Our Girl Next Door

News of her move to Shady Glen spread like a virus.

It must be the realtors who start these rumors. They find out first and can’t resist the opportunity to elevate their status by dropping a celebrity’s name. Then those who hear the name can’t resist the opportunity to tell their neighbors who their new neighbor will be. Then we let it slip casually to outsiders, in passing, as if news of a new celebrity in our midst is just an everyday occurrence behind the gates. By the end of the day, everyone within a fifteen mile radius is infected with the knowledge.

Sometimes the rumors prove untrue, such as that time my neighbor assured me Neil Diamond had bought the house down the street. I learned to play “Cracklin’ Rosie” on my guitar, thinking I’d strum it in my backyard so he’d hear it and mosey on over and next thing you know I’m hanging with Neil and traveling in his entourage and swimming in a sea of middle-aged groupies. Then a mortgage broker moved in.

This time, the rumors proved true, if the caption writers at People magazine can be believed. A page torn from a recent issue was passed around, neighbor to neighbor, Exhibit A in the rumor’s defense. There she was, playing on her front lawn with her kids, captured from a distance at an oblique angle in a blurry photo that still left no doubt it was her. It kinda looked like the front yard of the house she supposedly bought, but any doubts were erased by the caption which began: “In front of her new Shady Glen home….”

People’s reactions were interesting.

At first there was excitement: Another celebrity chose our community! And People magazine noticed! Celebrity validation – the peace of mind we get when a celebrity endorses us by doing what we do – is the most powerful force in our society. And when the connection between a celebrity and Shady Glen is announced to the world by no less an authority than People magazine, we can die happy, certain there can be nothing left to accomplish in our lives.

The excitement gave way to concern for our newest celebrity, now one of us, practically part of the family, as we considered the paparazzi who haunt her every move, eager to capture an image to peddle to those celebrity rags. The photo looks like it was taken from across the street, or maybe from atop the hill with a telephoto lens, leading us to unsettling visions of interlopers sneaking through our underbrush and lying in wait while waiting for their chance to steal her privacy. How horrible for her! And her children! Let’s not forget the children.

But what about us? Sure, we may benefit greatly from our association with a celebrity, but that benefit comes with a significant cost: When they stake her out, those camera-toting dark-clad figures will sneak around our neighborhood, trample our flowers, litter our trails and urinate behind our sheds. Our concern for her has now shifted to a concern for us, and the collateral damage her presence will inflict on our peace and quiet. Not to mention our privacy.

But Shady Glen is gated, we recall. How exactly are these paparazzi going to get past the guards? We breathe a sigh of relief, our peace and quiet and privacy protected after all.

Well then, how did that guy get in, we think, looking at her picture. It’s unlikely he could sneak in. It’s unlikely one of us took the shot and sold it to People. So one of us must have called the photographer in. But who would do that?

And then it dawns on us. Of course! She must have arranged it. Or, more accurately, she must have had her publicist arrange it. Can there be a more effective affirmation of one’s celebrity status than a photo in our nation’s leading chronicler of celebrity culture? Especially when the photo is a “candid” shot that conveys a modest and becoming reluctance to achieve the very fame conferred by the photo, the elusive image she projects so publicly only enhancing our desire for her. If that photo can put Shady Glen on the map through validation by association, imagine all it must do for her.

So if the uninvited are invited, they won’t have to skulk around, fouling our yards while concealed behind our hedges waiting hours for an unguarded moment. Crisis averted!

Now if we can just figure out a way to get her house into InStyle.