One of the joys of living in So Cal is running into old friends on the street. Last week, I happened to walk by these two outside on the patio of a small restaurant, “Tequila Mockingbird”, down here in the OC that all three of us like.
Brad and George were spectacularly turned out, George eschewing his usual polo shirt and baggy jeans. “George,” I said, “why color your hair, leave it natural”. No, he could not, he had a role as another ageless playboy coming up and could not show salt and pepper locks.
Brad was resplendent in stripes, eating his usual health salad and drinking expensive orange juice from Fiji. They offered me a seat and told me to order anything I wanted, but I had just eaten at Subway and had no more room.
Brad’s phone rang a few times; several times his agent called and they discussed this or that project in hushed Hollywood tones. The third call was from Angelina – would he please bring home some bread, milk, yogurt and caviar? She reminded him that not only were children in Africa hungry, but their own brood as well.
George rattled on about his mansion on Lake Como in Italy. When would I be coming out to see it? We could go sailing, he had purchased a yacht and had his own dock…I declined as I had already made plans to go to Pittsburg for the summer. Perhaps we could cross paths somewhere in between? I explained that my jet(ta) was under repairs and I didn’t think the part needed would arrive in time to rendezvous.
Brad showed me Kmart wallet photos of his three children. Delightful, but overexposed.
It was becoming too hot to linger. We air-kissed each other’s cheeks while George left a $100 tip. The champagne was too warm, but that was not the server’s fault.
We made a date for the following week for dinner before they both had to leave town to start principal photography on their new movies. Brad wanted to meet at McDonald’s as he NEVER gets to go there anymore. George pooh-poohed that idea in favor of Burger King, because “he deserves a whopper”.
Oh, those boys!
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This story is completely untrue. It is total bullshit. It’s a work of fiction. Everything is made up. Kudos and credit to the actual papparazzo – I did not take this photo and claim no credit for it whatsoever. Whew!