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.

TRUST

Today's entry is going to be somewhat disjointed but as a fun little exercise, I'm going to try and tie it all together somehow. Here we go...

Less than eight days after winning an Oscar, Sandra Bullock's world has been rocked again but in a vile and nasty way.

I have a kind of sixth degree of separation with Sandy (as tout le Hollywood calls her). First, we share German ethnicity. Unlike me (who kept it under wraps) she was always open and proud of her German mother and heritage. Second, I was a production executive at 20th Century Fox TV when she was cast as television's version of Tess McGill in Working Girl. She was a last minute replacement for then BIG star Nancy "Facts of Life" McKeon and this was gonna be her "big break". In what's become known as her signature ethic of hard work, humility and kindness, she charmed and wowed all of us. And btw, she never believed the hype. The show was predictably awful but it did put her on Fox's radar and on the path to movie stardom. That was 1990. After a little movie called "Speed" shot her into the stratosphere, she became one of America's sweethearts and has remained such. When she met Matthew McConaughey on "A Time to Kill", sparks flew but their friendship lasted long after. I later worked with Matthew on "The Wedding Planner" and remained in contact with him and his partner Gus for quite a while. When Sandra began dating Jesse James, her friends (including Matt and Gus) were all very concerned for her. From the outside looking in, concern seemed like a good idea.

Six years later, on Oscar night, it seemed like the sweet, satisfying culmination of both her career and her personal life as she accepted her award with Jesse sitting proudly in the front row. I felt such joy for her then, because it looked like she had beaten the odds. And Jesse had become the poster boy for bad boy turned good man.

When Sandra told Barbara Walters that before Jesse, no one had ever had her back before, I for one knew how valuable that is and it gave me hope. My own little heart was just starting to poke it's head out - like a turtle out of it's shell - finally feeling like it might be ready to trust someone, if that someone came along...then...WHAMMO. The fucking around is bad enough. The fucking around without a condom is heinous. But the broken trust. That's the one that's gonna leave a mark. A collective mark on everyone who looked at the lady and her biker and thought "If they can do it, I can do it."

Fess Parker has died. Honestly, I haven't thought about him in a loooooooooong time. And all the obituaries keep talking about "Davy Crockett" which was a little confusing to me at first. Because I knew him as "Daniel Boone". It was the only show I was allowed to watch as a 10 year old (besides "The Wonderful World of Disney") and even then, it was always a nail biter as to whether my parents would capriciously take that privilege away from me at the last minute.

Once, in an incident that was probably the beginning of my trust issues (aha!), my dad put me out of the house in my underwear. It was summer and we were eating dinner. I can only assume I was in my underwear because it was hot...or - come to think of it, my mother may have made me eat in my underwear so I wouldn't splash spaghetti sauce on my clothes...I swear to you, that just popped into my head. Being fastidiously German, she'd think of something like that. Frankly the summer heat/underwear at the dinner table scenario never made sense to me before...but I remember him grabbing me by the upper arm and forcing me out onto the front porch - slamming the door behind me. As I sat on the stoop, the feelings of fear and humiliation washed over me. I remember praying none of my friends would see me out there. It's hard to play off white underwear and undershirt as anything but what they are...suddenly, this thought popped into my head "Daniel Boone is on!"That spurred me into action. There was no time to waste. I marched myself over to the next door neighbor's house...Now these neighbors and my parents had an uneasy relationship. They were German as well but considered "lower class" by my parents. The man liked his drink and used to cut holes in our hedges. They had two daughters. One who routinely butchered the violin every afternoon and the other, who we called Ilona Balona, famously caught the crotch of her baton twirling outfit on fire trying to straddle a flaming baton (the original fire crotch!)...so, I can only imagine the secret satisfaction the woman felt when she came to the door and saw me standing there in my underwear, lower lip a quiver. She didn't let her feelings - whatever they were - show on her face as she let me in.

