As a Native New Yorker, I pride myself on being cool when I
have a celebrity sighting. But there was no being cool yesterday as I
sashayed past Penny Cruz and her beau Javier Bardem on a Manhattan sidewalk. Not because I was so
impressed (though I secretly was) — but because it was so effing hot out yesterday
that you could have fried an egg on my red, sweaty face.
Anyhow, I saw the two of them, leaning casually against a
building, as I was dragging my broken Roomba back to Hammacher Schlemmer to
exchange it for a new one. (Amazingly, they didn’t give me a hassle, so ethical yays for
them.) I didn’t make a moron of myself, just smiled a tiny smile and kept going, though I did text
message a pal to mention the sighting on my way home.
“Tell Gawker,” she texted back. (Joking, I’m sure.)
And I was tempted. But that’d be unethical, I decided.
Celebs deserve their privacy.
When I got back to my apartment building, even sweatier and redder in the puss,
I paused in my lobby to mop off and share the gossip with my door folk, with
whom I share a close rapport. However, as it turns out, one of my neighbors is
a freelance photog for the gossip rags about town, and she overheard the story.
I should have shut my yap the moment I learned from the
doorman what she did for a living, but I couldn’t resist a bit of a brag. I pretty much told her exactly when and where I saw them, and how they looked. Why? I dunno. I guess I wasn’t busy, and man, the two of them really are attractive in person (if far scruffier than when they’re properly coiffed).
Hopefully, it was too late for her to make use of the news and bug the happy
couple (whom she told me were expecting a babe and hiding out from the press). Rumors differ, but if it’s not too unethical to share, I’ll just say… I didn’t get a glimpse
below the waist.
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