Peter and I fight in the rain.

About halfway through the Spring, I had to take Max to see his grandparents in Beaver Falls, PA. From there, his father would visit him and take him back to Dallas for a bit. We took the legendary Amtrak route through the mountains and the 'horseshoe pass'. I can remember it still. When you got around to the other side of that treacherous looking pass, you could see the whole curve of the train track where you had come from. It was high up on the side of beautiful green mountains with the mountain wall on one side, and miles straight down on the other side. It was hard NOT to imagine a train careening off of that narrow track into oblivion.
I stayed one night in the little, odd house that Max's father had grown up in. I guess it wasn't really odd. More likely MY surroundings were the odd ones growing up, and this house was the model of normal.
Anyway, I tried to imagine him growing up there. That was hard, because Max's father had become such a cool, eighties dude. He was a suit-wearing lawyer who ACTUALLY, LITERALLY wore sun glasses at night on our first date WHILE blaring the song on his BMW's stereo, driving 80 miles an hour on the spaghetti-like freeways of Dallas. He and his groomsmen wore dark sunglasses in every photo at our wedding. But that's another story.

Then I came back to Peter, and it was just the two of us.
One night, we were going to a little hang-out with a bunch of Interlochen/NYU friends. (OK - this is where you can CHIME IN, people! If you were AT this little shin-dig, or know who WAS - or anything else relevant - I would LOVE the help! It WAS a LONG time ago!)

Peter had gotten me a present. I think, partly, to make amends for locking me out in the hallway with no clothes on. And partly it was an early birthday present. I have mentioned before that I used to LOVE red lipstick. That quirk of mine had not gone unnoticed by Peter. He had gone out to some big department store and bought me the most expensive and glamorous lipstick he could find.It was, of course, Chanel.

I opened up the little package - SO nicely wrapped!- and let out a squeal of delight at finding that beautiful, shiny black lipstick case and the most intense red lipstick I had ever seen.
"Oh, Peter!" I let out as I flung my arms around him, "I LOVE it! It's perfect!"
"Do you really like it?" he replied, his whole face blushing red.
"Yes, yes,yes! I LOVE it! Thank you!"
Peter wiped his brow in an exaggerated manner, "Sheesh!" he said, "I'm REALLY glad, because you don't know what I went through for that." He pointed at the lipstick as though it were yellow cake uranium. "They attacked me, Jennifer! Those LADIES at Bloomingdale's - they just attack you! try to spray you with all kinds of horrible things...I had to take another shower to get all the horrible purfumey-stuff off! I HATE that place!"
"Oh, Peter. You are so brave."
"So, will you wear it tonight? he asked.
"Of COURSE I will! I'd just LOVE to, brave sir!"

We got a little bit dressed up. I wore my new RED lipstick, and my favorite red patent leather pumps with red bows on them. But, no sooner than we were at the elevator (me feeling SO glam in that intense red lipstick), than Peter did the most HORRIBLE thing! He kissed me! Like SMOOCH kissed me! Red lipstick smeared ALL over my face - he totally did it on purpose. Ugh! I had to go back into the apt. and wash my whole face - but I reapplied that lipstick. I was determined to wear it.

So, we were a little late to this party. I can't remember everyone who was there. Hilary probably, maybe Drew, and John Patton, and Brad Friedman. If you were AT this dinner party with Peter and I - PLEASE let me know! Lisa might have been there - and some other people from NYU that I didn't know, or knew only a little.

It was really, really fun. Great conversations filled up the room. I could feel the energy buzzing around me, as it almost always seemed to do when Interlochen people got together. Every one of us seemed to be doing something, or thinking something more interesting than your average bear. And Brad started talking to me in his unique way.

Brad Friedman was very very thin and wiry. He had curly hair and a long face, with a wide smile that reminded me of a fox. Or a jackal. By the time this dinner party took place, I believe he had slept his way through at LEAST half of my friends. Some of them being knocked off two at a time. Not that I'm judging that. It was the eighties. People were doing coke, and experimenting like crazy with their sexuality. And I would say - at least I THOUGHT - that Brad Friedman was super sexual.He wasn't TYPICALLY that great looking. But he turned on the charm like an old fashioned snake-oil salesman, and the ladies (and sometimes men) just fell into his bed like mana from heaven. And to his credit - I never actually heard any complaints from my friends that slept with him.

He had turned his vibrant charm on to me more than once. But it had the opposite effect where I was concerned.I admired him, and hated him a little bit. For no better reason that I hated his arrogance. He should have been a politician. Maybe he is.
Anyway, I remember many times throughout my life feeling like the rabbit to his foxy tactics. He was smart. Is smart. Has a VERY good blog of his own, I might add. And that's how he got to you. Through your brain.

