Valentine's day has me thinking about romance. And dating. And there is no doubt that I have had a lot of romance in my life, and a lot of dates. A lot of fantastic ones - like the ones with Gary - but also...some not so good. This is the story of the very worst one.
I was out (or so I thought) of a TERRIBLE relationship. Just brutal. One of those that shake you to your core, maybe you won't survive kind of relationships. And I was NOT eager to start dating again. But my best friend, Mieke had found the love of her life, and she was anxious for me to get out there and start 'healing'. She was convinced that there were plenty of good men in Los Angeles. I was starting to think that this city had made them extinct.
Anyway, we were down at my local pub one night (Bird's) and the bartender developed a huge crush on Mieke - through no fault of her own - and started buying all of our drinks for us. This NEVER happens in LA. Not even at Bird's. But who could blame this sweet bartender? Who could blame ANYONE for falling head over feet for Mieke? She was and is the most scrumptious, Dutch bon-bon you can possibly imagine!
As we got tipsy, Mieke became more committed to her mission. That was - to convince me that there were LOVELY men all around LA, and that I could be dating any number of them, if I would just give it a shot.
Sure enough, a fairly attractive man was sort of staring at me. I tried to avoid his gaze, but Mieke smiled at him.
"You see?" she said. "What about him? He's cute! And he's CLEARLY into you!"
I peeked at the guy around Mieke's shoulder, like a scaredy-cat. "I don't know..." I mumbled.
Before I knew it,that guy was right over with us, Mieke being sweet and charming to him, and whispering in my ear, "You can give him your number! It won't HURT anything!"
I wasn't so sure, but I gave him my number as Mieke suggested. She was right, after all. I'd never meet anyone nice if I didn't take a chance every once in awhile.
I can't remember this guy's name.I have blocked it out. So, I'll just call him John.
John called me up, and asked me on a date, 2 days later. He seemed very impatient. But, with Mieke's voice in my head, I said, "Ok."
Only I didn't quite trust him, so I suggested we just meet at Bird's again (RIGHT down the street from my house - in case I needed a quick getaway), and I parked my car nearby on Canyon.
John was physically attractive. He was tall, but not too tall. Had dark, curly hair, and green eyes,with a big smile. As soon as we met at Birds, he started in on telling me all about himself. He had a great big studio in Venice - which he OWNED (that was very important, because THAT was all about him letting me know he had money), he was a musician, and a composer, and owned some weird business, he told me his astrological sign - he talked a mile a minute, never asked ME any questions. He MIGHT have been interested in the fact that I had FOUR children, if he HAD asked any questions....but...you know...it was the John show.
Then, he asked me if I wanted to go somewhere else, so that we could talk. I thought about that. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear HIM talk anymore.
"We could go to 'Daddy's'" he said. "It's right down the street, it's really cool - have you been there?"
I had NOT been there - and had been curious about it. All my friends had told me it was pretty sweet, so - for that reason alone - I decided to go.
We drove down to 'Daddy's' and settled in to a couple of cozy red leather club chairs. It was dark and sexy, with a 1930's kind of vibe. Nice. John blathered on about himself some more, and just when I thought I was about to be bored into a coma, he did something VERY odd.
This was our FIRST DATE. TOTAL STRANGERS. (just reminding you of that)
He reached over during some blathering multi-paragraph nonsense that he was spewing, and TWEAKED my nipple. Yes. That is what he did.
Through my shirt, obviously. But, I wasn't wearing a bra, and , uh....I was a little tipsy - I wasn't quite sure that it had really happened - or that it wasn't MEANT to be something else...? Who would DO that?
I excused myself right away and went to the ladies room.
My brain was doing summersaults. "Did that really happen?" I thought."It MUST have been an accident! People don't DO that!"
I went back to our club chairs, where John had procured us more drinks. I didn't think I needed any more drinks.
He blathered animatedly about something else. I sat up VERY straight in my club chair, sitting as FAR away from him as possible. Trying to look very prim and sober. I just LOOKED at my drink. I wasn't going to drink that.
And just as I was about to interrupt him, to say that I HAD to get home, he did it AGAIN!
There was NO DOUBT about it this time. He leaned over real fast and did it - hard!
I jumped up and said, "I have to go!"
"No!" he said. "You haven't even finished your drink!"
(I hadn't even STARTED my drink)
"I have to go NOW. You need to drive me back to my car, or I'll call a cab." I said.
"But it's like a RULE - that you have to finish your drink..." he pressed."It's rude not to finish a drink that someone has bought for you."
I just looked at him, appalled. "I need to go NOW. I am NOT going to finish that drink, and I guess I'll get a cab."
"Oh, you wack-job!", John said in this overly goofy 'I think I'm so cute' kind of a way,as he grabbed my hand and pulled me back down. "Give me two minutes to finish MY drink, and I'll drive you to your car - IF you must!"
"I'm not giving you two minutes." I said. "I need to leave NOW."
Like most women in their mid to late thirties, I LOVED being called a 'wack-job' by a stranger that had just violated cardinal date rule NUMBER ONE : do NOT tweak a girl's nipple on a first date - and possibly NEVER ....in PUBLIC.
I stormed out of 'Daddy's', and John followed me.
"Oh, come ON.." he whined. "My car is right here! I'll drive you back!"
So, I let him drive me back to Canyon, where my car was parked ( I could have walked home), and as I was going to my car, John continued his weirdness.
"Come ON!!! STay out a little longer, PLEEEEEAAASE!"
"I can't. I have to relieve the BABYSITTER."
"Oh come on! I'll give her TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS to stay a little later!" he yelled into my neighborhood. "Wait - you have KIDS???!"
"I certainly do! " I said crisply, walking towards my car in the dark. "I would have told you..."
"I LOVE kids! Let me pay the babysitter! Come ON!!!"
"Nope. She has to get home. Gotta go!"
I was almost to my car when he came up from behind me and picked me up. Threw me over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.
"I'm not letting you go home!" he shouted to ALL my neighbors. "I'll pay for the babysitter! I'm NEVER letting you go!!!"
I started to kick and squirm as hard as I could. And when I had freed myself, I turned to him in a passion as I opened my car. "Don't you EVER call me again! Do you understand?!!!"
"I'll pay the babysitter! " he howled at the top of his lungs. "Whatever she wants! I have LOADS of money! Whatever you want! Just don't GO!!!"
"Do NOT call me! I do NOT want to hear from you again!" were my parting words as I screeched up the hill towards my house.
A year later, I saw him at Bird's again. Which seemed odd to me, because it's really far from Venice.
I hid behind my friends, like an episode of 'I Love Lucy'. One of those friends was Mieke. I gave her a nice smack on the arm, for revenge.
But, just when I thought I had snuck out of Bird's in the clear, John started yelling at me on the sidewalk outside.
"Why didn't you answer my calls?" he yelled. I started walking faster, but he was fast.
"I LOVED you! You were like a white LIGHT! A WHITE LIGHT in my life! Why didn't you call me back!!??" ( I have witnesses for that 'white light' line. I am NOT making that up.)
I couldn't take it any more. I turned and yelled right back at him, in front of everyone.
"You were the WORST date I have EVER been on! You were HORRIBLY INAPPROPRIATE! I do not EVER want to see you or speak to you again!"
I yelled this at him on the crowded sidewalk of Franklin by Bronson. And then I hurried on to my car, as he kept yelling about his delusions of me.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Kasparov does Disneyland.
Not long after the giant 'Gund' bear arrived at our tiny flat, Garry rang me up.
"Jennifer?" the recognizable voice said.
"Yes...?"
"I want to tell you.."
"Garry - I'm so sorry!" I interrupted. "I'm so sorry I left like that. It was really awful of me!"
A silence on the other end of the line.
"You KNOW I couldn't call you - or write to you! I don't have a number for you - or an address or anything!" I blathered on. (was he still really mad?)
More silence.
"I LOVE the bear! It's so amazing! So beautiful! MAX LOVES the bear! And your letter worked! I have been feeling TERRIBLY guilty! Just HORRIBLE!....just TERRIBLY guilty and... ashamed of myself, if you want to know the truth."
Silence.
"Are you still there?"
"I am here."
Now it was my turn to be quiet. I didn't know what to say.
"I was just calling you to let you know that I will be on television tomorrow night."
More silence from me. I was shocked. He sounded so SWEET! He wasn't scolding me, or ...anything!
"Just in case you would want to see it." Garry said. His voice was so different! Gentle as a kitten. Warm.
"Ok. " I finally said. "What is it? What ...what time,what channel?"
"David Letterman. Tomorrow night. Do you know that show?"
DID I KNOW THAT SHOW!!!!??????????
"Of COURSE I know that show! I love that show! That's great! What are you on for?"
"Well, for chess, naturally."
Garry didn't tell me anything more about it. He was shockingly humble about the whole thing - especially considering how he had seemed before. He didn't ever mention that he was playing a computer that loads of people had programmed TO BEAT HIM. And that it was a world news event. He was a VERY smart man. But, unlike some other VERY smart men - that only know how to do one thing - or, you know, operate within a certain bubble - he was smart OUTSIDE of his expertise. I mean, I knew that already. Because of the bear and the letter. I have been thinking about that bear. And I have come to the conclusion that it was the very BEST present I have ever received. And I have received some good ones. But that Bear accomplished his mission, stayed in my family for YEARS, beloved by myself and ALL of my children, and by golly - I do believe it was the best present I have ever received. Over diamonds, silk robes, tool boxes - even a dishwasher (Which I LOVE!)
