Profiler

Just got a link from Justin H. to a cool story by Esquire's Tom Chiarella on what it's like to be a celebrity profiler:

I once had dinner with Halle Berry at a clamshell table, a setting spread open to the room like a huge embrace, in a big glassy Italian restaurant on Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles. Everyone there could see her. It wasn't a date, or even a business meeting. It was an interview, for a cover story for Esquire magazine. Me, sitting with Halle Berry. Unimaginable. I kept thinking two words, kept wanting to say those words out loud, or spell them so a kind spider might knit them into its web so everyone could read them when the morning light splintered in. These were the words: Some teeth.

See, Halle Berry really does have some great teeth. That's the kind of thing you see when you're up close to a celebrity. Not breasts, or chins, or haircuts. Get close enough, and you see something you never noticed before. I'm telling you. That woman has some teeth.

Beyond that, she looked prettier than I expected, seemed more engaged, happier, talkative than I'd been led to believe she would be. These are not great observations, I know, but I'm not writing an article about Halle Berry here. This story is about me. The profiler. As for me, I looked like a giant sausage pushed into the casing of an expensive sports coat. It hurts me to think how out-of-scale I looked next to her, but, as I have learned to do on these occasions, I ignored myself. That is Rule One of celebrity-profile writing: Ignore yourself. I think she had gnocchi, grilled vegetables, and some tiny dessert. She ate most of it. I bring this up only to mention Rule Two of my job: Don't talk about what they eat. Never talk about how much. I don't remember what I ate. I rarely do.