Last night Tatyana and I dropped by Pierluigi (Piazza de’ Ricci, 144, 00186 Roma), a pricey, world-class eatery that attracts elite natives and travellers. We had no reservation but were graciously seated right away, and as I unfolded my napkin I realized we were 30 inches from Michelle Williams and novelist Jonathan Safran Foer, who’ve been going out for a couple of years.

Right away I started calculating what my next move should be, if any.

Michelle Williams, Jonathan Safran Foer.

A go-getter movie journalist of the first order would have definitely said hello, chatted them up for 45 to 60 seconds and asked Michelle (a) how The Greatest Showman is shaping up and (b) what’s up with the Janis Joplin biopic that, unless I’ve missed something, she’s supposed to begin shooting fairly soon.

Has this Amazon-funded project gone south? I was asking myself this because Michelle doesn’t look like Joplin right now. Like, at all. Her tennis-ball-length hair is snow white (just like Kristen Stewart‘s) and she’s also rail-thin. If she were going to play The Jop anytime soon wouldn’t you think she’d be a tiny bit fuller and fleshier (Joplin wasn’t heavy but she drank a lot and was no health-club Nazi) and rocking a longish ’60s do?

But I also feel that couples who are simply together in a four-star restaurant in a beautiful city like Rome should be left alone. Or at least part of me believes this. They were just eating and chatting and love-birding. Toward the end of their light meal they were holding hands. The bottom line is that I wimped out and said nothing. On one hand I feel funny about this, but on the other I feel good.

Texts to Tatyana about 90 seconds after we sat down: “Don’t turn around.” “Don’t react.” “You remember Manchester By The Sea?” “Don’t look” “To your left.” “Michelle Williams.” “A sideways glance is okay — just don’t turn in your seat.”