A Friday afternoon coffee in my neighborhood, Gramercy Park, a little subterranean joint on Irving. It’s a gorgeous day, with the early, flat Fall sun making everything glimmer, camera-ready.
I sit on the bench outside the shop, latte in one hand a novel called “Sweetbitter” in the other. But then I hear a voice behind me that has a movie star timbe … slightly husky but only in a commanding way, effortless, playful, sensual, melodic. I do a side glance to see that exquisite straight and high-bridged nose, Parthenon-level manibular jaw, and one-half cream-two-sugar eyes that comprise none other than Natalie Portman … or so maybe it’s Natalie Portman.
Oh, big fucking deal. This is New York, this is dime-a-dozen shit. Don’t be such a rube, this town is full of celebrities. Yeah, I know, but still … Natalie Portman is about three feet away from me or so maybe it’s Natalie Portman …
And she’s wearing a pin stripe blazer, t-shirt, jeans and black penny loafers … chic but effortlessly casual, so maybe it’s Natalie Portman.
And she’s talking to an artist because he says, “Friends are always trying to get me to lower my prices, so maybe it’s Natalie Portman.
And he asks if she’s seen “Phantom Thread” and she says no, but then he asks if she’s seen “Licorice Pizza” and she says, “of course, it’s kind of a palate cleanser” which sounds like something Natalie Portman would say, I assume, so maybe it’s Natlie Portman.
And she says more than asks “who do we know at the New York Times?,” a paper she has surely been profiled in 1,000 times, so maybe it’s Natalie Portman.
And the artist she is with is really trying to impress her, I can hear it in his voice. I can feel without seeing him lean over the table towards her, his foot likely tapping on the concrete, as he asks,
“Do you read Zachary Small?” And I don’t know who Zachary Small is but that’s a pretty cool name, the kind of name of somebody who probably writes about the moneyed worlds of art and technology and, well, money, and she says “yes,” and let’s not forget that Natalie Portman went to Harvard, so she surely reads people like Zachary Small, so maybe it’s Natalie Portman.
And then she says she never had Covid, at least she doesn’t think she had it, and he is really impressed and he admits that he has bad sinuses and frequently uses a Netti Pot and suggests that’s “probably TMI,” and she giggles, and generously says “not at all,” and that generosity, that allowing people to be real and vulnerable seems to be just the kind of generosity a movie star who keeps it real would offer, so maybe it’s Natalie Portman.
And then he’s prattling on about something or the other and says, “you know, like Ben Davis doing the front face camera thing,” and they are clearly not talking about Ben Davis of work clothes manufacturing fame, and she responds, “yeah, yeah, yeah,” and so maybe it’s Natalie Portman.
And then I just can’t take it anymore so I turn around to get a good look at Natalie Portman, and although pretty, this woman looks nothing like Natalie Portman.
So maybe I should just mind my own fucking business.