This night in question, I found myself cornered by Brad at a later point in the evening. Peter was having an in depth conversation with someone else, and Brad made his move. I don't remember exactly what we were talking about, but I do remember how uncomfortable I was, and a little bit flattered despite myself. We were over in a corner. Finally Peter came over and put his hand on my waist.
"I'm ready to go. How about you?" he said.
I was ready to go. But instead of saying that, I took his hand away from my waist and said, "Yea. In just a minute."
I don't EXACTLY know why I did that - except that there is always this line. This line in time - with relationships. BEFORE you both cross that line, there is no OWNERSHIP of one another. And none of that behavior is allowed. And AFTER that line, some of that behavior IS allowed. Expected even. And in my personal experience, men usually want to cross the line into "ownership" territory more quickly than women want to. I have heard of it happening the other way around - to be SURE - but in MY world - it seems the men always get there first.
I wasn't ready for Peter to display that "she's MY girl" type of behavior in front of these old friend yet. And as soon as I removed his hand, I could feel that I had hurt his feelings - or at least his pride.

So, I got my coat, grabbed Peter's hand, and said "Let's get out of here."
"I thought you didn't want to leave yet." Peter responded a little sulkily.
"Well, I do." I said, trying to fix things. Then I gave him a big kiss on the cheek in front of everyone.

Outside, it was raining cats and dogs. We started for home - tipsy, and sploshing around in the puddles like little kids.
"I couldn't BELIEVE what you were saying about Emily Dickenson in there." Peter said disdainfully. "I don't even consider her a REAL poet. It's a bunch of schmaltz."
Somehow, walking in the rain, we got into a HUGE fight about Emily Dickenson. We went back and forth. I was getting REALLY angry. It felt like he was attacking ME, too. Saying that I was stupid because I liked some of her poetry.I defended her to the death.

We would have taken a cab - it was raining SO hard, and it was a long walk - but we were fighting too intensely. By the time we got to 7th ave. and 17th st. I was in tears. Angry tears.
Peter grabbed my arm.
"Ok. Maybe she IS a real poet. Maybe I just don't get her because I'm not a girl."he said.
I was FURIOUS.
"Maybe you don't "GET" her because you're an IDIOT!" I said in my anger. ( the last thing Peter was or is is an idiot)...and then a bulb went off in my head. I took a step back, and "out", and looked at Peter's face. Really LOOKED. The poor guy looked tortured. He didn't look angry at all. He looked miserable.
I took a deep breath. "This isn't about Emily Dickenson at all, is it?" I asked, with what I hoped was a much less angry face.
"Well, kind of..." Peter said. Now he looked confused.
"Oh, Peter. I love you so much." I said. Now he REALLY looked confused.
"I'd rather fight with you in the rain about Emily Dickenson than be with anyone else in the whole world right now. This is the best fight I've ever had."

And I was telling the truth. It WAS the best fight I'd ever had.
I went over and started to kiss him. I just got right in there while he was still dazed and confused. He kissed me back, then pulled me away for a second.
"Really?" he said."Is this really the best fight you've ever had?"
"Yup."I said, trying to kiss him again.
"So does that mean it's over?" he had to clarify before any more kissing could be had.
"Yes. It's all over." I said. Then we made out in the rain.

By the time we got upstairs we were soaked through. And laughing. Each drenched item of clothing found it's way to the bedroom floor one by one. And when we were finally shivering in each other's arms under the covers, Peter finally said, "I guess it wasn't really ALL about Emily Dickenson..."
I just waited. I knew what it was about.
"I guess I was a little jealous of Brad tonight. You were talking to him for so long."
I still didn't say anything. I just kissed his cheek.
Then Peter pulled away a little bit so that he could look right into my eyes. "I AM your boyfriend, right? I mean, you don't want anybody ELSE, do you?"

Oh my goodness. If I could show you his face just then - if I could only show you his face - you would fall instantly in love with this perfect, honest, earnest boy. The way that he looked at me just then is the way that everyone wants to be looked at at least once in their lives. This look is what sells romance movies, and diamond engagement rings...this look, this moment is food for a soul. It is a treasure that will never be taken from me. And with that look - in that moment - I crossed the line.
"Yes. You are my boyfriend. And I don't want anyone else. I'm all yours."

I said it slowly and carefully so that he would know that I meant it.
From that moment forward, there was no doubt. We belonged to each other.

Peter wins a bet.

