By Roxanne Roberts
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, December 3, 2007

The hair. The face. That smile. It was impossible not to be dazzled by Diana Ross as she walked down the red carpet of the State Department on Saturday night.

Her dress was a magnificent confection of black ribbons, lace and train; her face and figure better than most women half her age. The 63-year-old singer -- here to accept her Kennedy Center Honors -- was every inch a star. "She looks fantastic!" said Paul Pelosi, the speaker's hubby, snapping the former Supreme on his little digital.

Who designed her fabulous gown? Ross said she couldn't remember. What's it like to be adored by fans all over the world? "They're usually very nice and very polite," she said sweetly. Why is it, then, that she has a reputation for being such a diva?

"I don't think I want to talk about that," she pronounced and swept away.

Ah, fame -- that goddess we crave and worship, elevating mere mortals into demigods. Each December at the star-studded Honors, Washington brushes elbows with genuinely talented celebrities. This year's honorees are Ross, comedian Steve Martin, filmmaker Martin Scorsese, songwriter Brian Wilson and pianist Leon Fleisher, and then there are all the bold-face names who come to pay tribute to them.

Accomplished artists all, and yet it always seems to come down to two questions: What do they look like in person? And what are they really like?

Maybe it's unfair to judge character from a five-minute conversation, but that's the price of celebrity: For the average person, the first impression is often the only impression, so stars face constant pressure to be charming, accommodating, on. Even more so during Honors weekend, where their only task is show up, receive accolades, and make small talk.

"I'm terrible at it," said Martin, clutching a cocktail napkin he has folded into tight squares. "It depends on the circumstances. In a room like this, it's fine. That's what we're here for. But if you're rushing your wife to the hospital to have a baby, it's not fine. I always feel, 'That person thought I was rude,' but you learn to live with it."

He was interrupted by a fan who was clearly tickled to meet the 62-year-old comedian. "Can I bother you for picture?"

His pal Martin Short picked up the thought: "The perception is never accurate because it's only in the moment." Short was once running through an airport, shepherding three small children, when a woman asked him to stop for an autograph. "I'm sorry, I'm racing for a plane," he told her, not breaking stride. She yelled back: "And I heard you were nice!"

When people imagine being famous, they usually think of getting to do something you love, having lots of money, the hot dates. (Martin's new bride, 35-year-old writer Anne Stringfield, is an adorable slip of a thing, but Martin posed with Short on the red carpet.) And maybe, after hard work and some luck, there's an Oscar, Tony or Kennedy Centers Honors and a dinner hosted by Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.

That's the easy part of fame. The hard part is figuring out how to straddle the increasingly thin line between public and private life, whom to trust and whom to fear. Ross, surrounded by her four grown children as if they were a cordon, was watched more than approached -- even at a black-tie dinner in the lush Benjamin Franklin State Dining Room filled with the rich and famous. "I want to go over but I'm nervous," said Jordin Sparks. "She's Diana Ross."

At 17, Sparks is the youngest "American Idol" winner and a huge overnight success. "It's been really fun," she said, sincere and giggly at the same time. "There are some days when I wish I could walk through the mall without being recognized, but it comes with what I'm doing. The people who come up to me are my fans. They put me in this position, so I'm in debt to them."

This is conventional wisdom in Washington, where politicians understand that their dinners, shopping and . . . well, basically their entire lives will become one long interruption if they are successful. "That's the nature of the job," said Mayor Adrian Fenty, who knew exactly what he was getting into. Celebrities, on the other hand, are often less prepared.

"I've let it all go to my head," teased actor Steve Carell. The star of "The Office" broke into a grin and considered his success at Sunday's brunch hosted by Liz and George Stevens at the Mandarin Oriental. "It's all so new to me, frankly. I'm always surprised and sort of humbled by someone acknowledging who I am."

A woman leaned in as she passed him. "BIG fan!" she whooped. "You're fabulous!"

Heady stuff. Some stars crave the red carpet, the adulation, until paparazzi start following them to the dry cleaners, then bitterly complain how tough it is to be famous. The trick is finding that sweet spot.

Mark Bryan, lead guitarist for Hootie and the Blowfish, said he has "a very comfortable level of celebrity. I get a lot of the perks -- flying first class -- but I can go to the mall without being swarmed." The band, he said, hit it big a decade ago; its fame has "leveled off to a very nice place."

Leon Fleisher is highly respected in the musical world but still lives a life of relative normalcy, which makes those times when he's recognized on the street icing on the cake. "It's wonderful," he said. "It's a great kind of interaction that makes my day." Ditto for Yo-Yo Ma, who says he's noticed only when he's toting his Stradivarius. "Cello, Asian male, it must be Yo-Yo Ma," he said with a laugh.

His favorite story: He was on a plane, cello in the next seat, when a passenger asked what he did for a living. "I'm a musician," he said. "You make a living at it?" Ma nodded, the man asked his name, and he told him. "That's not true!" answered the man indignantly. "Yo-Yo Ma's a woman!"

The most graceful celebrities seem to have grown into their fame: If they have the luxury of time, they learn how to use it -- instead of being used by it. (See Spears, Britney.) By the time someone receives the Honors, they've had decades in the spotlight. Scorsese, who finally won an Oscar this year, said he's felt really famous only for the last eight to nine years, with 30 years of a successful directing career before people started asking for autographs. But his 8-year-old daughter, Francesca, was little vague about the Kennedy Center award: "She asked me, 'Daddy, why are they honoring you again? "Shark Tale"?' "

Even Brian Wilson, the Beach Boys musical genius with a history of mental illness, is at peace with his public life. It's a "thrill and an honor" to be stopped by a fan, he said simply. "It makes me feel proud of myself. I get off signing autographs." He called the Honors "one of the best weekends of my life."

Saturday's dinner for 250, where the honorees were presented their awards by Kennedy Center Chairman Steve Schwarzman, was just the run-up to Sunday's blowout. Suffice to say the tributes were heartfelt, the toasts touching, and Washington's VIPs melted into teenage groupies. "I didn't just love Diana Ross," said Rice. "I wanted to be Diana Ross."

The evening ended with the traditional group portrait, where the honorees sat for their class picture, more or less behaving in an un-diva-like manner. As the group broke up, official photographer Tony Esparza thrust a small camera in Scorsese's hands and asked him to snap a picture with Steve Martin.

"That's great!" said Esparza, admiring the only picture of the night taken by Scorsese. "I love it! What a collector's item!"

Ah, fame.