But my POINT, really, is that I think Garry figured out what did NOT work with me very quickly, and changed his course. Many brilliant scientists and mathematicians are simply NOT capable of doing something like this.
Hilary and I watched Garry on David Letterman the next night, screaming with delight. Max came into the room, rubbing his hair, looking grumpy - like a grown up man, disturbed from his sleep.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Nothing, nothing. Go back to bed, honey!"
"That's the man who sent the BEAR!" Hil couldn't resist, pointing at our TV screen.
"Oh." said Max. "Why's he on TV?"
"Be-CAUSE,"I said, "he is one of the smartest men in the world, and he was smart enough to send YOU a great, big BEAR!" I replied."Now - go to bed!"
Two weeks later, Garry called and asked if he could take me on a second date. He was coming to LA, and he wanted to take Max and I to Disneyland. Talk about a 180! I told him I would love to go, and consequently, Max's first time going to Disneyland, was in a stretch limo with full on VIP passes, so that we didn't have to wait in line for anything. No WONDER this kid has turned out the way that he has.
My two biggest memories of that second date, were these:
1. Watching Garry Kasparov in the stretch limo with Max. It was the first time they were meeting, and I was COMPLETELY intrigued with how patient and full of good humor Garry was with such a little, rambunctious boy.He was wearing jeans this time. No suit to Disneyland. And I caught his eye a few times. His guard was down.He looked at me in a very different way.
"Wow, " I thought, "he IS twenty eight."
2. We went on 'Pirates of the Caribbean'. It was ALMOST - or I should say - REALLY my first time at Disneyland. The only time I had been before was with Noah Blake - but it was to see Pearl Bailey sing. And, although it WAS magical - really, really magical (I mean that) - we didn't go on any rides or anything.SO - it was my first time on 'Pirates of the Caribbean'. I loved it. It's still my favorite ride, after all these years. But MAX was very young - and he was SCARED!
He was sitting in between Garry and I, and I remember exactly what Garry did.
He put one hand on Max's chest, very firmly, and his other hand went to the side of Max's head.
"It's ok." Garry said."They are just dolls. Not real."
Max shook his head and whimpered. They looked pretty real to him.They were moving and talking and everything - AND it was really dark!
"No. It's ok. They are just dolls with mechanics. Like robots." Garry said. He looked at Max carefully."If you are too scared, just close your eyes. We will be back in the sunshine in three minutes."
Max looked at Garry, who nodded his head reassuringly, and then closed his eyes tight. Then Max pulled a classic kid move, pulling Garry's hand over so that it covered his ear.
Just as parents are so apt to do, my brain was halfway in Max's. I was so tuned in to his fears and happiness, and I thought, "That is exactly what I would want if I were a little kid. Garry's hand on his chest is making him feel like he won't fall out of the tram when it goes fast or down a hill."
I looked at Garry in the darkness of the 'Pirate' ride. And he looked at me. He looked happy. And suddenly I was very, very happy.
The only other thing about Disneyland was watching Garry in the 'Small World' ride. Ah! I am laughing now about this! It was kind of surreal to watch Garry Kasparov taking in the 1950's version of Disney's Russia in that ride. All of the countries are so funny - and must be SO ridiculous to the people who come there from all over the world and see their country represented in that bizarre canal ride! I looked at him to see what he would think about the 'Russian' dolls, and he just looked back at me and rolled his eyes.
I mean - WHAT would another country do if they were portraying the USA in doll/song form today? I mean, SERIOUSLY!? WHAT??? Guns? Fat people eating McDonalds? What is OUR stereo-type in the world? What do we HAVE that all of these amazing immigrants have not brought from some other place? I mean - WE have .....DISNEY! A brilliant European Jew, who brought European (and later other cultures) fairy tales to life!
But I am distracted.
Back to the story.
When we got back to the apartment, it was pretty late. I took Max up to Hil, while Garry waited for me in the limo. I came back down to say goodnight.
"Thank you for such an amazing day!" I said, meaning it.
"It was better than New York?" Garry asked me, playfully.
"I don't blame you if you are still mad about that."
"I was never really mad." Garry said. "Just hurt."
Oh! That killed me.
"I'm sorry." I whispered.
He pulled me onto his lap, and held me like a child. There was no more talking. Only kissing. He ran his strong hands over my shoulders, my arms, my back. Such strong hands for a chess player. As we fogged up the windows of the limo, at least ten things ran through my mind - but ultimately, my body won that battle, and my brain melted into liquid butter.
"May I see you tomorrow night?" Garry asked, finally.
"Yes."
"It might not be very fun for you." he said, as he kissed my ear and the nape of my neck.
"Uh, hu." I managed. I didn't care.
"I have a business dinner I must attend. But I would love it if you could be with me." he breathed into my hair.
I would have gone to Siberia with him at that moment.
"Yes! " I told him as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Yes. I want to be with you." I couldn't resist running my hands through his lovely, thick hair. "I want to be with you tomorrow night.I don't care where." I kissed him on his lips. "I'll be good." I kissed him again. "I promise."
"Jennifer?" the recognizable voice said.
"Yes...?"
"I want to tell you.."
"Garry - I'm so sorry!" I interrupted. "I'm so sorry I left like that. It was really awful of me!"
A silence on the other end of the line.
"You KNOW I couldn't call you - or write to you! I don't have a number for you - or an address or anything!" I blathered on. (was he still really mad?)
More silence.
"I LOVE the bear! It's so amazing! So beautiful! MAX LOVES the bear! And your letter worked! I have been feeling TERRIBLY guilty! Just HORRIBLE!....just TERRIBLY guilty and... ashamed of myself, if you want to know the truth."
Silence.
"Are you still there?"
"I am here."
Now it was my turn to be quiet. I didn't know what to say.
"I was just calling you to let you know that I will be on television tomorrow night."
More silence from me. I was shocked. He sounded so SWEET! He wasn't scolding me, or ...anything!
"Just in case you would want to see it." Garry said. His voice was so different! Gentle as a kitten. Warm.
"Ok. " I finally said. "What is it? What ...what time,what channel?"
"David Letterman. Tomorrow night. Do you know that show?"
DID I KNOW THAT SHOW!!!!??????????
"Of COURSE I know that show! I love that show! That's great! What are you on for?"
"Well, for chess, naturally."
Garry didn't tell me anything more about it. He was shockingly humble about the whole thing - especially considering how he had seemed before. He didn't ever mention that he was playing a computer that loads of people had programmed TO BEAT HIM. And that it was a world news event. He was a VERY smart man. But, unlike some other VERY smart men - that only know how to do one thing - or, you know, operate within a certain bubble - he was smart OUTSIDE of his expertise. I mean, I knew that already. Because of the bear and the letter. I have been thinking about that bear. And I have come to the conclusion that it was the very BEST present I have ever received. And I have received some good ones. But that Bear accomplished his mission, stayed in my family for YEARS, beloved by myself and ALL of my children, and by golly - I do believe it was the best present I have ever received. Over diamonds, silk robes, tool boxes - even a dishwasher (Which I LOVE!)
But my POINT, really, is that I think Garry figured out what did NOT work with me very quickly, and changed his course. Many brilliant scientists and mathematicians are simply NOT capable of doing something like this.
Hilary and I watched Garry on David Letterman the next night, screaming with delight. Max came into the room, rubbing his hair, looking grumpy - like a grown up man, disturbed from his sleep.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Nothing, nothing. Go back to bed, honey!"
"That's the man who sent the BEAR!" Hil couldn't resist, pointing at our TV screen.
"Oh." said Max. "Why's he on TV?"
"Be-CAUSE,"I said, "he is one of the smartest men in the world, and he was smart enough to send YOU a great, big BEAR!" I replied."Now - go to bed!"
Two weeks later, Garry called and asked if he could take me on a second date. He was coming to LA, and he wanted to take Max and I to Disneyland. Talk about a 180! I told him I would love to go, and consequently, Max's first time going to Disneyland, was in a stretch limo with full on VIP passes, so that we didn't have to wait in line for anything. No WONDER this kid has turned out the way that he has.
My two biggest memories of that second date, were these:
1. Watching Garry Kasparov in the stretch limo with Max. It was the first time they were meeting, and I was COMPLETELY intrigued with how patient and full of good humor Garry was with such a little, rambunctious boy.He was wearing jeans this time. No suit to Disneyland. And I caught his eye a few times. His guard was down.He looked at me in a very different way.
"Wow, " I thought, "he IS twenty eight."
2. We went on 'Pirates of the Caribbean'. It was ALMOST - or I should say - REALLY my first time at Disneyland. The only time I had been before was with Noah Blake - but it was to see Pearl Bailey sing. And, although it WAS magical - really, really magical (I mean that) - we didn't go on any rides or anything.SO - it was my first time on 'Pirates of the Caribbean'. I loved it. It's still my favorite ride, after all these years. But MAX was very young - and he was SCARED!
He was sitting in between Garry and I, and I remember exactly what Garry did.
He put one hand on Max's chest, very firmly, and his other hand went to the side of Max's head.
