Hil and I meet the chess champion of the world.

When Hilary and I first lived in our one bedroom place in Korea Town (with Max), we were truly unstoppable. So much happened in that short time - it's hard for even me to believe it as I look back.

I don't remember how we got invited to this Beverly Hills party - but somehow we did. We had NO idea what we were in for. We rolled up to what turned out to be a full on MANSION on Sunset Blvd., in Beverly Hills.It was over the top showy. We were a little under dressed in our black leggings (funny to see that come back with such a vengeance - Hil and I LIVED in black leggings)and our loose, off the shoulder t-shirts and little white Keds - mine always with white, lace socks. And as we were rolling up to this great big mansion, Hil and I just burst spontaneously into the theme song for 'The Beverly Hillbillies' - because the house looked a LOT like that, and WE were driving my beat-up Chevy Nova with the back window missing. We drove right up the circular driveway with confidence, (Hil gave me all of mine!), and I handed the keys to a valet parker dressed in a white suit with gold trim, and a little bellboy-style cap.
"Be VERY careful with this car!" I said in my most fake and haughty voice.
"Yes!" piped in Hil, "It has a LOT of sentimental value!" and with that, we giggled our way inside the mansion. I glanced over my shoulder as we went in to see the valet boys laughing appreciatively. They were our age, after all - they didn't care.

Hilary and I were starving, as usual, so we immediately started looking for the bar and the food.It really was the whole reason we came.We had a system of going out to parties or dates, and socking away every last thing we could get our hands on into our big handbags or backpacks. Hilary was a genius at bringing back the BEST leftovers in LA. It was always very exciting!

At just about the same time that we found the bar, our 'host' found us. Which brings back WHY and how we came to this party. It was some French director - I don't remember how I met him, but I think it was on this little, odd film I had a tiny part in with Sophie Marceau. ( and , yes, to all of my male friends - she is MORE beautiful in real life EVEN than in moving pictures or still ones. And sweet to boot!) Anyway, this Frenchie Mc French-French assaulted us, and started to give us the grand tour. He took us around the downstairs part of the house, waved at the pool room, and then outside to the grand terrace that looked out over the tennis court and swimming pool.As Hilary and I looked around, we made secret grimaces at one another. Super fake, tan, women passed us and glared at us both like we were from another planet. Everyone there (except us) looked like they were dripping in money. And money, as my grandmother often reminded me, doesn't always buy good taste.

Somehow, the Frenchie managed to separate me from Hil, and slip another drink into my hand before I had even SEEN any food.He was blathering away abut his next film, he needed an American actress for a small but memorable scene, it was to be shot in Paris, I was the perfect 'type', he'd just won some award....blah, blah, blah...I was looking for Hilary, and feeling a little...trapped? Well, if I felt trapped THEN - just by his BORING conversation, I REALLY felt trapped in a minute. He talked me into viewing a few minutes long trailer of his latest award winning movie. I was barely paying attention. Where the hell was Hilary!?

We were in a downstairs guest bedroom of the mansion. It had a TV in it. Frenchie director popped the trailer in, and fiddled with the controls, while I looked around at the room. Nice, in a bland, magazine, generic kind of a way. My house would NEVER look anything like this if I ever made any money. Mine would be like Jeff Forrester's house. Warm, and interesting.

Then, before I knew what was happening, the Frenchie turned around with his pants down, his video playing behind him, and his French sausage in his hand - coming TOWARD me!

Ask HILARY if you don't believe me! She knows all about it! Men can be CRAZY. Like - that's going to work???

To give the man credit, he was spouting things out of his mouth that may have tempted another wench. Things like, "Come to Paris with me - I am obsessed! I must 'ave you! You will be my star! I will make you my star! Show me now, my sweet thing! sweet girl! SHOW ME you can be my star!! I 'ave an apartment on Rue du something or another! You will LOVE it!"

He yammered on about his award and his apartment as he sauntered towards me like Frankenstein, bound by his pulled down pants - but in my head, all that I heard and saw was Pepe Le Pew, from those cartoons - you know - the skunk! The french skunk/lover! AND I WAS THE CAT!!!!

I saw the image of that cat just trying to claw her way out of Pepe's grip, and when I had backed up enough to feel the back of my legs hit the edge of the bed - I BOLTED! I fled to the bathroom (which had been pointed out during our tour), and sat there, panting. Wondering how long I would have to hide to avoid Pepe.

