Dienstag, 22.04.2008

The effort behind George Clooney’s effortless charm

On the kitchen counter, there was a single Post-It note with two words written on it: “Sydney Pollack.” His refrigerator contained many individual servings of watermelon, in plastic tubs. Sarah Larson joined us. She is twenty-nine (or, as he later put it, “Her grandmother has posters of me”), and she first met Clooney three years ago, in Las Vegas, where she was working as a hostess at Gerber’s Whiskey Bar, but she has been a public part of his life only since last September, when she broke some toes, and Clooney a rib, in a motorcycle accident in New Jersey. “You can’t outrun paparazzi on crutches,” she later said. She still has a home in Vegas, but now spends a large part of her time with Clooney.

He kissed her and asked, “You O.K.? Are you bored out of your mind?”

“No, just doing e-mail.”

(Ian Parker: Somebody Has to Be in Control)

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