"It's ok." Garry said."They are just dolls. Not real."
Max shook his head and whimpered. They looked pretty real to him.They were moving and talking and everything - AND it was really dark!
"No. It's ok. They are just dolls with mechanics. Like robots." Garry said. He looked at Max carefully."If you are too scared, just close your eyes. We will be back in the sunshine in three minutes."
Max looked at Garry, who nodded his head reassuringly, and then closed his eyes tight. Then Max pulled a classic kid move, pulling Garry's hand over so that it covered his ear.
Just as parents are so apt to do, my brain was halfway in Max's. I was so tuned in to his fears and happiness, and I thought, "That is exactly what I would want if I were a little kid. Garry's hand on his chest is making him feel like he won't fall out of the tram when it goes fast or down a hill."
I looked at Garry in the darkness of the 'Pirate' ride. And he looked at me. He looked happy. And suddenly I was very, very happy.
The only other thing about Disneyland was watching Garry in the 'Small World' ride. Ah! I am laughing now about this! It was kind of surreal to watch Garry Kasparov taking in the 1950's version of Disney's Russia in that ride. All of the countries are so funny - and must be SO ridiculous to the people who come there from all over the world and see their country represented in that bizarre canal ride! I looked at him to see what he would think about the 'Russian' dolls, and he just looked back at me and rolled his eyes.
I mean - WHAT would another country do if they were portraying the USA in doll/song form today? I mean, SERIOUSLY!? WHAT??? Guns? Fat people eating McDonalds? What is OUR stereo-type in the world? What do we HAVE that all of these amazing immigrants have not brought from some other place? I mean - WE have .....DISNEY! A brilliant European Jew, who brought European (and later other cultures) fairy tales to life!
But I am distracted.
Back to the story.
When we got back to the apartment, it was pretty late. I took Max up to Hil, while Garry waited for me in the limo. I came back down to say goodnight.
"Thank you for such an amazing day!" I said, meaning it.
"It was better than New York?" Garry asked me, playfully.
"I don't blame you if you are still mad about that."
"I was never really mad." Garry said. "Just hurt."
Oh! That killed me.
"I'm sorry." I whispered.
He pulled me onto his lap, and held me like a child. There was no more talking. Only kissing. He ran his strong hands over my shoulders, my arms, my back. Such strong hands for a chess player. As we fogged up the windows of the limo, at least ten things ran through my mind - but ultimately, my body won that battle, and my brain melted into liquid butter.
"May I see you tomorrow night?" Garry asked, finally.
"Yes."
"It might not be very fun for you." he said, as he kissed my ear and the nape of my neck.
"Uh, hu." I managed. I didn't care.
"I have a business dinner I must attend. But I would love it if you could be with me." he breathed into my hair.
I would have gone to Siberia with him at that moment.
"Yes! " I told him as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Yes. I want to be with you." I couldn't resist running my hands through his lovely, thick hair. "I want to be with you tomorrow night.I don't care where." I kissed him on his lips. "I'll be good." I kissed him again. "I promise."
Monday, February 7, 2011
My First Date with Garry Kasparov.
Hil and I talked the Kasparov proposition over in whispers, while Max was sleeping that night.
"I think you should go." Hilary said.
I bit my lip, shook my head, and looked down at little, sleeping Max. He always looked like such an angel when he was sleeping. White blonde hair,breathing softly through his pretty lips.
"I'll watch Max." Hilary offered. "We'll be fine. It's only a couple of days."
Then I looked at Hil.I was still VERY unsure. She could always read my face like a book.
"When are you ever going to have a chance like this again? Maybe never. He seemed nice. And if things don't work out - you can always call Jamie. Just make sure he gets you a round trip ticket."
Jamie Coulter was our friend in Brooklyn. Our friend from Interlochen. A friend who will enter into another crazy story of mine. (but that's for another night)He was soft spoken and sweet. Tall and thin with a mass of brown curls, and soft, sweet brown eyes. He lived in this neighborhood in Brooklyn that a BUNCH of our friends had ended up in - including Eric Voetburg (who was his room mate) and Chris Earl, and Chris' girlfriend - Chris. Chris and Chris. The two Chris' lived downstairs in the same building.
I couldn't resist. There was something extremely interesting and attractive about Garry. His mind, you might think, but I didn't know much of that yet. It was something else that intrigued me. Maybe his dark, brooding good looks, or his intensity - but no - I don't think it was that, either. It was that one moment when I saw him let down his guard, and his eyes became sparkly....that's what I wanted to see more of.
So, I got on a plane,(first class as promised), and was whisked away to the Plaza Hotel in New York City by a well dressed driver in a shiny black town car. It was only my second time being picked up by a town car - with the guy holding a sign that had my name on it - and I was beginning to like it.
Garry met me in the lobby of the hotel. He was wearing a suit. He shook my hand as if I were a business colleage, and showed me up to my room.It was very nice, and no sign of my having to share it with anybody. He seemed, so far, to be a man of his word.
"Well," he said, when he was satisfied that I was satisfied with the room, "I am sure you are tired from you travels, and might like to take a shower and change."
"Ok. That would be nice." I said, looking at his suit. "What are we going to do?"
"I have thought about this. I think we should walk up and down fifth avenue and do a little shopping."
It was a beautiful day. A PERFECT New York day, and we were right across the street from Central Park. I couldn't entirely hide my disappointment. Garry saw it.
"It is very nice on Fifth Avenue. You will like it. And I would like to buy a watch."
"Are you going to wear that?" I asked.
"Of course." he said, matter of factly. "Shall we meet downstairs in one hour?"
I nodded 'yes'. I hoped I didn't look TOO bummed out. I felt more like his social secretary - helping him shop for a watch in a bunch of snooty Fifth Ave. shops - than a date.
He turned to leave, then changed his mind suddenly, as if he had forgotten to tell me something. He turned back to me at the door, and without saying anything, he put his hand on the back of my hair, gave me the strangest look, and kissed me.
It was the first time he had ever kissed me, and it wasn't shy or gentle at all. It was deep, and hard and intense. And as he kissed me, he put his other hand into the back of my hair (still warm from the sun on the steps of the Plaza) and grabbed it - sort of pulled it softly but firmly. The way that he held me and kissed me felt like he was taking me, possessing me. It was sexy.
He let go of me just as suddenly, and as he whisked out of the door, I felt a little weak in the knees. "I guess he doesn't want me as a secretary..." I thought.
Then I took a long, hot shower. Tried to bring myself right back down to earth.
When we met back up in the lobby, Garry was back to being all business. We started down Fifth Avenue, popping into shops, and looking at all the rich tourists coming in and out of Trump Tower and Tiffany's. I quickly got bored.
"Is this REALLY what you want to do?" I asked him.
"Yes. Why not?" he replied. Once again, he sounded like he was scolding.
"Because it's no fun!" I pleaded. "Look at all these people - it's a bunch of old people,mostly - and none of them look like they are having any fun."
"These are the best stores in the world - the best shopping. We can get you something." Garry said. He looked thrown off his guard that I would have the audacity to question his fun day of looking at expensive crap.
"I don't want anything. How old ARE you, anyway? Do you mind my asking?" (I figured he was 35-40)
Now he really looked thrown off. "I am twenty eight." he said.
"NO!" I cried in complete disbelief. "You are NOT!"
"I am."
"You're only TWENTY EIGHT?"
"Yes."
I burst out laughing. Practically howling. I couldn't BELIEVE it! He was SOOOOO SERIOUS! And only a few years older than me!
"Why is this so funny?"he demanded.
"I don't know!" I laughed - I couldn't stop, even though it was clearly irritating him."It's hilarious!"
Garry just shook his head at me. "You think I am like an old man?"
"YES!" I said. "Look at you. In that suit - it's eighty degrees out - and you're only TWENTY EIGHT! You want to go SHOPPING on Fifth Avenue? With all these...stiff, European tourists? OLD tourists?"
"Well, what would YOU like to do?" he asked me, as if he were asking a crazy person, or a small child having a temper tantrum.
"I am so glad you asked! I would like to go to roller skating in Central Park, or go to the Boat House and rent a boat, or go to FAO Shwarz - there are so many fun things to do here!"
"What is this FAO Swarz?" Gary asked, solemnly.
"It's the famous toy store across the street from your hotel! Didn't you ever see the movie,'Big'?"
"It's a TOY store?" Garry asked, confused and perhaps disgusted.I nodded happily.
"Why would I want to go to a TOY store? I am an adult. I do not have children."
I looked at him expectantly. Maybe he would want to go roller skating?
"No. Toys and skates are for children. We will do this. And then you will dress for dinner.Do you have something nice to wear? I will introduce you to Milos Forman tonight. Perhaps he can help you with your career, IF you do not act like a child."
Ugh. I didn't get it. This guy acted like he was FIFTY EIGHT instead of twenty eight.NO FUN. AND BOSSY. So, as soon as we returned to the hotel, I went up to my room (supposedly to get dressed for dinner) and called Jamie up in Brooklyn.
"Do you have a lot of luggage?" he asked.
"No." I said. "One little bag. I don't even have anything fancy enough to wear for dinner, anyway."
"Good." Jamie said. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."
Oh, good gravy! I have to laugh even now, as I remember this. And I am SO glad Jamie and Eric were a part of this story - just so I have a couple of witnesses!
