“He is not seeing anyone,” the man said tersely, indifferent to the potential charm of pint-sized fans.
“But,” my best friend began while I mustered my most pleading stare.
Her plea was cut short. The imposing double doors of the penthouse suite slammed shut, leaving us, two eager 8-year-olds, in the hallway of the Tamanaco Hotel, the pinnacle of luxury in Caracas at the time.
Exchanging glances, it was clear we hadn’t fully thought our plan through.
“Let’s just sit and wait,” one of us proposed. And that is exactly what we did.
Entertainment options were sparse in a hotel corridor in 1979. Unbeknownst to our parents, we had hopped on the school bus whose route included the Tamanaco, which meant we had our backpacks and lunchboxes in tow.
Feeling bored and hungry, I pulled out my “Six Million Dollar Man” lunchbox hoping for a leftover snack. Though empty, the images of Lee Majors, captured in mid-action, kept me company, oddly bolstering my hope that we might still encounter the real Lee Majors just steps away.
We occupied ourselves with games of tic-tac-toe, and I mentally rehearsed my questions for the Bionic Man.
“Can you really jump that high?”
“Who’s faster, Steve Austin or Jaime Sommers?”
“Are any of those gadgets real?”
Every so often, I’d glance at the daunting door, wishing for it to open and grant us an audience with our favorite star, but it remained closed as hours slipped by, our hopes dimming with each moment. Disheartened, we began gathering our things.
Just then, the door swung open and the stern figure stood before us again.
“You can come in now,” he announced, as my friend and I squealed in disbelief.
We were ushered into the grand suite and onto a balcony with a commanding view of the Ávila mountain. There, slouched on a chair, was Lee Majors nursing an afternoon cocktail.
My friend nudged me ahead, but I froze, suddenly panic-stricken and unable to speak. It was she who asked my rehearsed questions, her voice carrying them to my hero as I stood by, mute and in awe.
Majors was gracious, answering every inquiry and even asking about us, probably admiring our resolve to wait outside for so long.
“Would you like a photo?” he eventually offered, gesturing to our nemesis, who promptly provided two glossy headshots along with a pen.
He scrawled his signature over the lower right-hand corner and wished us well, taking another sip of his drink as we were escorted away.
Once outside I looked down at the photo clamped in my hand and was overwhelmed with joy and disbelief. Just like that, a flood of words, locked away while in front of my idol, poured out as I recounted the moment, minute by minute, with my friend.
We hugged, careful not to crease our treasured photos, and squealed once more, jumping up and down. Then we linked arms and skipped toward the elevator. No doubt there’d be commotion over the stunt we pulled once we got home, but we were too thrilled to care. In that moment, we savored our incredible encounter and the time-honored lesson that sometimes, just sometimes, patience — coupled with a dash of daring — can bring dreams to life.
Happy reading,
Alona Abbady Martinez
alona@bocaratonobserver.com