I’ve met Kevin Spacey once in my life. It was at the 2002 Golden Globes award show, where Spacey had been nominated for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama for The Shipping News. 
He didn’t win the award, but looked in fine spirits at one of the after-parties at The Beverly Hilton, where stars annually gather to mingle and the press to schmooze.
It was my first after-party. I had recently left as a police reporter at The Washington Post to join USA Today as a film writer. Milling about in an ill-fitting rented tuxedo, I was to do the conventional celebrity roundup piece, gathering “I can’t believe I won” quotes from the winners and “It was an honor just to be nominated” snippets from the trophy-less.
About 15 minutes into one of the parties, I spotted Spacey across a dining hall. He was smiling broadly, and had his hand cupped on the back of the head of a young, taller actor, who looked as thrilled meeting a star as I felt to be interviewing them.
Not wanting to interrupt, I waited for the two to separate before I approached Spacey. I wasn’t carrying a notepad, just a digital recorder in my pocket, so nothing identified me as press except the badge around my neck.
“Mr. Spacey?” I asked. I was so new at film writing I didn’t know it was acceptable to address actors — even famous ones — by their first names. I held out my hand. “I’m Scott Bowles.”
Spacey gave me a genuinely warm smile and took my hand. “Well hello, Scott,” he said. I was immediately relieved; some actors did not hide their disdain for the media, particularly actors not carrying statues.
I barely had time to utter my standard second-line greeting, “I’m a reporter for USA Today,” when the smile vanished. The handshake, which was warm and slightly lingering, ended abruptly when he pulled his hand away. He turned on his heel, muttered “I have no comment,” and walked to an empty table nearby.
I was disappointed and confused. As a former police reporter, I was used to brush-offs. But this was a noticeable change in demeanor. Plus, I wasn’t going to get a quote from an A-lister. I stood frozen for a moment, uncertain if I had broken after-party protocol, unwittingly offended, or simply chosen the wrong moment to approach an actor peeved he had not won.
Several yards away, I saw Katie Couric, beckoning to her cameraman to come over, that she spotted Spacey was unaccompanied. As the cameraman approached and the two walked toward Spacey’s table, he noticed the press descending. Spacey, who had been resting his head on cupped hands, stuck out middle fingers on both sides of his face, essentially rendering himself inappropriate to film (and letting Couric know to abort her approach).
Similarly confused by the reaction, Couric called off the cameraman and began scanning for more amenable stars. 
As a former cop reporter, I was used to brusque reactions. But as a rookie film writer, I was so concerned I had offended that I called my mother the next day to tell her the story.
I thought about that exchange in October 2017, when Spacey came out as gay in an apology to Anthony Rapp for a drunken sexual advance that he allegedly made (but said he did not recall making) to the then 14-year-old Rapp in 1986.
What puzzled me was not Spacey’s admission to being gay, which the press treated as a revelation from the notoriously private actor. What confused me was that it was considered a revelation at all: I had assumed he was gay by the exchange he had with the actor before my encounter with him. I assumed many actors were gay. It wasn’t until I had experience as a film writer that I learned such an admission is considered a career-killer for a lot of actors.
And I wasn’t bothered by what I considered a minor come-on. Particularly when I was young, I was occasionally mistaken as gay. Once, at a party in Detroit held by city paramedics, a guy asked me if I had a girlfriend and ever considered a gay encounter. He even followed me into the bathroom before I excused myself from the gathering.
I’ve pondered the Spacey encounter even more since new allegations arose in November 2017. Spacey, 59, faces arraignment Jan. 7 on a charge of indecent assault and battery for an incident involving a then 18-year-old. His bizarre Christmas Eve YouTube post has utterly spun my head. Wearing a Santa apron and occasionally sipping from a mug, Spacey seems to inhabit his House of Cards character, Frank Underwood, who was killed off in the series after the allegations. In the video, he drawls things such as, “We’re not done, no matter what anyone says.” He even hints at a desire to return to Cards, (“You never actually saw me die, did you?” he asks).
I tried to watch House of Cards, but couldn’t after seeing the first scene of the first episode, in which he breaks the neck of a dog that was hit by a car and is assumed to be mortally injured. I recoil at scenes of animals dying.
I wonder if Spacey recalls that scene now, as I do. I wonder if he would have objected to Underwood’s course of action. It’s a risky endeavor, the snap decision.