I asked if I could watch Daniel Boone with them and to their credit, they were very kind to me. The man pulled up an ottoman for me. The woman offered me a t-shirt. Both daughters came out of their room to join us and for awhile we all sat and silently watched Fess Parker. During a commercial break, the woman asked me what had happened and I told them. Near the end of the episode, the woman must have gone into the other room and called my mother because before long, she showed up to collect me...and she was angry. Angry that I had dared leave the porch, angry that I had embarrassed them by airing our dirty laundry to the neighbors and angry that I had sat there and calmly watched Daniel Boone. But, I wasn't calm inside. I was scared and embarrassed and MAD. And my trust had been broken...I'm just glad that I had Daniel Boone to propel me into action that day. Thanks for that Fess Parker.

A friend recently pointed out that it's no wonder I love TV so much now...because I was never allowed to watch it. Which is probably true. And that love led me to work in the business...which has led me to my current predicament...one that many of us are sharing. Shrinking business, runaway production, blah, blah blah...which brings me to this non sequitur...there's a potential job, a movie in the offing...it's not real yet, they may not get the budget where it needs to be, they may not get all of their financing...but it has potential because it involves someone who knows me and what I can do. We've worked together successfully in the past but had a falling out over a year ago...mostly due to my feelings of betrayal. We've very recently started speaking again and now this potential job is out there and I am wrestling with just being able to trust (tadaa!)...So I'm on my way home last evening - driving against the sun and zoned out -

suddenly the sun flashed brilliantly off the roof of the car in front on me - dragging me back into the present moment. As I blink and refocus my eyes I notice the license plate on that car.


It's from the state where the movie is supposed to shoot...and at that very moment, Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" begins to play on my radio.

TRUST.

Swinging from the Chandeliers

In honor of the Winter Olympics, I want to share my own little Olympic encounter.

In 2007, I was in Las Vegas for the NATPE convention (National Association of Television Program Executives) in January. Most of my colleagues were staying at the Mandalay Bay Hotel where the convention was being held. But I chose to stay at the Hard Rock Hotel instead. It's more intimate and fun, the rooms are cooler (and for the money - bigger) and I wouldn't have to worry about running into drunken old station affiliates trying to chat me up in the casino. When I checked in, there were a lot of beautiful long haired boys milling about...not abnormal for the Hard Rock but enough for me to take notice. I dropped off my stuff and headed to the Mandalay Bay for a meeting.


At the convention hall, I put two and two together. The bounty of beautiful boys were in town for the SnoSports Trade Show which was sharing space with NATPE. When I got back to the Hard Rock to change for dinner, a faux mountain with real snow had been erected in the parking lot. I had a ring side seat from one of my windows. With an hour to kill before heading over to the Wynn, I cracked a bottle of Jack (You go Hard Rock, you gotta go Jack!) and enjoyed the show. It was a spectacularly incongruous sight. At times the boarders flew so high, I could almost touch them! I could have easily blown off my dinner and just watched them all night.

But my due diligence paid off...

While wandering the the newly opened Wynn, I happened upon this great quiet little moment. Steve Wynn and his wife walking the hotel as well...seemingly just enjoying the fruits of their labor. There was no one else in the hallway at that moment and they were stopping here and there, to look at the fixtures, the art on the walls, the carpet. Mr. Wynn noticed something amiss...his wife spoke quietly into a walkie-talkie and out of nowhere, an employee appeared to right the wrong. Priceless.

Business dinners are always exhausting because you have to be "on" the entire time. So, at 10PM, I was dragging my weary self back to the Hard Rock. There was nothing outside the entrance that prepared me for the scene inside. As far as the eye could see - which at the Hard Rock is the entire casino floor - was a sea of bodies. You literally couldn't see anything but the writhing mass of humanity. And some of them were, literally, swinging from the chandeliers! Seriously. The hotel staff, had ceded control of the hotel and were kind of huddled behind the reception desk. It was one of the most amazing sights I've ever seen. The kids (and they were mostly kids) weren't being destructive. The energy was pure and good. My immediate reaction was to hang out and experience this for a while. So I did. I just kind of moved with the tide. And while I definitely didn't "fit in," no body made me feel that way. There was no psuedo 'too cool for you' poseur action here. These kids were just having too much fun and if you were there, you were O.K. I ran into Shaun White at the bar and he helped me get the bartender's attention. When I congratulated him on his Olympic win, he blushed! The bartender shouted that I should put my money away because the drink was taken care of. Shaun had already disappeared back into the sea of bodies.