At some point early on in our little romance, Peter asked me if I liked country music.
"No!" I exclaimed, vehemently. "I HATE country music!"
"Well, but ALL of it? You can't hate it ALL.." he replied.
"Peter, I grew up in TEXAS. I LOATHE ALL country music."
"What about Patsy Cline?", he cleverly chimed in.
"No. She doesn't even count. I love her, you know that. But she's above and beyond."
Hilary had turned me on to Patsy Cline at Interlochen, and I loved, loved, loved me some Patsy Cline.
"What about Hank Williams, or Johnny Cash?" Peter persisted.."what about the old stuff?"
"Well, maybe. But NOTHING past 1970. Nothin', nothin', nothin'!" I said in a country accent.
"Have you ever heard of Dwight Yoakam?"
"Nope. And I don't want to."
"You are so stubborn!" said Peter. "I'll make you a bet right here and now that I can show you some NEW country music that you will just love. Or - at least you won't HATE it."
"Well, I'll take that bet!" I said with total confidence, "You'd better make the stakes high - because I'm going to win. What DO I get WHEN I win?"
Peter thought about it for a minute.
Shoot, I didn't REALLY,REALLY think there was NO likable country music out there - but I LOVED watching Peter get so earnest and bent out of shape. Plus, it WAS true - growing up in Texas, I was tortured by bad country music on the radio.
"Well, what do I want when I win, is the big question.." Peter mulled."If I win - you have to do any crazy thing I ask you to - but only for 20 minutes, ok?"
"Like WHAT?" I asked.
"Like, I don't know - anything. Bark like a dog, or climb a tree - just anything I come up with, ok?"
"Ok, fine. And WHEN I win, I would like you to take me back to that Italian restaurant in the Village where the guy sings opera."
"OH MAN! THAT place!!???" Peter groaned.
"Yes. THAT place."

THAT PLACE was an Italian restaurant in the Village that Peter took me to for a real 'date night'. The nanny stayed late so that we could go out for a real romantic dinner, and Peter had found this place that looked so charming. It was straight out of an old black and white movie. One of those places in the Village that was half basement, and seemed like it had been there forever. We came in from the cold to a cozy warm vibe, the smell of garlic bread and good sauce filling the place up. It had red and white checkered tablecloths, drippy candles on all the tables, and it was just dark enough.

We took our coats off, Peter signed in with the host, and we began to look around a bit more. The place was lively - bustling. I took that as a sign that the food must be good. Then Peter tugged at my sleeve.
"Uhh...do you notice anything...different about this place?"
"Well, it looks great to me." I said. "And I'm starving."
"Do you not notice that there are an awful lot of MEN here?" Peter said. I looked around. He was right. In fact, I was the ONLY girl in the place. I looked at Peter and shrugged.
"I don't know, Jennifer. You know I'm not homophobic, but some of these guys are REALLY checking me out."
Indeed they were. Checking out young,red-headed Peter with his lovely carpenter body. I thought it was HILARIOUS.
"I'm a tiny bit uncomfortable. Maybe we should go somewhere else?" Peter whispered, just as the host was waving us to a cozy table in the center of the room.
"Don't be ridiculous. We've just gotten a table. And anyway, I'll protect you."

The night turned out to be SUPER fun, despite Peter's initial misgivings. A bunch of men DID flirt with him, and a couple of them told me what a lucky girl I was. It was great. And the food was great. And then, this old Italian man burst into opera - right by our table. We drank lots of wine - I would have sworn that our waiter kept pouring free glasses after our bottle was gone through. And when we stumbled out into the cold air, I think Peter's head was at least two sizes bigger.

A couple of weeks later, after we placed our bet and shook on it, Peter came home with an CD to play me. It was Dwight Yoakam. And I couldn't lie. I liked it.

Triumphant, and gloating, Peter was ready to name his reward.
"Go up on the roof, and take all of your clothes off." Peter said with authority.
"Are you CRAZY!?" I just about shouted.
"Well, that's debatable. But never the less.."

Somehow (and I know that many people who know me won't believe I did this - because I can be so shy about my body - but if you track Peter down, he will confirm it)...SOMEHOW I did end up on the roof. Naked as the day I was born. But that wasn't the worst part. Peter made a grab for my clothes and ran inside with them, locking me out! So I ended up IN THE HALLWAY of my APARTMENT BUILDING - NAKED! Yelling at Peter through the door, pounding on it, threatening to kill him.

I probably wasn't out there for very long. No one came into the hall while I was stranded out there - but it felt like forever.
Peter could NOT stop laughing. He was laughing so hard it looked like he would break into pieces. And when I finally got over the idea that I was going to kill him, I started laughing, too.

