just say hello anjelica

How do you feel when you are alone? Are you self-aware and painfully aware that you have no friends? Can you imagine people wondering why you are standing there alone? Do your attempts to appear like a thoughtful, independent professional, rather than a walk-in wonder, seem artificial and make you cringe? Perhaps the following true stories will change the way you approach awkward moments.

On the eve of my twelfth birthday, while on a glorious Florida vacation, my older brother, Jim, observed me at the local teen club staring at my toes and writhing in conscious agony. Unfortunately, I was completely ignored by the rest of the merry group of children.

He asked, “What is it, Fatsinello?” (He was so skinny that calling me Fat was a big brother joke.) Ha ha.

With a sigh, I replied, “Nothing.”

Jim, with his typical insight, said, “Go find the loneliest person in the room, just walk up to them and say ‘Hi.’ He nodded in the direction of a girl drinking a Coke at a distant table.

“Go say hi,” he ordered.

The walk to his table was thrilling in anticipation of total public humiliation, as my three brothers had set it up a million times before for their comedic entertainment.

The girl stared at me like a scared rabbit and twisted her stiff head. I pulled out a blade, “Hello.”

Like a double rainbow after a dark storm, her smile was beautiful. Her shoulders slumped, she laughed and said she didn’t know anyone here. I looked back at Jim, who had his smug “I told you so” expression, but he too seemed pleased. The girl and I were best friends during my Florida vacation, and thanks to her, I had a lot of fun. With a friend by my side, I came to life, I was more fun, more daring, I danced at the club and even allowed myself to be semi-hypnotized by the visiting magician.

I had another chance to try the “Just say hi” technique. He was working for Emmy Award winner Alexander Singer as his assistant at a Directors’ Dialogue held at the Los Angeles Directors Guild of America. My job was to help out during meetings and nervously invite directors, including Warren Beatty, to attend meetings. I also received a special benefit: a single ticket for a workshop on the Queen Mary ocean liner.

I arrived at seven in the morning hoping that a ship full of directors would discover me. I listened to several readings and watched some movies and then all the attendees gathered in the large dining room for lunch. Most of the people were male and seemed to know each other well. They quickly grouped together and filled the tables. I felt self-conscious and a bit like the last one standing during the musical chairs. Then I saw a pretty woman sitting alone at a table near the podium and I remembered “Just say hi.” She was looking at her place and seemed lost in private thoughts.

“Hello,” I offered.

As if awakened, she looked at me. She was exotically beautiful and her silky black hair moved when she turned her head. Her slight smile was welcoming and gave me permission to join her. After thirty minutes I had fully recovered from my “last man standing” crisis and she and I chatted easily and intimately as only two strangers often can. He began to reveal his concern for his sick father and spoke of “Jack” several times. I nodded compassionately, still faking my way as I had no real connection to anyone in the room.

Then the guest speaker was introduced and walked slowly to the podium. He was wearing a navy blue velvet tracksuit and looked frail and bony. He talked about his father, Walter, and a lifetime’s experiences making movies. Many times, John Houston stopped to cough and try to catch his breath. But he would stand up and start over. The audience was listening to his every word and the applause was deafening quickly followed by a standing ovation. Mr. Houston waved goodbye and escaped the crowd of directors who crowded near him to touch his tall frame or shake his trembling hand.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” my new friend said.

I followed her tall, slender figure down the long corridors deep within the Queen Mary’s private apartments, away from the noise and crowds with no idea where we were going. He opened the door to a finely decorated stateroom, where our speaker, John Houston, was sitting on the couch, his jacket unbuttoned to reveal a thin white T-shirt. I instantly knew who he had been talking about for the past hour. Simultaneously, I broke the tip of my high heel and stumbled into the cabin. Always ready to make a grand entrance, I have learned to laugh easily and have fun with my embarrassing moments. We all laughed together as I lifted my broken heel.

“Give it to me,” said the deep, deep voice.

Mr. Houston extended his big hand towards my shoe. Here I am, in John Huston’s cabin with his beautiful daughter, Anjelica and the greatest director of our time fiddling with my shoe. He coughed harder and longer now that he was in private rooms. Anjelica’s face showed her all the emotions of concern, adoration, and anguish as her father gasped for breath. I wondered briefly what an elegant lady like this saw in Jack Nicholson, knowing little about him at the time except his bad press and the sadness that still caused her to mention his name. The eldest Houston would regroup quickly after his cough, start teasing us, work out, alternate critical comments with funny, harsh jabs in a way that we giggle and simply enjoy. I was missing the workshop, but could have cared less. Surprisingly, after several knocks on the coffee table, John Houston even fixed my shoe. Eventually, Mr. Houston said he needed to rest and Anjelica whispered that he would see me later.

I joined the group of directors and media at the next workshop. What would either of them have given to be invited into the private world of superstar Anjelica Houston and her famous father? To this day, I’m surprised it was. No director discovered me that day, but I did discover a fascinating man and his daughter. I also learned that when shyness or feelings of shyness threaten to overwhelm you, just say “Hello” and a new world can open up to you.

(wireimage.com)