On the bathroom line at Beatrice Inn last night, an attractive blonde woman was buzzing to her male friend about me, so I gave her a “hi there” to break the ice. “How do I know you?” she finally wondered. “I’m an entertainment reporter,” I replied. The good-time gal seemed to get nervous. I asked her name. “What’s yours?” she countered, defensively. “Mike. And yours?” I stammered. “Kirsten,” she divulged. “Huh?” I said. “Kirsten,” she repeated. OMG, it was Kirsten Dunst! And I had asked her for her name–and then made her say it again! This could spiral the girl right back down!
But the truth is, though I thought it might be her right away, I wasn’t 100% on that because I never thought Kirsten Dunst would be carrying on a conversation with a veritable stranger in a dark club. And you know what, then she didn’t! The second she knew my game (and her friend a/k/a manager exclaimed “Michael Musto!”), she told the guy to watch his every word–and she clammed up too, planting a frozen grin on her face and not even saying boo. And once again, a celebrity became imprisoned by the complicated dance involved in going to the most visible hangout in town, drawing someone’s attention, and then wanting to step into a trap door.