Happy Birthday Mr. Beatty, Pt. 1

In the 70's, Warren Beatty was not only a big giant movie star but the reigning Cock of the Walk. His sexual exploits were legendary as he made his way not only through the pantheon of his A list co stars but models, maids, socialites, wives, waitresses, daughters of friends...In 1976 he was still living in his long time digs atop the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. If you were a young girl with dreams of f**cking the great Warren Beatty, you went and hung out in their lobby. And that's how, on a summer evening, I ended up accompanying my best friend Eve* from our provincial little hamlet of Manhattan Beach, to stake out the Beverly Wilshire Bar. (*not her real name)

Having Warren Beatty as their well known tenant upped the hotel's profile and also drew a clientele of older, well heeled men who were hoping to snag his cast offs. In turn, this also lured more hookers...or "escorts" as they liked to be called. So the bar was a potent mix of horny young girls, hornier old men with money and money hungry working girls.

Before we go any further, let me point out that the 70's was when sexuality really opened up for women due to the availability of The Pill and we were all a little sluttier for it. But I was only there as Eve's wing man. I had no desire to f**ck Warren Beatty. He was too pretty. And he was f**cking everything that moved! But Eve really, really wanted to f**ck Warren Beatty and she didn't want to stalk him alone. So there I was in my Halston knock-off gamely trying to drink a dry martini without pulling a face. After being hit on by a couple of the deeply tanned, horny old boys, Eve and I were approached by one of 'the girls'...who I guess must have been having a bad week...she came over and in low tones tried to threaten us out of there. I offered to introduce her to the old horn dogs since they all seemed to be there for the same purpose. Except of course, I was too naive at the time to realize that old horny guys with cash are still going to try for the 'bargain' - being nubile young girls you can "buy" for a couple drinks and some appetizers - rather than a hooker who, no matter how attractive is still...well, a hooker.

Just as the hooker was starting to get a little loud with us...enter Warren Beatty. The minute he entered the lobby, a jolt of electricity went through the place. That energy entered the room ahead of him. As was apparently his M.O., he popped into the bar to 'peruse' before retiring to his suite. The hooker stopped, mid diatribe, her mouth in a perfect blow job "O"...I'm not sure if Eve was speaking. If she was, the pitch was one only dogs could hear. She was pinching the underside of my upper arm which brought tears to my eyes...I looked from her to the hooker, wondering what the hell was going on. Then from behind me I heard "Hi girls" and I turned around to find myself face to face with HIM.

His face was composed in that famous arrogant smirk and the hair was "Shampoo" era. I thought Eve might pass out because her grip on my arm was loosening. He smiled politely but dismissively at the hooker. If she worked there regularly, they probably recognized each other. But again, I was too naive to realize and kind of tossed my hair at her as if to say "haha, he doesn't want to talk to you, hooker!"

Mr. Beatty didn't sit...he stood between us at the bar...our knees pressing into his hips. There would be no lobby bar courtship, no drinks and small talk. There was a rhythm and routine to this transaction. "Would you like to come upstairs?" I immediately said "no thanks" and started to explain that I was only keeping Eve company. Somehow, Eve finally found her voice and said she'd love nothing more than to go upstairs. But for him, this was supposed to be a package deal. Both of us or none. I wasn't having it. It was actually starting to freak me out a little inside. Here I was, arguing with hookers in the Beverly Wilshire bar and being propositioned for a menage a trois by the hottest, handsomest movie star of the day! Eve actually started crying because I was ruining her Warren Beatty moment. Warren offered to have a private word with me while she went to repair her make up. "We can just send her home if you want." That wasn't what I was expecting to hear. Suddenly, there was a metallic taste in my mouth...fear, no doubt - which I think I managed to hide under my "moxie." I've always been big on moxie whether to my advantage or my detriment.

I still didn't want to f*ck him but part of me was secretly thrilled that it was me he wanted. Me and Faye Dunaway, Catherine Deneuve. Diane Keaton, Julie Christie, Natalie Wood, etc, etc, etc.
As Eve made her way back to her seat, I told him "no thanks" once more. With a little nod and that smirk, he left...just like that. Poor Eve was beside herself. I never told her what he said to me privately. That would have made her hate me even more. And she stopped being my friend that night.

Needless to say, I wasn't a Beatty convert after that. But many years later, while working on "Bulworth", I became one...

Stay tuned for Pt 2, tomorrow.