After downing my drink, I was ready to go upstairs. After tiptoeing my way through the people sitting on the floor in the hallway that lead to them, I found out that none of the elevatorswere working. The hotel had completely broken down in the few hours I had been gone! Hilarious. I guess even the Hard Rock wasn't prepared for this kind of hard core partying! Some people were starting to climb the stairs but I, in my stilettos, was not going to do that. I noticed a very young boy (eh, say 12) looking tired and forlorn as he leaned on his board. I asked him if he was ok and we connected on some mother/child plane. I was so touched by this baby boarder that I took him under my wing. The kid already had a contract but - in that moment - no one looking out for him. It turns out we were on the same floor, so I took off my shoes and told him we'd walk the 10 floors together. Just then, maintenance got one of the elevators working and their was a surge toward it. But a couple of older boarders blocked people from getting on "Hey, she's gonna take the little dude upstairs, let them on first." It was like getting on the last helicopter out of Saigon!

Now, normally, when you're in Vegas, no matter how crazy it is downstairs, when you reach your floor it's usually nice and quiet...When the elevator door opened on our floor, the hallway was choked with bodies...dancing, clowning, partying hard. Little Dude found his manager (who should probably have been fired for leaving his client alone downstairs) and I made my way to my own room. Here's where the Hard Rock has succeeded in a huge way. Once I got inside and closed the door, I could barely hear the noise out in the hallway. But just to be safe. I grabbed the bottle of Jack, still full but for a two shots, and opened my door. I offered the bottle to the guys hanging just outside of my room "You can have this if you promise to keep it from getting too noisy outside of this door." They were so happy to get an almost full bottle of Jack it was adorable. Was I irresponsible for giving it to them? Not my job. They were already drinking and partying. And it worked. They kept it quiet in front of my door...as far as I know, because I had one of the best nights of sleep I've ever had!


The next morning, there was no sign of the night before. The faux mountain was gone, the hotel staff was back in charge and everything was clean and orderly again. I was a little sad when I returned from the convention that evening and there was no bacchanal in the casino. The magical, mystical snowboarder tour had moved on but I was left with one great rock n roll night to remember.

One Man's Car is Another Woman's Temple

The shiny new-ness of a new year usually wears off by the first quarter. I feel like a really jaded bitch because I'm already bored and weary of 2010. The malaise has extended itself to writing...anything. I was drafting off of my end of 2009 push to write the 12 Days of Christmas here, in the hopes that it would propel me into blogging more frequently. And ideas flit across my brain like fireflies...Ideas that seem brilliant in their brief burst of inspiration but then sift through my fingers like sand or water or sandy water. Because there is SO much out there. Now that literally everyone has a pulpit from which to vomit their usually pedestrian, misspelled, mediocre missives all over the internet...well, it hardly seems worth it.

In my continuing quest to shake things up in my universe...to try and figure out WTF I'm going to do next, I've taken to the old fashioned remedy of going for a drive. Driving is very conducive to calming and thinking. Notice how babies always fall asleep in the car? It's the closest I've come to true meditation. I admit, I haven't driven for pleasure in ages. I forgot how thrilling it is to navigate winding roads with sheer drops. To have the windows down and feel the breeze in my hair and the sun kissing my face. And to be able to allow my imagination to run wild, for my brain to explore thoughts and ideas without immediately rejecting them out of hand. On Monday, I ended up at the Hindu Temple in Malibu Canyon.


