In 1994 I worked for a Medicare-contracting health maintenance organization, or "senior HMO". I conducted group presentations in Southern California to Medicare beneficiaries with the goal of enrolling them.
In our part of SoCal, the Coachella Valley, in which Palm Springs, Palm Desert and about eight additional municipalities are situated, lots of Hollywood-connected people live, play and retire. During our fifteen years there we encountered Frank Sinatra, Keanu Reeves, Michael Jordan, Tammy Faye Baker, Robert Stack, McLean Stevenson, Robert Downey, Jr., Sidney Sheldon, Carol Channing and a host of others with household names. Though local culture prohibits gawking or speaking to stars unless first addressed, local culture could not squelch exciting comparisons among friends concerning who had spotted whom.
One day at the conclusion of my HMO pitch, a woman approached and spoke softly.
"I work for someone who cannot attend a group presentation. Would you meet in her home?"
Though taking time from my busy work day to meet with one prospect wasn't appealing, curiosity prevailed when the woman added, "She's a celebrity."
An appointment was set. Mystery grew.
I pulled into the circular driveway of the mid-century home in the heart of old Palm Springs, the area known as the "Movie Colony". I gathered my materials and nervously approached. Before I could ring, the door swung open and there stood the woman I had met at my presentation.
"This is the home of Loretta Young," the woman said.
From behind approached elegant Loretta Young, who, though in her eighties, appeared not past middle age, fit and radiant. She invited me in.
Loretta Young treated me as a close friend rather than the sales person I actually was. She was excited to show off a bathroom she had remodeled and quick to explain stacks of boxes around the house.
"We sold our apartment in New York. I have no idea what to do with all this stuff!"
Loretta Young pushed smaller boxes aside before we sat at the dining table to talk business. One box was open and revealed a set of colorful, turtle-shaped soup tureens. The lids of the tureens were the shells.
"Look at these," Loretta Young said. "Aren't they cute? We'll never use them. Do you want them?"
Maybe everyone experiences moments, fleeting and seemingly unimportant, that later hang large. I suppose unexpected exchanges and unrehearsed responses are fairly typical fodder for regret. Why didn't I take more time before answering?
"Oh, thank-you, but I couldn't possibly accept those!"
I had a glorious visit with Loretta Young, basking in her genuine warmth. We hit the high points concerning HMO benefits (the plan was not for her or her husband, Academy Award winning clothing and costume designer, Jean Louis), and moved on to Hollywood stories. She shared some real insider stuff, funny and fascinating.
I had not reached the end of her driveway when regret over the soup tureens commenced. How silly would it be for me to stop, run back to her door and ask for them?
Not long after, People magazine ran a cover story alleging Loretta Young's scandalous affair with Clark Gable, an affair that resulted in Ms. Young's flight to England to bear their love child in secret. She returned to the U.S. and maintained pretense until her death that she had adopted the child in England.
Her husband, Jean Louis, passed away in 1997. I saw on the news one summer evening in 2000 that Loretta Young, too, had died.
If I had accepted the tureen treasures, I could have served soup from them that night.