For a couple of hours, Natalie Wood and I became friends.

It was 1976. I was a leggy, freckled, 20-something in the midst of a steamy romance with an older, married man. He was not tall, but dark, and killer handsome, not to mention a great tennis player. Despite the risk of ‘outing’ our affair, or maybe because of it, he insisted I join him for a round of doubles and lunch at famous restaurateur, Jean Leon’s, Malibu home.

We arrived at Jean’s home above the Pacific Coast Highway dressed for the event. He in classic tennis whites, and I in a short dress with a loose braid down my back.  I was uncharacteristically shy and uncomfortable, so I stuck by his side as we walked to the front door and greeted our host. Jean was charming, and imposing. He had established some of Beverly Hills’ most successful restaurants, including La Scala and The Boutique. I still drool thinking about sitting in one of the red leather booths, inhaling his famous Chopped Salad. It’s simply impossible to recreate.

We headed down to the tennis court.  I sat on the grass and watched a heated doubles match. I do not recall my boyfriend’s partner, but I do remember Roy Emerson, four-time Australian grand slammer, on the other side of the net. Even he couldn’t keep my attention. I became distracted and bored and wandered back up to the house.

Jean was clearly in the midst of entertaining family and friends. From a distance, I could see a very long table on the stone porch, set for at least 15 people. Fresh cut flowers bloomed from elegant vases, and a single dark-haired woman sat alone. I could not make her out because of my nearsightedness, so I drew closer.

And there she was. Natalie wood. I lost my breath. And footing.

Beautiful, alluring, movie star, America’s sweetheart. None of those adjectives come close to her presence that day. She was ravishing. I was simply magnetized with her. Natalie looked at me through deep brown eyes and thick lashes. She pushed out the chair next to her.

“Please. Join me,” she said with an inviting smile.

Me?  Next to Natalie Wood? I certainly couldn’t turn down such a sincere request. So, while drinking one glass of white wine and another, we spoke openly about her life. And she listened to mine: one of six sisters, the family joke, ugly duckling, screw-up.

“That can’t be true,” she shot back. I beamed inwardly. Validation happily received.

We may have chatted for two minutes or two hours – time lost its relevance. But I finally managed to tear myself away. She stood with me, reached up with her petite arms and gave me a hug. I blushed.

As I headed back down to the court, I took off my flats and felt my bare feet in the soft grass. Fitting for my encounter with Natalie wood.  Splendor in the grass.

Splendid, you were, Natalie. Splendid, you will always be. Indeed.

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not; rather find
Strength in what remains behind.

-Deanie Loomis quoting William Wordsworth