Sure enough, Jamie roared up on his motorcycle to the front steps of the Plaza, I gleefully waved goodbye to the doorman, and we raced across the Brooklyn Bridge and down to his place - where I (we) avoided calls from Garry Kasparov for the rest of the weekend, and had a grand time without him.
The first time he called,however, Jamie or Eric answered the phone and handed it right over to me.
"Hello, Jennifer." the Russian voice said on the phone.
"How did you get this number?" I demanded.
"How do you think?" Garry practically snarled. "You called your friend from the hotel line. It was quite easy."
"Oh." I said. I hadn't thought of that. Should have used a pay phone.
"Why did you leave?"
"Because you are no fun! What good is it to come all the way here for a date if you're going to be bossy, and grumpy and act like an old man and be no FUN?"
"I am fun."
"You are most certainly NOT fun."
"Because I wouldn't go to the toy store?"
ugh. I think this man had half a human brain and half a computer brain.
"I was going to buy you something." he said.
"I don't want a THING. I just wanted to have a fun time with you - we're both young - oh never mind. I have to go."
"You didn't even say good bye."
"Sorry. Good bye, Garry."
And with that, I hung up the phone and we didn't answer any of the many, many phone calls from him for the rest of the weekend.I felt bad. He hadn't done anything MEAN. But I didn't feel that bad. After all, he had been so bossy. Ordering me around. "We will do this. Toys are for children." Hmmf.BUT....that last sentence haunted me. It kept rolling around in my head. "You didn't even say good bye." He had sounded kind of sad. Maybe he wasn't half computer, after all. Oh well, that was certainly the end of him.
I got back to LA, where Hilary and Max were waiting for me at the airport instead of a shiny town car, and I told her the whole story. She loved the part about Jamie picking me up on his motorcycle at the Plaza Hotel.
A few days later, I came home from an audition, and Hilary had this funny look on her face. So did Max. They both looked like they were about to bust.
"You got a package." Hil said.
"Oh yea?"
"It's from Garry Kasparov!" she said.
"You have GOT to be kidding.I hope it's not a bomb." I was actually a little nervous. I could imagine a terrible letter, with maybe a bill from the Plaza and the airline attached.
"Open it, open it, open it!!" Max shouted as he jumped up and down.
"Alright, alright. (what had gotten into HIM?) Where is it?"
Hilary and Max just pointed to our tiny kitchen where I immediately saw the reason for Max's excitement. It was a HUGE box. Bigger than Max by about 3 feet. Oh my gosh! It WAS a bomb!
"It's from F A O Shwarz!!!" Hilary said, her eyes twinkling."I have had QUITE a time not letting Max open that sucker!"
We all gathered around as I opened the giant box. My heart was racing.
It was a giant 'Gund' bear. A BEAUTIFUL, realistic bear! Just the kind of gorgeous stuffed animal that I always lusted after when I used to go to FAO Shwarz with my Grandmother. The thing was bigger than Max. It was about 5 and a half feet tall, sitting up on his haunches, beautiful, soft brown 'fur'. It was wonderful.
Max threw his arms around the bear and hugged it tight, and stayed on top of it as it toppled over. "It's mine, it's mine!" he cried out joyfully. "He looks like a real bear!"
A letter came with the bear. I do believe I still have it somewhere - but here is the gist:
Dear Jennifer,
I am sending you this Russian bear, so that you will think of me every time you see it. You would not answer my phone calls, so I had no choice but to write to you. And if I wrote to you now and simply scolded you or said harsh things, you would write me off as a "bully" - as you say - and not think of me again.
So, instead, I am sending you the most beautiful thing I could find in FAO Shwarz, in the hopes that my kind gesture will make you feel guilty and terrible about leaving me in such a cruel manner.
I must also tell you that you were right about the toy store. It was delightful, and perhaps I could learn to be more fun, to act more my age from you.
I sincerely hope you feel guilty for several weeks. And after that period of time, perhaps you will have decided that I am not so bad after all, and we can speak on the phone.
You did hurt my feelings terribly, and I was sorry not to have the opportunity to introduce you to Milos at dinner. He was looking forward to meeting you.
affectionately, your Russian Bear
Garry Kasparov.
That letter was more well written than I have indicated here.It was great. And it worked like a charm. I DID feel guilty. I felt HORRIBLE, in fact. I HAD written him off - you know,as just another arrogant chess champion of the world - and with this grand gesture, and wry letter - he became entirely human to me.
I (we) had that beautiful bear until 5 years ago. It always brought incredible compliments, and looked beautiful, without a single rip or flaw, until his demise in the terrible mudslide. Of ALL of the things that were ruined - destroyed forever - THAT was the only possession that I (or any of us) really felt devastated over.
After all, not everyone gets a giant 'Gund' bear sent to them by the chess champion of the world. And I did think of him every time I looked at it - even long after we lost touch.
"I think you should go." Hilary said.
I bit my lip, shook my head, and looked down at little, sleeping Max. He always looked like such an angel when he was sleeping. White blonde hair,breathing softly through his pretty lips.
"I'll watch Max." Hilary offered. "We'll be fine. It's only a couple of days."
Then I looked at Hil.I was still VERY unsure. She could always read my face like a book.
"When are you ever going to have a chance like this again? Maybe never. He seemed nice. And if things don't work out - you can always call Jamie. Just make sure he gets you a round trip ticket."
Jamie Coulter was our friend in Brooklyn. Our friend from Interlochen. A friend who will enter into another crazy story of mine. (but that's for another night)He was soft spoken and sweet. Tall and thin with a mass of brown curls, and soft, sweet brown eyes. He lived in this neighborhood in Brooklyn that a BUNCH of our friends had ended up in - including Eric Voetburg (who was his room mate) and Chris Earl, and Chris' girlfriend - Chris. Chris and Chris. The two Chris' lived downstairs in the same building.
I couldn't resist. There was something extremely interesting and attractive about Garry. His mind, you might think, but I didn't know much of that yet. It was something else that intrigued me. Maybe his dark, brooding good looks, or his intensity - but no - I don't think it was that, either. It was that one moment when I saw him let down his guard, and his eyes became sparkly....that's what I wanted to see more of.
So, I got on a plane,(first class as promised), and was whisked away to the Plaza Hotel in New York City by a well dressed driver in a shiny black town car. It was only my second time being picked up by a town car - with the guy holding a sign that had my name on it - and I was beginning to like it.
Garry met me in the lobby of the hotel. He was wearing a suit. He shook my hand as if I were a business colleage, and showed me up to my room.It was very nice, and no sign of my having to share it with anybody. He seemed, so far, to be a man of his word.
"Well," he said, when he was satisfied that I was satisfied with the room, "I am sure you are tired from you travels, and might like to take a shower and change."
"Ok. That would be nice." I said, looking at his suit. "What are we going to do?"
"I have thought about this. I think we should walk up and down fifth avenue and do a little shopping."
It was a beautiful day. A PERFECT New York day, and we were right across the street from Central Park. I couldn't entirely hide my disappointment. Garry saw it.
"It is very nice on Fifth Avenue. You will like it. And I would like to buy a watch."
"Are you going to wear that?" I asked.
"Of course." he said, matter of factly. "Shall we meet downstairs in one hour?"
I nodded 'yes'. I hoped I didn't look TOO bummed out. I felt more like his social secretary - helping him shop for a watch in a bunch of snooty Fifth Ave. shops - than a date.
He turned to leave, then changed his mind suddenly, as if he had forgotten to tell me something. He turned back to me at the door, and without saying anything, he put his hand on the back of my hair, gave me the strangest look, and kissed me.
It was the first time he had ever kissed me, and it wasn't shy or gentle at all. It was deep, and hard and intense. And as he kissed me, he put his other hand into the back of my hair (still warm from the sun on the steps of the Plaza) and grabbed it - sort of pulled it softly but firmly. The way that he held me and kissed me felt like he was taking me, possessing me. It was sexy.
He let go of me just as suddenly, and as he whisked out of the door, I felt a little weak in the knees. "I guess he doesn't want me as a secretary..." I thought.
Then I took a long, hot shower. Tried to bring myself right back down to earth.
When we met back up in the lobby, Garry was back to being all business. We started down Fifth Avenue, popping into shops, and looking at all the rich tourists coming in and out of Trump Tower and Tiffany's. I quickly got bored.
"Is this REALLY what you want to do?" I asked him.
"Yes. Why not?" he replied. Once again, he sounded like he was scolding.
"Because it's no fun!" I pleaded. "Look at all these people - it's a bunch of old people,mostly - and none of them look like they are having any fun."
"These are the best stores in the world - the best shopping. We can get you something." Garry said. He looked thrown off his guard that I would have the audacity to question his fun day of looking at expensive crap.
"I don't want anything. How old ARE you, anyway? Do you mind my asking?" (I figured he was 35-40)
Now he really looked thrown off. "I am twenty eight." he said.
"NO!" I cried in complete disbelief. "You are NOT!"
"I am."
"You're only TWENTY EIGHT?"
"Yes."
I burst out laughing. Practically howling. I couldn't BELIEVE it! He was SOOOOO SERIOUS! And only a few years older than me!
"Why is this so funny?"he demanded.
"I don't know!" I laughed - I couldn't stop, even though it was clearly irritating him."It's hilarious!"
