In the Bedroom with George Hamilton

Several readers have commented on Number Five of my “Weird and Random Facts" post.

“Scandalous!” said Chris F. Holm. (Chris meant it in a good way, of course.) Others? Well, I'm not so sure. Several people asked if I had an affair with him, and one asked if I had even met him!

Well, it did happen (not an affair, of course, but the meeting). I can’t remember the year, but I think it was sometime in 1983.

Costa and I had just relocated to Michigan, when we got a call from his father, who was in the real estate business. “Come on over,” he said, “Thought you might like to see a commercial in the making. Right here at the house.”

I didn’t really want to go; I had a million things to do. I was busy getting our apartment in order, grocery shopping, and planning a practice drive to Dearborn, where I would begin my job within the walls of the intimidating Bingham Office Center the following Monday morning.

Nevertheless, early that afternoon we headed over to Bloomfield Hills.

We were shocked when we arrived at my in-laws' home. Cars were parked up and down the street, neighbors stood in clutches in their yards and in the middle of the street, all gazing at a helicopter which was setting down in their yard.

Since Costa was in such a hurry to get there, I hadn’t gone to the bathroom before I left home. So as soon as we got out of the car, I beat a path through the door and down the hall. That bathroom was occupied, so I hurried farther down the hall to my in-laws’ bedroom.

As soon as I entered the room I stopped. I was not alone. A tall, elegant man was standing at the dresser, knotting his tie.

He turned and smiled. “Well," he said, "Hello!”

The man was actor George Hamilton.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” I said, feeling the blood rush to my face, “I was just…just going to the bathroom.”

He laughed. “Go ahead; be my guest!”

“Ah, no, I’ll do it somewhere else.”

My face got even redder when I realized what I had just said, so I rushed to the living room and collapsed on the sofa.

“Oh, dear,” my mother-in-law said, “I should have warned you George was in there.”

After the commercial was made, my in-laws introduced us to George, and we had a very nice conversation. Although he was rather stiff—like a cardboard man, in fact, and so perfect that he didn’t look real—he was friendly and eloquent. I had a difficult time concentrating on what he was saying, though; my eyes were drawn to his perfect teeth, blindingly white against his dark tan.

By the time we were preparing to leave, I had regained my composure and was beginning to feel like my old self again: He probably thought I would want to take a picture of him, like any other star-struck fan. Well, I showed him!

My voice was calm as I smiled and shook his hand, “It was so nice to meet you, George.”

And then my father-in-law grabbed his camera. “George,” he said, “Come on over here!”

George, like a school boy summoned by the principal, complied.

“Let my son take a picture of you and my daughter-in-law before they leave!”

My face reddened again, but George rose to the occasion, “It'll be my pleasure,” he said, placing his hand on the small of my back, “We know each other well; after all, we have been in the bedroom together!”

We were still laughing when Costa snapped this picture.