When I finally got up my nerve, I left the tiny guest bathroom, and went to look for Hilary. I wanted to get the hell out of dodge! Before I found Hil, an attractive server with a platter full of tiny sandwiches found me. I grabbed about ten of them, much to his amusement. And then, stealthily creeping around the living room area - I thought I heard her laugh!

It WAS her! She was in the pool room with a whole posse of men. Playing pool. I tried to give her the big googly eyes - you know - the signal for "we need to talk", but she was having FAR too much fun. Pepe was not in THIS room, so I sat down in a corner, and watched the action, eating my sandwiches.
Soon enough, the scene became clear. Hilary Aptowitz was CLEANING these guys OUT! I mean - she was really GOOD! And they were betting all kinds of money! Damn, my roomy was impressive. I sat in awe of her as she flirted with these gentlemen, totally in charge of the conversation, spinning them around her little finger. She was like Scarlett O'Hara at the barbecue!

The gentleman that was getting slightly more attention from Hilary was a GORGEOUS Russian with blonde hair.I was still a little in shock from my bedroom Pepe experience - but THIS GUY looked familiar. The more I looked at him, the more I was certain of it. YES! It was the dancer from' Witness'. Alexander Godunov! Wow. And Hilary was taking him for a sweet ride. He was losing lots of money to her - and LOVING every moment of it.

Finally I got Hil aside, and got her to understand that we needed to get OUT.
"Ok, ok." she said. "Go get the car. I'll be there in a minute."
As soon as we were in my POS car, heading East on Sunset, Hilary let out a whoop.
"Look how much MONEY I won!!!" she yelped. "AND...." she dramatically pulled a bottle of expensive champagne out of her bag. "AND...that's not all...!" she announced. "WE have an invitation to the Beverly Hills Hotel - for BRUNCH tomorrow!"
"The RUSSIAN?" I asked, incredulously.
"YES!" Hil replied.

We celebrated that night by taking Max to Wilshire's Tiny cafe with Hilary's pool shark money, and drinking the bottle of champagne, dancing around to Ella Fitzgerald in our P.J's.

The next day, 'brunch' was happening at 5pm, at the Polo Lounge.
This time, as Hil and I approached the Beverly Hills Hotel, we decided to park the junker around the corner - FAR around the corner - where no one could see it.
We sauntered into the Polo Lounge, feeling very elegant and fancy. It was our first time in this place - a place where legends dined, drank, danced and courted. Where deals had been made involving movies we cherished, and Clark Gable had been paged both on screen and off.

A piano was tinkling softly in the corner. The booths were old school but meticulous. The lighting was soft, with a slight red glow over everything. And the Russians were in a giant booth - the biggest in the room - over in a corner. They were laughing and talking loudly - it was like a scene out of a movie - just what you'd expect. Vodka, caviar - this was RUSSIAN brunch. Hilary and I were the only two girls at a table full of men. She sat next to Alexander Godunov, and I was a little jealous - because he was by FAR he most handsome and charming man there.

We were introduced all around the table - I couldn't remember anyone's name.(except Alexander's) - but there was a quiet, brooding type sitting in the dead middle of the table, who seemed to take quite an interest in me. His name was Garry.
"What is your name?" he said in a thick Russian accent. "I could not hear. They are very loud."he said, waving to his comrades.
"Jennifer." I said, leaning closer (his comrades WERE very loud) "It's ok if you forgot."
"No." he said sternly. "I never forget. What is your last name?"
"Nash." I told him.
"Jennifer Nash, I will never forget. I have a very good memory." he said everything almost as if he was scolding me.
"What do you you do?" Garry asked.
"You mean, besides drinking vodka with Russians that I've just met?"
Garry ALMOST smiled. "Yes. Besides this. What is your work?"
"I'm an actress." I said.
"You make money at this?" he asked.
"Well, yes. Not enough, yet. But I hope to make more soon."
"It is a very frivolous job." he said, almost as if he were disgusted.
"Oh really? What do YOU do? I certainly hope you're a nuclear scientist or a surgeon after that remark."
Garry raised his immensely thick, dark eyebrows. He looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be angry or amused for a moment. His friend, who had been listening to our conversation piped in -"Ha! She has got you there, my friend! Tell her what you do!" (HE was greatly amused by this turn)
Garry decided to be mildly amused. He gave a little grunt."Hmmn. I am payed to play games." he said, his stern face finally melting into a sardonic half-smile. His eyes began to sparkle.
"Well, then!" I declared, feeling the excellent vodka beginning to warm me up from the inside out, "I don't think you have any right to call anyone frivolous!"
"Ha HA! It's true, Garry!" his friend roared, a couple more of them joining in the laughter.
"A toast! To you, blondie!"
I didn't mind if I did.
Another shot - down the hatch.
Garry reached across the table for a beautiful silver set-up.
"Caviar?" , he offered.
"No, thank you."
"Have you had it?"
"Yes. I don't like it on it's own. Too salty."
"But this is the BEST caviar. It is THE BEST in the world."
"Yes, I know. But, no thank you."
Garry didn't seem to know what to say next, so he said nothing, and sank into the booth a little. I continued chatting with his friends, and for some reason, his half smile and sparkling eyes were replaced by dark clouds. But he kept staring at me.