Garry just shook his head at me. "You think I am like an old man?"
"YES!" I said. "Look at you. In that suit - it's eighty degrees out - and you're only TWENTY EIGHT! You want to go SHOPPING on Fifth Avenue? With all these...stiff, European tourists? OLD tourists?"
"Well, what would YOU like to do?" he asked me, as if he were asking a crazy person, or a small child having a temper tantrum.
"I am so glad you asked! I would like to go to roller skating in Central Park, or go to the Boat House and rent a boat, or go to FAO Shwarz - there are so many fun things to do here!"
"What is this FAO Swarz?" Gary asked, solemnly.
"It's the famous toy store across the street from your hotel! Didn't you ever see the movie,'Big'?"
"It's a TOY store?" Garry asked, confused and perhaps disgusted.I nodded happily.
"Why would I want to go to a TOY store? I am an adult. I do not have children."
I looked at him expectantly. Maybe he would want to go roller skating?
"No. Toys and skates are for children. We will do this. And then you will dress for dinner.Do you have something nice to wear? I will introduce you to Milos Forman tonight. Perhaps he can help you with your career, IF you do not act like a child."
Ugh. I didn't get it. This guy acted like he was FIFTY EIGHT instead of twenty eight.NO FUN. AND BOSSY. So, as soon as we returned to the hotel, I went up to my room (supposedly to get dressed for dinner) and called Jamie up in Brooklyn.
"Do you have a lot of luggage?" he asked.
"No." I said. "One little bag. I don't even have anything fancy enough to wear for dinner, anyway."
"Good." Jamie said. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."
Oh, good gravy! I have to laugh even now, as I remember this. And I am SO glad Jamie and Eric were a part of this story - just so I have a couple of witnesses!
Sure enough, Jamie roared up on his motorcycle to the front steps of the Plaza, I gleefully waved goodbye to the doorman, and we raced across the Brooklyn Bridge and down to his place - where I (we) avoided calls from Garry Kasparov for the rest of the weekend, and had a grand time without him.
The first time he called,however, Jamie or Eric answered the phone and handed it right over to me.
"Hello, Jennifer." the Russian voice said on the phone.
"How did you get this number?" I demanded.
"How do you think?" Garry practically snarled. "You called your friend from the hotel line. It was quite easy."
"Oh." I said. I hadn't thought of that. Should have used a pay phone.
"Why did you leave?"
"Because you are no fun! What good is it to come all the way here for a date if you're going to be bossy, and grumpy and act like an old man and be no FUN?"
"I am fun."
"You are most certainly NOT fun."
"Because I wouldn't go to the toy store?"
ugh. I think this man had half a human brain and half a computer brain.
"I was going to buy you something." he said.
"I don't want a THING. I just wanted to have a fun time with you - we're both young - oh never mind. I have to go."
"You didn't even say good bye."
"Sorry. Good bye, Garry."
And with that, I hung up the phone and we didn't answer any of the many, many phone calls from him for the rest of the weekend.I felt bad. He hadn't done anything MEAN. But I didn't feel that bad. After all, he had been so bossy. Ordering me around. "We will do this. Toys are for children." Hmmf.BUT....that last sentence haunted me. It kept rolling around in my head. "You didn't even say good bye." He had sounded kind of sad. Maybe he wasn't half computer, after all. Oh well, that was certainly the end of him.
I got back to LA, where Hilary and Max were waiting for me at the airport instead of a shiny town car, and I told her the whole story. She loved the part about Jamie picking me up on his motorcycle at the Plaza Hotel.
A few days later, I came home from an audition, and Hilary had this funny look on her face. So did Max. They both looked like they were about to bust.
"You got a package." Hil said.
"Oh yea?"
"It's from Garry Kasparov!" she said.
"You have GOT to be kidding.I hope it's not a bomb." I was actually a little nervous. I could imagine a terrible letter, with maybe a bill from the Plaza and the airline attached.
"Open it, open it, open it!!" Max shouted as he jumped up and down.
"Alright, alright. (what had gotten into HIM?) Where is it?"
Hilary and Max just pointed to our tiny kitchen where I immediately saw the reason for Max's excitement. It was a HUGE box. Bigger than Max by about 3 feet. Oh my gosh! It WAS a bomb!
"It's from F A O Shwarz!!!" Hilary said, her eyes twinkling."I have had QUITE a time not letting Max open that sucker!"
We all gathered around as I opened the giant box. My heart was racing.
It was a giant 'Gund' bear. A BEAUTIFUL, realistic bear! Just the kind of gorgeous stuffed animal that I always lusted after when I used to go to FAO Shwarz with my Grandmother. The thing was bigger than Max. It was about 5 and a half feet tall, sitting up on his haunches, beautiful, soft brown 'fur'. It was wonderful.
Max threw his arms around the bear and hugged it tight, and stayed on top of it as it toppled over. "It's mine, it's mine!" he cried out joyfully. "He looks like a real bear!"
A letter came with the bear. I do believe I still have it somewhere - but here is the gist:
Dear Jennifer,
I am sending you this Russian bear, so that you will think of me every time you see it. You would not answer my phone calls, so I had no choice but to write to you. And if I wrote to you now and simply scolded you or said harsh things, you would write me off as a "bully" - as you say - and not think of me again.
So, instead, I am sending you the most beautiful thing I could find in FAO Shwarz, in the hopes that my kind gesture will make you feel guilty and terrible about leaving me in such a cruel manner.
I must also tell you that you were right about the toy store. It was delightful, and perhaps I could learn to be more fun, to act more my age from you.
I sincerely hope you feel guilty for several weeks. And after that period of time, perhaps you will have decided that I am not so bad after all, and we can speak on the phone.
You did hurt my feelings terribly, and I was sorry not to have the opportunity to introduce you to Milos at dinner. He was looking forward to meeting you.
affectionately, your Russian Bear
Garry Kasparov.
That letter was more well written than I have indicated here.It was great. And it worked like a charm. I DID feel guilty. I felt HORRIBLE, in fact. I HAD written him off - you know,as just another arrogant chess champion of the world - and with this grand gesture, and wry letter - he became entirely human to me.
I (we) had that beautiful bear until 5 years ago. It always brought incredible compliments, and looked beautiful, without a single rip or flaw, until his demise in the terrible mudslide. Of ALL of the things that were ruined - destroyed forever - THAT was the only possession that I (or any of us) really felt devastated over.
After all, not everyone gets a giant 'Gund' bear sent to them by the chess champion of the world. And I did think of him every time I looked at it - even long after we lost touch.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
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......
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......
Friday, February 4, 2011
the Trannies think I'm Renee Zellweger.
Later that evening (ten years and change ago), Stuart accompanied me to Rudolpho's, as promised.
Sure, enough, it was 'Moulin Rouge' night, and as we were dressed remotely 'French' - they let us in for $5, as our new friend had promised.
Stuart was in a gay mood (pun intended - sorry!),as he had been to Rudolpho's before, and had found it to his liking.
"I really think you're going to like this place!" he said, his hips already starting to sway to the dance music. "It's really great - because it's a mixed crowd, which is nice - and they play good dance music in this room!" Stuart was almost having to shout as we were indeed just inside the dancing room, and the volume was up.
I took a look around. It DID look like fun. Gay guys dancing, straight couples dancing - even a few Queens that really WERE there from the contest - all dressed up and sparkling with glitter! Stuart and I danced until we were sweaty and thirsty, then we made a bee-line for the bar.
"What do you want, honey? I'm buying!" Stuart exclaimed, gallantly.
We took our cocktails into the other big room, where people were mingling and admiring each other's costumes. More drag Queens! They all looked so good! There were all shapes and sizes and colors - and they all seemed so FRIENDLY! Now THIS was more like it!
I lost Stuart for a few minutes while I was chatting to one fetching Queen. She was probably 260 pounds, and looked like a character straight out of a John Water's movie. I finally spotted Stuart across the room, engaged in animated conversation with a VERY cute guy, so I made my way over. I didn't want to interrupt, but I was intrigued. The guy Stoo was talking to was a dark haired lad wearing a striped shirt, a beret, and a painted on mustache. AND they were speaking French!
"Oooo-la-la!" I thought. "JUST Stooey's type!"
Stuart introduced me to Alex (the Frenchie), and Alex introduced me to his friend, Veronica - a tall, svelte beauty with dark red hair, a clingy dress and 'fuck me' heels. Veronica looked me up and down, as if to size up what kind of a threat (or non-threat) I might be. Girls like this scared the daylights out of me. They really did. And the night had been going so well! But I was stuck talking to her, as Stoo and Alex chattered happily away in French.
I don't remember exactly what I said, but a couple of cold sentences into our conversation, I made Veronica laugh. And thus, the ice was broken. She was actually really smart and fun to talk to. Once again, I was having a great night!
"I have to pee!" I finally confessed to Veronica, when I couldn't stand it any longer. (this is typical girl behavior - having too much fun, and holding it 'till the last minute, even though you know from experience that you'll be waiting in line)
"Well, don't do it here." she retorted sassily.
I hurried off to the ladies room, and sure enough - a big, long line. Only most of these 'Ladies' were just ladies for the night.I immediately experienced a bad flash-back to the restroom at this club, 'Poop', in NYC, where one giantess of a Tranny threatened my life, and scared the dickens out of me. I tried to keep my head down and focus on the floor - but I guess I was doing the pee-pee dance - just a little, because one of those ladies piped right up.
