J-Lo, Te Ves Hermosa

...and that, dear readers, is how yours truly struck up a conversation with La J-Lo at the W Hotel lounge backstage at Fashion Week here in New York. Note to self: if you want to befriend a diva, compliment her in a romance language.

Rumor had it that the lounge had been cleared out for Jenny from the Block prior to the Diane Von Furstenberg show. But with the flowy, floral print spectacular well underway, my friends and I were able to perch ourselves in the sleek white-and-purple hospitality suite. With news that homegirl was breathing the same air as me, it was all I could do to contain myself, sitting with my boyz, feigning interest in Adam and Jay's trip to South America (uh-huh, uh-huh, steak and wine, right, where the hell is Jennifer Lopez? Is she really under this tent? Why am I not next to her? James go find her! Ahhhhh!!!!), I kept looking over my shoulder, jumping in my seat each time the door opened to reveal the snap of camera flashes.

I looked up at the plasma screens and caught DVF taking her bow - suddenly a sycophantic clap erupted in the lounge (we were out of the designer's sight and earshot) - and as I turned to poke fun at the silly fashionistas, Jennifer Lopez plopped herself on a couch in front of us.

Short, light-brown hair, patent leather booties and a slate-gray mini dress -- the makings of a forgettable hazard on anyone else trying to toter into the tents, but on divinity incarnate, it elicited a squeal, a gasp, and a splash of my Veuve Clicquot on James' lap.

And then she looked at me.

My posse huddled over me to contain what was certain to be my implosion, but being the baddest PR in PR that I am (that's Puerto Rican in public relations), I knew that by pulling myself together I would win Jenny's heart.

I looked over at La Diosa and we caught each other's eyes again.

"Te ves hermosa."

You look beautiful.

"Thank you!"

At this point J-Lo had put her i-Phone down and was chatting with another lovely, bejewelled Latina.

"How are the kids?" I asked.

She smiled, "they're great, show him the pictures."

Jaw drops.

Her friend, the lovely bejewelled Latina, pulled out her i-Phone and summoned me over. I'm now standing next to J-Lo and she's showing me pictures of her kids and her mom.

"Aren't they cute? You can't ask a mom about her kids and not have her show you the pictures."

"And how's their dad?" (Can I keep a conversation going or what?)

"He's fine, we're doing fine."

Now, I've played this scene, this encounter with Jennifer Lopez and the circumstances that would lead up to me chatting with her, so many times in my mind but it never once occurred to me that she would be so....devastatingly human.

You would think she'd be in a hurry to get away from me, but no, we were just chatting about her mom and her kids. But as the conversation was about to come to an end...

"I know you're busy but I just have to tell you a quick story. A few years ago when I started working in PR I called my mom to complain about my job and tell her how much I hated it, to which she said 'Davicito, do you think La J-Lo had it easy?'"

A devastatingly human diva could only do one thing: she laughed and said "No she didn't! That's so sweet. And it's true, it's not easy out there."

We nodded at each other in that knowing way of two Latinas who are doin' their thing and doin' it well.

She then reached over to grab her bag, "it was nice meeting you, enjoy the shows," she said as she leaned over and gave me a kiss...

...and then she posed for a pic with me:




I knew this day would come...

...but I gotta give a shout out to my boy Adam who made all of this happen. OK, doll, I'm all ears now, tell me EVERYTHING about Buenos Aires.



and James, thanks for staying up until 2am to rehash every last detail of this encounter.