"Twenty-five," the handler says. I give him the money. "So many twenties today," he remarks. "Probably the ATMs." I chuckle and nod. He can probably see how nervous I am, because he tells me, "Talk to him a little. He's a really nice guy."
This will be very quick, I figure. Take a photo, get a signature, fist-bump, and we're out.
I nod again and hand him my phone, then put my wallet back in the backpack. When I try to snap it closed, my hands are shaking and it takes a few tries. After the fifth time, my fingers give up, letting the snap fall where it may as I sling it over my shoulder. Within a second I am face to face with him. He smiles.
"Hello, doll."
In person, he sounds like somebody took the best parts of Gregory Peck's Atticus Finch and mixed it with the worn-yet-gentle voice that David Carradine had for most of his later career. In other words, he sounds better than he does on film, which I didn't think was possible.
I smile back, hopefully not too excited but not too absolutely freaking terrified.
"G'mornin'." I say, then mentally kick myself. You're from Long Island, not the South, and you're meeting ____ ______ at a con, not greeting the pastor at a Sunday bake sale!
He doesn't seem to notice, and keeps grinning. "What's your name?" "Claudia," I answer. Unlike many people who I introduce myself to, he doesn't repeat it. "What'll I be helping you with today?" Before I can speak, the handler says, "She's got a photo and an autograph."
At the mention of the word "photo" his eyes light up. Pointing to the edge of his table, he gets up and beckons me there. I assume we are going for the stereotypical teenage-girl-with-person-who-is-famous snapshot, and am putting my hand on my hip when he tells me to stand still. He takes off his glasses, and then something happens that does make me freeze. Placing his left arm over my left shoulder, he bends his right at the elbow and puts a hand on my right shoulder, resting his chin on that hand. Feeling the need to add something, I raise my left hand to meet his wrist and grin. As the handler takes the photo, I find myself thinking one thing.
Thank God I got all the wax out of my ears yesterday.
"Now, if you don't like the photo, he can take it again." The handler shows it to me, and my new profile picture is staring back. "You like that?" I manage "Absolutely!" before he claps me on the shoulder and heads back to the table. I am retrieving my phone when I hear him say, "What picture do you want, dear?" Taking a cursory glance at the selections, I choose the one in the center of the table, the one that got him his nomination. He's almost hidden by a chain-link fence, and the lighting isn't very good, but I don't care - I really loved him in that movie. "Nice pick." His hand picks up a silver pen and he asks how my name is spelled. "C-L-A-U-D-I-A." Apparently I said it too fast, because he had written C-L-U, and so, to my astonishment, he tears it up, retrieving another one. "We can all afford a little mistake now and then, no?" he jokes.
I laugh and he asks, "A before the U, right?" "Yes." And with that, the floodgates open. I begin gushing about a film he did thirty years ago, don't remember exactly what I said, but by the end of my fifteen-second schpiel he is beaming. From the look in his eyes I see that he's thinking of doing something. "C'mere!" I haven't even thought of what to say when he gets up from the table and gives me a hug, then a peck on the cheek. My God. This guy, who's been giving nothing more than fist-bumps to the others who come up, chose ME to hug! ME! How am I so lucky?!
He sits back down, finishes his signature and hands me the photo. "You're very sweet, Claudia. Do good out there." "I will. Thank you so much." "It's a pleasure." We fist-bump and exchange a brief smile, then I go. As I walk to meet Beth at the other side, I turn my head to see him talking with a family. Beth is waiting with an impatient grin.  "Well," she says, "is it all you thought it would be?" I nod my head, still in a daze. "And then some."