"Oh! Girlfriend's got to go BAD!" she sing-songed. "Look! She's doin' the pee-dance!"
I didn't know whether to be afraid or not. I looked up at the girls cautiously, and seeing no malice in their faces, I smiled, sighed, and nodded, 'yes.'
"Oh, LADIES! Let a REAL lady in, please! She has got to GO!!!" my bathroom angel said as she bossed those other girls out of the way and pushed me into a stall.
Lord, I think we ALL know the great feeling that comes with the release of Niagara falls into a toilet, or snow bank - or WHEREVER it needs to fall, when it REALLY needs to fall.I came out of that stall feeling 3 liters lighter! And then, as I washed my hands, my bathroom angel still present, and the little bathroom crammed with flamboyant Queens and myself - something funny happened. One of the feathered, sparkly ladies grabbed me and shouted, "Renee!"
I didn't know what she meant, but before I could even think, I had a whole bathroom full of drag Queens yelling and grabbing at me in what felt like a hysterical frenzy.
"Oh my GAWD! It's Renee!!!" they yelled. Someone was pulling at my hair, and another hand was stroking my skirt.
"It's really YOU!!!! Oh my GOD - I LOVE YOU!!" one of the ladies yelled. I mean - they were LOUD. I was still confused - who the hell did they think I was?
"I TOLD you ladies to let her pass!" my bathroom angel piped up indignantly, "MISS RENEEE ZELLWEGER - IN THE HOUSE!!!!" "I lOVE you!" "Oh, Bridget Jones! I feel your pain, girl!" "Oh my Lord! I'm sorry I was hogging the line, Miss Renee!" "You are BEAUTIFUL!!! BEAUTIFUUUUUUUULLLLLL!!!!"
The bathroom had erupted into chaos. I tried to tell them that I was NOT Renee Zellweger, but they would have none of it.So, I tried to uphold Renee's good name, and backed out of the bathroom as graciously as I could. Oh, GIRL! I needed a DRINK!
So, I got one. Made my way back to Veronica. Calm, intelligent, non-screaming Veronica. We had a lovely time talking for the rest of the night. I was strangely attracted to her. She was - well, she was really great - but there was something else. She was different from other girls. Cooler or something - I couldn't put my finger on it.
And then, at the end of the night, she put her hand on my shoulder.
"I'd love to hang out with you again sometime." she said.
"Well, yea. OK." I said - a little nervously, because I didn't know how to feel about her hand on my shoulder. I had never been attracted to another woman. Not even in the least - although I THOUGHT I had been open minded to that possibility.
She seemed to sense my discomfort, and leaned in, as if to tell me a secret.
"I have to tell you something." she said. (Uh- oh.)
"I'm not really a woman." - and when Veronica said this sentence - her voice completely changed.It sounded like a normal, heterosexual man. I was FLOORED.
I think I might have done an actual double-take.Or triple-take. It shouldn't have been so surprising - we were surrounded by guys in drag - but SHE WAS SO GOOD!!!!
"You're not...?" I lamely slurred out.
Veronica shook her head, as if she had gone through this before. She - HE - was like a patient kindergarten teacher - waiting for me to understand.
"I'm a man." he said kindly, in his MALE voice. "And I like women. I just do this sometimes - not very often - for fun. My real name is Paul."
My mind was sufficiently blown. And then, on the way home from the club, Stuart blew it some more.
"Well - you weren't the ONLY one who was led down a garden path." Stuart said jovially.
"What do you mean?" I replied, "YOU met the man of your DREAMS! He is EXACTLY your type, AND he's French, AND you guys couldn't stop talking all night!"
"Honey...." Stuart looked at me, bursting with laughter, " he's NOT French, AND - he's STRAIGHT!!"
Oh, what a night!
I went on a few dates with Paul, although we never got past a kiss on the cheek, and Alex moved in with me a month later - claiming he needed a place to stay for one month, while he was in transition. He ended up staying for a year, we went through 911 together,lit Hanukkah candles together with my kids, he dated my best friend, and ten years later, we ended up going to Thailand together with my 'gay husband', Mark.
But THAT, my darlings, is DEFINITELY a story for another night!
PS - Happy Birthday, dearest Paul! your girlfriend seems an angel!
Sure, enough, it was 'Moulin Rouge' night, and as we were dressed remotely 'French' - they let us in for $5, as our new friend had promised.
Stuart was in a gay mood (pun intended - sorry!),as he had been to Rudolpho's before, and had found it to his liking.
"I really think you're going to like this place!" he said, his hips already starting to sway to the dance music. "It's really great - because it's a mixed crowd, which is nice - and they play good dance music in this room!" Stuart was almost having to shout as we were indeed just inside the dancing room, and the volume was up.
I took a look around. It DID look like fun. Gay guys dancing, straight couples dancing - even a few Queens that really WERE there from the contest - all dressed up and sparkling with glitter! Stuart and I danced until we were sweaty and thirsty, then we made a bee-line for the bar.
"What do you want, honey? I'm buying!" Stuart exclaimed, gallantly.
We took our cocktails into the other big room, where people were mingling and admiring each other's costumes. More drag Queens! They all looked so good! There were all shapes and sizes and colors - and they all seemed so FRIENDLY! Now THIS was more like it!
I lost Stuart for a few minutes while I was chatting to one fetching Queen. She was probably 260 pounds, and looked like a character straight out of a John Water's movie. I finally spotted Stuart across the room, engaged in animated conversation with a VERY cute guy, so I made my way over. I didn't want to interrupt, but I was intrigued. The guy Stoo was talking to was a dark haired lad wearing a striped shirt, a beret, and a painted on mustache. AND they were speaking French!
"Oooo-la-la!" I thought. "JUST Stooey's type!"
Stuart introduced me to Alex (the Frenchie), and Alex introduced me to his friend, Veronica - a tall, svelte beauty with dark red hair, a clingy dress and 'fuck me' heels. Veronica looked me up and down, as if to size up what kind of a threat (or non-threat) I might be. Girls like this scared the daylights out of me. They really did. And the night had been going so well! But I was stuck talking to her, as Stoo and Alex chattered happily away in French.
I don't remember exactly what I said, but a couple of cold sentences into our conversation, I made Veronica laugh. And thus, the ice was broken. She was actually really smart and fun to talk to. Once again, I was having a great night!
"I have to pee!" I finally confessed to Veronica, when I couldn't stand it any longer. (this is typical girl behavior - having too much fun, and holding it 'till the last minute, even though you know from experience that you'll be waiting in line)
"Well, don't do it here." she retorted sassily.
I hurried off to the ladies room, and sure enough - a big, long line. Only most of these 'Ladies' were just ladies for the night.I immediately experienced a bad flash-back to the restroom at this club, 'Poop', in NYC, where one giantess of a Tranny threatened my life, and scared the dickens out of me. I tried to keep my head down and focus on the floor - but I guess I was doing the pee-pee dance - just a little, because one of those ladies piped right up.
"Oh! Girlfriend's got to go BAD!" she sing-songed. "Look! She's doin' the pee-dance!"
I didn't know whether to be afraid or not. I looked up at the girls cautiously, and seeing no malice in their faces, I smiled, sighed, and nodded, 'yes.'
"Oh, LADIES! Let a REAL lady in, please! She has got to GO!!!" my bathroom angel said as she bossed those other girls out of the way and pushed me into a stall.
Lord, I think we ALL know the great feeling that comes with the release of Niagara falls into a toilet, or snow bank - or WHEREVER it needs to fall, when it REALLY needs to fall.I came out of that stall feeling 3 liters lighter! And then, as I washed my hands, my bathroom angel still present, and the little bathroom crammed with flamboyant Queens and myself - something funny happened. One of the feathered, sparkly ladies grabbed me and shouted, "Renee!"
I didn't know what she meant, but before I could even think, I had a whole bathroom full of drag Queens yelling and grabbing at me in what felt like a hysterical frenzy.
"Oh my GAWD! It's Renee!!!" they yelled. Someone was pulling at my hair, and another hand was stroking my skirt.
"It's really YOU!!!! Oh my GOD - I LOVE YOU!!" one of the ladies yelled. I mean - they were LOUD. I was still confused - who the hell did they think I was?
"I TOLD you ladies to let her pass!" my bathroom angel piped up indignantly, "MISS RENEEE ZELLWEGER - IN THE HOUSE!!!!" "I lOVE you!" "Oh, Bridget Jones! I feel your pain, girl!" "Oh my Lord! I'm sorry I was hogging the line, Miss Renee!" "You are BEAUTIFUL!!! BEAUTIFUUUUUUUULLLLLL!!!!"
The bathroom had erupted into chaos. I tried to tell them that I was NOT Renee Zellweger, but they would have none of it.So, I tried to uphold Renee's good name, and backed out of the bathroom as graciously as I could. Oh, GIRL! I needed a DRINK!
So, I got one. Made my way back to Veronica. Calm, intelligent, non-screaming Veronica. We had a lovely time talking for the rest of the night. I was strangely attracted to her. She was - well, she was really great - but there was something else. She was different from other girls. Cooler or something - I couldn't put my finger on it.
And then, at the end of the night, she put her hand on my shoulder.