Hilary and I excused ourselves for the ladies room presently, and when we came back to the table, Garry was standing up, waiting for me.He took my arm and drew me close.
"Would you like to see my bungalow?" he said in a low voice.
"Pardon me!?" I replied.
"I would like to speak to you in private, for just one moment. I have a bungalow here. They are very beautiful and expensive, will you come?"
I hesitated. Fresh from Pepe le Pew, I did NOT want a repeat of that silliness!
"I am NOT a hooker." I decided to say.
"No, no, no!" Garry looked appalled. "Of course not! I can see this! For talking and nothing more! Only for five minutes, then I shall return you to your friend."
"What number is your bungalow?" I asked. Wasn't taking any chances with this Russian freak. But I WAS intrigued.He was very intense and interesting.

Garry told me the number of his bungalow, and I told Hil - with strict instructions to come and get me in five minutes.
We strolled through the lush, tropical gardens of the Beverly Hills hotel - past the famous swimming pool - to his secluded, beautiful bungalow. I had to admit, that just getting to see one of these bungalow rooms was pretty cool. AND, I was starting to wonder what kind of games people paid THIS kind of money for Garry to play.

In his bungalow, Garry seemed nervous.He poured us both a glass of something smooth and warm and golden. Sat down on a chair opposite me. Very civilized. No Pepe le Pew. We talked for a few minutes about this and that. I told him why I didn't think acting was frivolous.He seemed genuinely interested. Once again, he seemed to be melting a little. Then he took a big breath and let it out.
"You have no idea who I am?" he said, out of the blue.
"Well...not really. We've just met."
"Hhhmmmn." he snorted. It seemed very important, so I just sat there, waiting to hear all about it.
"Well, it's not important. But...I am the chess champion of the world." he looked at me for a reaction. It wasn't like he'd just said 'I am Paul McCartney.' I guess I looked a little unimpressed.

"I am Garry Kasparov." he announced, almost like he was interviewing for a TV show or something.
There was a pregnant pause.
"Well, I am very glad to meet you." I barely had time to say, before Hilary and Alexander Godunov started to bang on the door, drunk and laughing - obviously having WAY more fun than we were.
They toppled in and we all had one more drink - 'a nightcap!'. Hilary and Alexander were flirting and even kissing a little. And I could feel Garry getting all worked up about it. The chess champion of the world wasn't kissing anybody. Then, as we were all saying our goodbyes, Garry held me back for a moment. We let Hil and Alexander go kiss by the pool one last time.

"I want to take you on a date." Garry said to me seriously. I just looked at him. It felt like there was a 'but' coming.
"But," (ah! you see? I knew there was a 'but'!)"I must leave tomorrow for New York City. There is a very important game there. It is important to my career."
"Oh." I started, "Well, it was nice to.."
"I would like to fly you to New York tomorrow for a date."he interrupted. "I would like to very much. If you say yes, I will fly you first class, have you picked up at the airport, and put you in your own room at the Plaza, where I am staying. You will have your OWN room. You will not sleep in my room.I will introduce you to Milos Forman, the director. We will have dinner with him. Do not tell me now. I will call you in one hour and a half - after you are home. You can tell me then."
Garry saw my bewilderment, but was so stiff, all he could muster was ,"I want this very much. It will please me if you come."

I said goodnight to Garry Kasparov, and went back to our tiny, Korea-Town apartment to talk the whole thing over with Hilary.

There was, after all, something so 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' about the idea of being flown to New York City for a date, and being put up at the Plaza Hotel.

It was very, very tempting......