It's an amazing sight when it comes into view among the bucolic rolling hills. The Eastern architecture in strong contrast to Western landscape. But, I realized that they didn't just plop it down on any old plot of land. This temple was built for Sri Venkateswara, the presiding deity of the Tirumala Hills in Andhra Pradesh, India and a manifestation of Vishnu. Tirumala Hills means Seven Hills and Venkateswara is also known as the Lord of the Seven Hills. The Malibu temple sits among seven hills as well. You're not supposed to take pictures of him but are you kidding me? I'm alone in the temple with my tiny digital camera...what would you do? I had turned off the flash before getting out of the car. Is that malice of forethought?


The smell of incense and flowers lingers in the air and it's very quiet and peaceful. But my spirit was too restless to sit. In the courtyard are several smaller temples - very much like private mausoleums - that house other deities. I didn't get all of their names but I believe this one is Kanyika Parameswani. She is said to have fulfilled the wish of an ardent devotee by being born into his family. Once she became of age and the family wanted to marry her off, she let it be known that this wasn't part of the deal and immolated herself in holy fire to return to her spiritual form. Ouch. Why must there always be fire?


These two lovely ladies are across the courtyard from Kamyika. They all seem to look alike...is that wrong?


The temple is covered in intricate carvings. I especially liked the great elephant carvings on the outer wall.


The photo at the very top of this post is a close up of one of the life sized sentries that guard the entrance to the temple. We were eye to eye.

Finally, I put my shoes back on and got into my car. Out on Malibu Canyon Road again, I became in tune with the energy flowing through my open windows. I felt at peace and close to happiness...which is pretty close to a miracle.

Just goes to show you...One man's car is another woman's temple.

Thank you Mr. Jackson...that's Jonathan if you're Nasty!

After the hoopla that was James Franco's stunt casted appearance on General Hospital...and make no mistake, I was on board that train and rode it all the way into the station!...the smoke has cleared and the show has settled back into it's planned storylines.

The central one involves Lucky/Elizabeth/Nicholas. If you don't watch the show, this has become a love triangle between Lucky, his childhood sweetheart and his brother. Jonathan Jackson was signed to reprise the role of Lucky, which he originated as a boy. Jackson won many Daytime Emmys for this role and went on to have a primetime and movie career. He was succeeded by two other actors. Greg Vaughan played Lucky for 7 years and did a fine job...and no disrespect to him, but IMHO he couldn't have played the layers that Jonathan Jackson is unpeeling at the moment. His portrayal is mezmerizing. It's informed with the history of all that has gone on before between these three characters. Watching Lucky's decent into the dark rabbit hole of heartbreak, disbelief, rage and reckless behavior, his raw vulnerability with his dad - the iconic Luke (Anthony Geary), has me spellbound and weeping...yes I am not afraid to say, unabashedly, I have been watching these episodes with tears streaming down my face.

Make no mistake about it, GH has a (for the most part) superb troupe of actors...and they have risen to the challenge of Jackson's performance. We saw the kick they got out of acting with Franco, but frankly his performance was a showy little turn of middling substance...which I enjoyed the hell out of!...but it can't hold a candle to what Jackson is doing. For all of you who are quick to poo poo "soap opera acting" - I'd put Jackson's work up against anything anybody on prime time TV is doing right now. AND, he's doing it with little if any rehearsal...pages and pages of dialogue that they get the night before. No movie or primetime actor could handle that workload with the skill and presence he's demonstrating.

So, while the movie star, Franco arrived with great fanfare, Jackson slid quietly back into a character he had not inhabited in 10 years and is bringing it!

So, thank you Mr. Jackson. Just, thank you!

It DOESN'T have to become a Movie!

Ever experienced a bad bad boyfriend? Been in a relationship where you always came second? Been disappointed, lied to to, cheated on or worst of all battered and abused? Well, that's been my relationship with Hollywood. Hollywood is the man that you just know is bad for you but is so charming and suave that, time and time again, you forgive them and believe that this time will be different.

Our microcosm of society (in this town) is so out of whack that we, as artists, have come to believe that our art has no validity unless someone wants to make a movie out of it. I've been guilty of that myself for a couple of decades. Every anecdote related to me starts the wheels in my brain turning..."That could be a (adjective here) movie!