"I'd love to hang out with you again sometime." she said.
"Well, yea. OK." I said - a little nervously, because I didn't know how to feel about her hand on my shoulder. I had never been attracted to another woman. Not even in the least - although I THOUGHT I had been open minded to that possibility.
She seemed to sense my discomfort, and leaned in, as if to tell me a secret.
"I have to tell you something." she said. (Uh- oh.)
"I'm not really a woman." - and when Veronica said this sentence - her voice completely changed.It sounded like a normal, heterosexual man. I was FLOORED.
I think I might have done an actual double-take.Or triple-take. It shouldn't have been so surprising - we were surrounded by guys in drag - but SHE WAS SO GOOD!!!!
"You're not...?" I lamely slurred out.
Veronica shook her head, as if she had gone through this before. She - HE - was like a patient kindergarten teacher - waiting for me to understand.
"I'm a man." he said kindly, in his MALE voice. "And I like women. I just do this sometimes - not very often - for fun. My real name is Paul."
My mind was sufficiently blown. And then, on the way home from the club, Stuart blew it some more.
"Well - you weren't the ONLY one who was led down a garden path." Stuart said jovially.
"What do you mean?" I replied, "YOU met the man of your DREAMS! He is EXACTLY your type, AND he's French, AND you guys couldn't stop talking all night!"
"Honey...." Stuart looked at me, bursting with laughter, " he's NOT French, AND - he's STRAIGHT!!"
Oh, what a night!
I went on a few dates with Paul, although we never got past a kiss on the cheek, and Alex moved in with me a month later - claiming he needed a place to stay for one month, while he was in transition. He ended up staying for a year, we went through 911 together,lit Hanukkah candles together with my kids, he dated my best friend, and ten years later, we ended up going to Thailand together with my 'gay husband', Mark.
But THAT, my darlings, is DEFINITELY a story for another night!
PS - Happy Birthday, dearest Paul! your girlfriend seems an angel!
Jonesing for Pork Dumplings and Drag...
Night before last, I went out for an old friend's birthday, and we recounted the story of how we met, a little more that ten years ago, over drinks and more drinks. This is how it all began.
Ten years ago (and change), I woke up one beautiful, sunny, LA day with a terrible craving.I called my very good friend, Stuart Richardson, to tell him all about it.
"Stooey..." I said to him on the phone, "I'm jonesing."
"Hmmm. What do you mean, darling?" Stuart replied matter-of-factly in his slight English accent.
"Well...it's very specific. I have the most terrible craving for pork dumplings and drag queens."
Stuart laughed. "My goodness! At the same time?"
"Well, that would be ideal. But I imagine impossible in LA. There's a drag Queen contest in Silverlake today. Will you go with me and then maybe we can look for pork dumplings?"
"Well..." I could hear Stoo thinking about his day on the other side of the line, "...Sure! Why not? I wanted to pop into some of those record stores on Sunset anyway - I'm looking for a very rare Elaine Stritch album."
"Yay!" I practically jumped up and clapped my hands with joy. This was no small craving. I felt like I had finally gotten over my terror of drag Queens after Stuart took my mother and I to a big, fancy drag place in NYC years before, and some GIANT, tall trannies were mean to me in the bathroom. (note to self - must write about that later - think the club was called,'Poop'. No joke.)
So, Stuart and I went off to find this Drag contest that was on the front page of the LA Weekly (doubtless what had pushed my imagination in that direction). When we got there, we were immediately and sorely disappointed. The contest/festival had been set up in a dry,shadeless parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. The stage was NOT fabulous, and the whole event was visible because of the fact that it was in a flat, square and not very big parking lot. We could see a few lack-luster trannies fanning themselves in the heat over by the 'stage', and the music was terrible - creaking out over a crackling sound system. Even the Tranny who was standing at the make shift entrance demanding ten dollars of us looked miserable. Her makeup was melting off of her face in the hot sun, her wig had come askew (her head must have been burning up under that thing!), and when we decided to decline on the entrance fee and the contest, she just shook her head in an understanding manner.
"I don't blame you, girl." she said to me, waving her hand limply in the direction of the 'festivities', "This shit is miserable!"
I turned to Stuart - super disappointed. "Oh, Stoo! I was so excited about this. It sounded like so much fun!"
"Oh well. Cest la vie.." Stuart shrugged.
Then the poor, sweaty Tranny at the entrance piped in , "Girl - you all should go to Rudolpho's tonight! That's where it's at! All these bitches'll be there, anyway." she said, waving again at the disaster behind her. "Girl, it's only $5 cover if you dress up or come in drag. Your man want to come in drag?" she pointedly looked at Stuart.
Stuart giggled, shaking his head, "Not tonight, darling." he said.We were both amused by this muscular, black Tranny in a bright orange wig with makeup leaking down her face from all the sweat.
"That don't matter! It's 'Moulin Rouge' night - just wear something French. It's gonna be fun!"
Stuart and I laughed and thanked her, then continued on our crusade for part 2 - pork dumplings.
The pork dumplings turned out to be equally as disappointing, but at least the restaurant was air-conditioned, and Stuart and I made plans to go to Rudolpho's later that evening. Then we went and scoured Sunset Blvd. for his Elaine Stritch album - to no avail. STRIKE THREE!
We parted ways for the rest of the afternoon, so that we could each get in a disco nap and figure out something 'French' to wear to Rudolpho's.
"Good grief." I thought , as I plopped down on my gypsy bed, in my shady bedroom. "I sure hope Rudolpho's is where it's at."
Ten years ago (and change), I woke up one beautiful, sunny, LA day with a terrible craving.I called my very good friend, Stuart Richardson, to tell him all about it.
"Stooey..." I said to him on the phone, "I'm jonesing."
"Hmmm. What do you mean, darling?" Stuart replied matter-of-factly in his slight English accent.
"Well...it's very specific. I have the most terrible craving for pork dumplings and drag queens."
Stuart laughed. "My goodness! At the same time?"
"Well, that would be ideal. But I imagine impossible in LA. There's a drag Queen contest in Silverlake today. Will you go with me and then maybe we can look for pork dumplings?"
"Well..." I could hear Stoo thinking about his day on the other side of the line, "...Sure! Why not? I wanted to pop into some of those record stores on Sunset anyway - I'm looking for a very rare Elaine Stritch album."
"Yay!" I practically jumped up and clapped my hands with joy. This was no small craving. I felt like I had finally gotten over my terror of drag Queens after Stuart took my mother and I to a big, fancy drag place in NYC years before, and some GIANT, tall trannies were mean to me in the bathroom. (note to self - must write about that later - think the club was called,'Poop'. No joke.)
So, Stuart and I went off to find this Drag contest that was on the front page of the LA Weekly (doubtless what had pushed my imagination in that direction). When we got there, we were immediately and sorely disappointed. The contest/festival had been set up in a dry,shadeless parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. The stage was NOT fabulous, and the whole event was visible because of the fact that it was in a flat, square and not very big parking lot. We could see a few lack-luster trannies fanning themselves in the heat over by the 'stage', and the music was terrible - creaking out over a crackling sound system. Even the Tranny who was standing at the make shift entrance demanding ten dollars of us looked miserable. Her makeup was melting off of her face in the hot sun, her wig had come askew (her head must have been burning up under that thing!), and when we decided to decline on the entrance fee and the contest, she just shook her head in an understanding manner.
"I don't blame you, girl." she said to me, waving her hand limply in the direction of the 'festivities', "This shit is miserable!"
I turned to Stuart - super disappointed. "Oh, Stoo! I was so excited about this. It sounded like so much fun!"
"Oh well. Cest la vie.." Stuart shrugged.
Then the poor, sweaty Tranny at the entrance piped in , "Girl - you all should go to Rudolpho's tonight! That's where it's at! All these bitches'll be there, anyway." she said, waving again at the disaster behind her. "Girl, it's only $5 cover if you dress up or come in drag. Your man want to come in drag?" she pointedly looked at Stuart.
Stuart giggled, shaking his head, "Not tonight, darling." he said.We were both amused by this muscular, black Tranny in a bright orange wig with makeup leaking down her face from all the sweat.
"That don't matter! It's 'Moulin Rouge' night - just wear something French. It's gonna be fun!"
Stuart and I laughed and thanked her, then continued on our crusade for part 2 - pork dumplings.
The pork dumplings turned out to be equally as disappointing, but at least the restaurant was air-conditioned, and Stuart and I made plans to go to Rudolpho's later that evening. Then we went and scoured Sunset Blvd. for his Elaine Stritch album - to no avail. STRIKE THREE!
We parted ways for the rest of the afternoon, so that we could each get in a disco nap and figure out something 'French' to wear to Rudolpho's.
"Good grief." I thought , as I plopped down on my gypsy bed, in my shady bedroom. "I sure hope Rudolpho's is where it's at."
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
the Antidote to 'Whiskey Dick'.
I've just come home from Austin, TX, where I was helping my sister with some of the preliminary tasks of opening a bar.
A week of working,playing,planning - and OF COURSE - drinking. Straight off of the plane from LA, Emily(my sister) took me to the bar where her girlfriend, Leslie, works. A little, dark hole in the wall called 'Dirty Bill's'. If you go there - find Leslie, and tell her I sent you.
