I was so smitten I went home and wrote a profile that， between the lines， all but begged her to go out with me.

And she did！ After the article appeared she phoned—well， her publicist did—to thank me and invite me to dinner. We met at an Italian restaurant in Brentwood and she was every bit as charmingly vulnerable as during our interview.

But I began to notice that Bambi had a few issues.

“I know this is going to sound weird，” she confessed during the meal， “but I have a phobia about talking on telephones. I’m working on it， I’m getting help， but you should know about it， in case you ever try to call me.” She said it with such pained sincerity， I couldn’t help but nod. And for the first time， it dawned on me that dating a celebrity might be a bit of a nightmare.

I called the next day and left a voice mail message thanking her for the date and requesting another. When she didn’t call back， I tried calling a few days later. Then again. And again. Until it dawned on me I was phone-stalking a celebrity who had confessed to having a phobia of phones.

That “real” celebrity date definitely gave me a deeper appreciation for the nonfamous women in my life. I came to realize the advantages of normal dating. For one thing， I didn’t have to jot down a lot of questions to ask before arriving at the restaurant. For another， I discovered that all the time I spent talking to famous strangers had given me good skills for romantic socializing. Most men try to impress women by talking about themselves. Thanks to my job， I learned a better way. Ask a lot of questions and — this is critical — listen to the answers. Even unfamous women， it turns out， really like that.

From time to time， I found myself in longterm relationships （some of them for whole months at a stretch）. But movie stars still came between us. Girlfriends would become insecure whenever they knew I was about to interview a starlet， jokingly hinting that they might show up at the restaurant to keep an eye on me.

I would wave away their concerns， explaining how interviewing stars was simply part of my job， that I was as professionally detached as a doctor. But 9）in retrospect， they may have been right to be jealous. Because I still got a rush from dining with famous actresses. I still got a buzz from the pretend flirting and the faux intimacy and the fake seduction of the celebrity interview. I enjoyed it so much， I felt guilty when I got back home. It felt as if I had been unfaithful.

In a way， maybe I had.

In romantic comedies， there’s a perfect woman for every man， and they always manage to find each other. But as I entered my 40s， still a bachelor， I had to accept the fact that my skewed idea of perfection was ruining my life. Except that’s when I met the perfect woman.

This was in Prague， in the spring of 2002， while visiting the set of an action movie called 10）XXX. I had been on the sound stage no more than 15 or 20 minutes， just long enough to watch Vin Diesel blow up a terrorist 11）bunker with a 12）bazooka， when I spotted her： a gorgeous woman with honey-blond hair and green eyes， sitting on top of boxes of sound equipment， reading a thick Czech book.

With those cheekbones， I assumed she had a part in the movie. So I turned to the film’s publicist and asked if I could interview her.

“She’s not an actress，” he said， rolling his eyes. “She’s a translator.”

I interviewed her anyway. Repeatedly. During long walks around Old Town Square and across the Charles Bridge and over sips of 13）Becherovka inside Prague cafes. She had a sexy Slavic accent right out of a Bond film， but as a translator her English was flawless， even if she did occasionally mangle an 14）aphorism（“Ugh， I am like an 15）elephant in Chinatown！”she said after spilling her drink）.

Sitting across a table from her， I got the same dizzying high that usually happened only with my celebrity dates. But this time there were no fake intimacies or phony familiarities. We just talked about books and movies and music and growing up in our different countries. Over dinner， she playfully taught me the Czech words for knife and fork and salt and pepper. After dinner， she taught me the Czech word for kiss.

We’ve been married now for almost 10 years. Sometimes， when I’m really lucky， she even lets me fondle her elbow.

我曾經撫摸過安吉麗娜·朱莉的手肘。

那是本世紀初期的事情了，當時我還是《娛樂周刊》的一名撰稿人。我搭乘飛機到加拿大的蒙特利爾，準備在午餐時為朱莉小姐做一篇封面故事采訪，那時她正在當地拍攝電影《機動殺人》。

我看著這位明星在一家五星級酒店的餐廳里切著一塊血淋淋的牛扒，她告訴我她是如何在一次特技表演時摔碎了手肘里的一塊骨頭，而那塊小碎骨一直在她的皮膚底下游移。接著，她放下手中的刀叉，抓起我的手，邀請我捏一捏她的手臂，看能否找到那塊碎骨。

我幾乎都要暈厥過去了。

無可否認，每天都有數百萬男人愛上電影明星，可是他們都是安安穩穩地坐在電影院的座位上。作為一名娛樂記者，我不僅常與明星們摩肘擦踵，偶爾還真會摸起他們的手肘來。

過去20年來，我曾坐在餐廳里和米歇爾·菲佛、哈莉·貝瑞、妮可·基德曼、茱莉亞·羅伯茨，還有許多其他女明星談天說地—換個方式說，也算是在約會。那是我這份工作其中一個最棒之處，約見這些女士，欣賞她們咀嚼食物，不過坦白地說，這同時也是最具挑戰性的一點。我會因此搞砸自己真正的約會，完全不懂怎樣和非名人女子約會。

演員們擅長施展自己的魅力。贏得新聞工作者的青睞對他們也定然有好處。而對于一個剛入行的記者，甚至對于一個經驗豐富的老手來說，明星對自己拋媚眼是挺令人心眩神迷的一件事。有時候，那細微的界線會變得十分模糊。……