Once upon a time, before kids were in the picture, my husband and I went on an impromptu dinner with a dear friend of ours: Brazilian director José Padilha. My husband, composer Pedro Bromfman, has collaborated numerous times with him and we used to go out a lot back then. Like me, José has the most varied taste in friends and people in general, and I’ve met many fantastic individuals through him over the years.
That night, he introduced us to a new friend who was on crutches and had a brace around one of his knees. He was a tall, strong guy, and he looked to me like he played sports. “Are you a professional athlete? Is that how you got hurt?” I asked.
With a Southern accent, he sweetly replied: “No, ma’am. I’m an actor.”
Oh, cool!” I said, as the waiter proceeded to show us the table.
I sat next to José, across from my husband, and my new acquaintance sat next to me. We talked a lot, about old movies we loved (The Big Chill and Stand by Me, among others) and about life in general, marriage, the idea of having kids someday, and places we had been and wanted to go. He was a lovely, smart and sensitive guy, and we had similar taste so we engaged in fun, effortless conversation throughout dinner and dessert.
As espressos were being served, two giddy teenage girls shyly approached the table and asked if he would take a picture with them. They turned red and giggled with excitement behind their braces as he kindly and humbly complied, standing up with his hurt leg and gently hugging them, one on each side. I offered to snap the shot.
When the girls left, I told my new friend: “You’re pretty famous, aren’t you?”
He was Channing Tatum.