Leslie is a beauty. She has smooth brown hair that is always tied back in a pony tail when she works, giant sparkling eyes, and a gorgeous smile. She works the bar gracefully in jeans and a 'Dirty' tee shirt, and always seems to have things under control - no matter how loud or crazy it gets in there. Her boyfriend, Donny, usually comes straight to the bar to help her and be her guard dog when he's finished working at his restaurant, Fonda San Miguel. (Fonda San Miguel is arguably the BEST Mexican restaurant in Austin, BTW)
Over the course of 5 short days, Emily and I ran around Austin to tons of second hand and vintage furniture shops (including our favorite, Room Service) buying chairs, lamps, beautiful glass pendant lights, wine glasses, mirrors, you name it. Every morning we got up and headed over to the Counter Cafe, decked out in furniture moving clothes and sunglasses, where we had amazing breakfasts - all from local farms, fresh to the table. Then we went shopping all day - Emily's friend, Puff-Puff, helping us out with the loan of her van and her feminine eye. As the days rolled by, Emily's place filled up with beautiful things for her new endeavor, The Butterfly Bar.
Emily has come into partnership with our cousin, Bonnie Cullum. Bonnie owns and is artistic director of the one and only experimental theater in Austin - The Vortex. And in her theater world, there are legions of creative people. From arial gymnasts (think Cirque du Soleil), to edgy stand-up acts, to giant productions involving mixed media and provocative subject matter - Bonnie's world is ALIVE with new ideas. And into this world, my sister is attempting to bring her own, progressive business model. Together, they hope to open a bar that is eco-friendly, open minded and magical. And I have to say - as the third one of the cousins - only involved from far away and very little - I am so thrilled and honored to have either of these ladies ask for my advice or help on ANYTHING.
Along with everything else, our cousin, Bonnie, is a witch.
So, when plans were being discussed for the big opening night party, Emily and I did not hesitate to throw out concepts like fire dancers, or gypsy belly dancers - OR magic potions dispensed by the fire pit. And, of course, my ever practical sister threw out her grand plan to dispense 'The Antidote to Whiskey Dick'. What a wonderful potion to have at a bar! Not only can the bar sell the poison we all crave so dearly, but also the ANTIDOTE to one of it's worst side effects. Brilliant!
"Just THINK about it, Jennifer.." my sister exclaimed in a merry,mellow state of mind "WHAT could be BETTER?"
"Well..." I said, in similar state,all the while staring at her cat, Bowie, who likes to torture me when I'm there - aggressively biting my toes every chance he gets, "I sure have had some problems with that. I'm sure every woman has."
"Yes!" she responded. "Everyone has! And it's so ridiculous! I mean, you go to a bar to drink and meet girls - or boys - and then, if your junk doesn't work - it defeats the whole purpose!"
My sister just wants everyone to be happy. That's her biggest goal in life. And she calls it like she sees it. Not just US - U.S. citizens - but EVERYONE. And she watches BBC and PBS news. So, unlike most of this country's population, she KNOWS that people are starving and dying of polluted water, etc. in other countries. She is acutely AWARE of the wars and warlords in Africa. She knows which countries are experiencing terrible droughts in any given week. And she takes it all to heart. So, where another, less informed person, might think that she was slightly shallow in her excitement about selling an 'Antidote to Whisky Dick' - I know exactly where she's coming from.
You see, one of Emily's big theories, is that people have lost sight of their animal selves. And that that distance - that removal from who we all essentially are - is a HUGE contributor to human downfall. Her view (in part) is that if people could only remember that we are animals mostly, and if we could get in touch with nature and all of the amazing and magical things that nature has to offer - we could heal the world in short order, and ALL be better off for it. And she (along with very well respected scientists and statisticians, and doctors - including Doctor Oz) believe that this country - still the most powerful country in the world - is inflicted with "sexual famine". That phrase is actually Dr. Oz's phrase. But, along with Emily and Dr. Oz, I believe that it's true. I would go further and say "sexual and love famine",myself.
So, in her attempts to make the world a better place - and make a living in the process, Emily strives for people to be comfortable in their own skin. Whatever skin that may be. And she delights in nudging love and sex along whenever possible. After all - love and sex DO make people happier - generally. And happy people make for a kinder, happier world.
So, if you find yourself in Austin, Texas - the 'island' in the stronghold of republican, Tea Party, neo-conservative, gun toting, truck driving, anti-gay,sexist, racist, fast food loving, unhappy,freaks - find my sister's bar in East Austin. The Butterfly Bar.
Ask for the Antidote to Whisky Dick if you need it, and tell her I sent you.
A week of working,playing,planning - and OF COURSE - drinking. Straight off of the plane from LA, Emily(my sister) took me to the bar where her girlfriend, Leslie, works. A little, dark hole in the wall called 'Dirty Bill's'. If you go there - find Leslie, and tell her I sent you.
Leslie is a beauty. She has smooth brown hair that is always tied back in a pony tail when she works, giant sparkling eyes, and a gorgeous smile. She works the bar gracefully in jeans and a 'Dirty' tee shirt, and always seems to have things under control - no matter how loud or crazy it gets in there. Her boyfriend, Donny, usually comes straight to the bar to help her and be her guard dog when he's finished working at his restaurant, Fonda San Miguel. (Fonda San Miguel is arguably the BEST Mexican restaurant in Austin, BTW)
Over the course of 5 short days, Emily and I ran around Austin to tons of second hand and vintage furniture shops (including our favorite, Room Service) buying chairs, lamps, beautiful glass pendant lights, wine glasses, mirrors, you name it. Every morning we got up and headed over to the Counter Cafe, decked out in furniture moving clothes and sunglasses, where we had amazing breakfasts - all from local farms, fresh to the table. Then we went shopping all day - Emily's friend, Puff-Puff, helping us out with the loan of her van and her feminine eye. As the days rolled by, Emily's place filled up with beautiful things for her new endeavor, The Butterfly Bar.
Emily has come into partnership with our cousin, Bonnie Cullum. Bonnie owns and is artistic director of the one and only experimental theater in Austin - The Vortex. And in her theater world, there are legions of creative people. From arial gymnasts (think Cirque du Soleil), to edgy stand-up acts, to giant productions involving mixed media and provocative subject matter - Bonnie's world is ALIVE with new ideas. And into this world, my sister is attempting to bring her own, progressive business model. Together, they hope to open a bar that is eco-friendly, open minded and magical. And I have to say - as the third one of the cousins - only involved from far away and very little - I am so thrilled and honored to have either of these ladies ask for my advice or help on ANYTHING.
Along with everything else, our cousin, Bonnie, is a witch.
So, when plans were being discussed for the big opening night party, Emily and I did not hesitate to throw out concepts like fire dancers, or gypsy belly dancers - OR magic potions dispensed by the fire pit. And, of course, my ever practical sister threw out her grand plan to dispense 'The Antidote to Whiskey Dick'. What a wonderful potion to have at a bar! Not only can the bar sell the poison we all crave so dearly, but also the ANTIDOTE to one of it's worst side effects. Brilliant!
"Just THINK about it, Jennifer.." my sister exclaimed in a merry,mellow state of mind "WHAT could be BETTER?"
"Well..." I said, in similar state,all the while staring at her cat, Bowie, who likes to torture me when I'm there - aggressively biting my toes every chance he gets, "I sure have had some problems with that. I'm sure every woman has."
"Yes!" she responded. "Everyone has! And it's so ridiculous! I mean, you go to a bar to drink and meet girls - or boys - and then, if your junk doesn't work - it defeats the whole purpose!"
My sister just wants everyone to be happy. That's her biggest goal in life. And she calls it like she sees it. Not just US - U.S. citizens - but EVERYONE. And she watches BBC and PBS news. So, unlike most of this country's population, she KNOWS that people are starving and dying of polluted water, etc. in other countries. She is acutely AWARE of the wars and warlords in Africa. She knows which countries are experiencing terrible droughts in any given week. And she takes it all to heart. So, where another, less informed person, might think that she was slightly shallow in her excitement about selling an 'Antidote to Whisky Dick' - I know exactly where she's coming from.
You see, one of Emily's big theories, is that people have lost sight of their animal selves. And that that distance - that removal from who we all essentially are - is a HUGE contributor to human downfall. Her view (in part) is that if people could only remember that we are animals mostly, and if we could get in touch with nature and all of the amazing and magical things that nature has to offer - we could heal the world in short order, and ALL be better off for it. And she (along with very well respected scientists and statisticians, and doctors - including Doctor Oz) believe that this country - still the most powerful country in the world - is inflicted with "sexual famine". That phrase is actually Dr. Oz's phrase. But, along with Emily and Dr. Oz, I believe that it's true. I would go further and say "sexual and love famine",myself.
So, in her attempts to make the world a better place - and make a living in the process, Emily strives for people to be comfortable in their own skin. Whatever skin that may be. And she delights in nudging love and sex along whenever possible. After all - love and sex DO make people happier - generally. And happy people make for a kinder, happier world.
So, if you find yourself in Austin, Texas - the 'island' in the stronghold of republican, Tea Party, neo-conservative, gun toting, truck driving, anti-gay,sexist, racist, fast food loving, unhappy,freaks - find my sister's bar in East Austin. The Butterfly Bar.
Ask for the Antidote to Whisky Dick if you need it, and tell her I sent you.
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