We don't create anything just for the sake of it's creation. We create it in hopes of a movie deal.

What is wrong with this picture? Imagine for a moment, if Matisse, Picasso, Van Gogh were creating their masterpieces with a three picture deal in mind? The Hollywood prism has invalidated artistry for the sake of art. In this desolate, treacherous, now all but dead world, your art doesn't mean shit if it doesn't get made.

I, for one, am no longer agreeing to this poisonous, one sided, upside down, sick relationship . I am breaking up with Hollywood. It has taken the joy out of my creating for the last time. I will no longer write anything that I think might be "commercial" enough or that 'so-and-so' might respond to. In the plainest parlance I have...FUCK THAT.

I'll be writing stories that I want to read...Exploring the worlds that play on endless loops in my imagination...painting pictures with words that satisfy my soul and make my heart skip. Now...will I be disappointed if no one else cares about these stories? I can't lie. I'm an artist who has always been motivated to sell. It's a step by step process. I can't give everything up at once. But I've taken the first step in walking away from a relationship I've been addicted to for waaaaay too long.

On the 12th Day of Christmas...

My Universe gave to me...

Sundays with Bianca

Here we are...the final day of Christmas...I've saved my best, most important gift for last. My daughter Bianca. Some of you may have heard our story before but it's Christmas and it bears repeating.

When I was young and running around like an Untouchable, I got pregnant. Back then, my life was so crazy that missed periods were pretty standard. This was before in home pregnancy tests (Jeez) and I'd go to the doctor's office quite often for the "Rabbit Test." I can't recall what the Rabbit Test was exactly...something about peeing on a rabbit and if it turned blue you were pregnant?...the tests were always negative. So, I let my guard down a bit and ignored a few missed periods. And then discovered, this time, I really was pregnant...22 weeks pregnant. Because the baby had been conceived during a time that my husband and I weren't together, I knew there would be drama... and there was.

He wanted me to get an abortion...Thankfully, there were no clinics willing to do it so far into the pregnancy...Imagine if we had still been in L.A....the land of late trimester abortions...but the Universe was on full alert and protected this baby. He gave me a choice... Keep the baby and lose my husband...something I couldn't face. So, reluctantly I turned to thinking about giving the baby up and had started making calls. Then a miracle happened. He came home one night and took me in his arms and said that the baby was a part of me and he would love it as he loved me....so, she was born...but not before there had been several near disastrous accidents. These are stories for another time but, briefly...I took a spill on a motorcycle and also fell down a full flight of stairs in my eighth month. Neither incident fazed Bianca.

I've once in while wondered, had he known that having her would ultimately cause me to leave him, would he have had that change of heart? But no matter, Bianca was meant to be born and everything lined up to make sure that happened. Having her saved my life to be sure. The kind of life I was living doesn't end in a rocking chair on a nice porch somewhere.


So, we were bound together in a cosmic contract. Something wants us both here. And it is this bond, this unspoken contract that has brought us this far. And she continues to save my life...just by existing. It's been frustrating for me during dark times...I who am no stranger to suicidal thoughts. Frankly, I'm not a fan of hanging around "just in case" things turn out alright...the powers that be obviously knew this about me and exercised the Bianca Clause on me.

Now, during this darkest of years, 2009...my Sundays with Bianca have been my lifeline. Oh, we text and email and Facebook and talk on the phone pretty much daily...but she's a gorgeous, bright, lively young woman who should be making her own way and living her own busy life and I work hard to respect that...in exchange for which, I am blessed with Sundays, when she and I hang out...go to the movies...to a little pub...whatever it is, it's like my church...I just realized that...I go to the church of Bianca on Sundays and my spirit is renewed enough to face another week...come what may. I don't know if there will be a great reveal one day...that will show us why our journey is so intertwined and to what purpose. It seems odd to tie two people together and have an airtight fail safe in place to make sure we...meaning I, stay...all I know for sure is that I love her...so I stay.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.