Peter's instant family.

Peter moved in with us that very first night. I don't remember any discussion about it - it just happened. The next day, while I was at rehearsal at 890 Broadway - right next to the 'Starlight Express' cast - Peter went to Brooklyn to get some of his clothes and things, and just moved right in.

It was wonderful to have him there. And so much happened during those crazy long and short three months - I'm sure I'll get the timing mixed up for lots of these little stories.

When Peter first moved in, we were an instant little family. I would go to rehearsal every day for the show, leaving Max with the wonderful Indian nanny that I had found. She was beautiful and patient and always thirsty. Her constant lecture to me was that I should drink more water. It must have sunk in - because I drink TONS of water now.
Peter would go off every day looking for union work on some new skyscraper going up. Come home with tales of crusty,older carpenters down at the union building that needed the work more than he did.
"What was I going to do?" he'd say, "Patrick has a family to feed. He's got THREE kids, for Christ's sake!" He would shake his head at the dismal state of things - work wise - and then he'd look at me and pull out a great big grin. "Awww...it'll get better in a week! Let's go out to dinner!"

And out to dinner we would go. I just took Max everywhere with us, and everywhere we took him, Max charmed the pants off of people. I kept a watchful eye on Peter the whole time. I was worried that he wouldn't want the trouble of being with a little kid, so I tried to never let that burden rest on his shoulders for even a moment. A couple of times, Max woke up in the middle of the night and Peter said, "I'll go. I don't have work tomorrow, and you do." But I never let him.

One sunny Saturday afternoon we went for a boat ride in Central Park. Max loved it. He'd been asking to go on those boats, and it was finally warm enough. We paddled out to the middle of the pond, waving at everybody, having a grand time. And just when we were trying to decide where to go next - the paddle boat started filling up with water at an alarming rate.
"We're sinking!" I exclaimed.
"Bail!" ordered Peter.
We looked around for something to bail the water out with, and all we had was one paper cup - from a fountain drink.
Max was delighted. We decided we'd better paddle for shore as fast as we could, with Max bailing water as fast as he could. By the time we got back to the little paddle boat place, our ship was halfway under water, and we were all soaking wet - especially Max. But it was a warm day, and we didn't care.As we were walking back to the apartment, a cute older couple stopped us.

"Oh what an adorable little boy." they said about Max. That was not uncommon. Then the older gentleman addressed Peter. "That's a beautiful little family you've got there." he said.
I turned beet red from embarasment. This is EXACTLY what I didn't need! Ugh. Peter would flee like a man on fire if people started saying things like that! Max's own father had...so why WOULDN'T a much younger and much less employed man? I tried to whip Max and myself into a pseudo hiding place behind a hot dog vendor. But I could hear Peter's response loud and clear.
"Why thank you. " he said, "Thank you very much."
Anyone could have said that out of politeness, but I turned right around in time to see Peter's face. He was beaming. Not angry or weird, like I thought he'd be - but beaming. Proud looking. As if we WERE his family, and he was so happy to show us off.
He looked right at me. "They are pretty beautiful, aren't they?"

With that simple gesture, Peter pulled off a layer of the protective wall I had guarding my heart. And he kept doing it. Just as Max's father had taught me to put those layers on - build those walls as if my heart were a fortress that needed to be protected, Peter took them away. One by one, I could feel the hurt peeling off. One by one, I could feel the wounds being filled up and healed with unabashed love. Not JUST for me - but for Max, too. And even though it was early in the game (as far as me being a mother) - I already knew down to my core that Max and I were one. We didn't come separately. We came as a package.

One time we took Max to the movies. I was hoping he would go to sleep in my arms, like he had done so many times at the movies. But he was getting a little old for that - and still too young to enjoy the movie. So I took him out to the lobby and let him run around. We went outside for a few minutes, too, just to change the scenery. I had left Peter in the movie theater with Max's stroller and our jackets and stuff. No reason for both of us to miss it.
When Max looked as though he were FINALLY getting sleepy, I snuck back into the theater, and sat in the back row - letting Max fall asleep on my shoulder. There were only a few minutes left of the movie.
The house lights went up, and I began to look for Peter. He was no-where to be found. Nor was the stroller, or our jackets, or anything. I hoisted Max further up on my shoulder and went into the lobby to look for Peter. No Peter. I asked one of the ushers to look in the men's room. No Peter. Back into the theater - he was nowhere!

I got ready to walk the many, many cold blocks back to my apartment with a heavy toddler on my shoulder. I was worried that he would get really cold on the way. But what else to do? My bag was with Peter, too - so - no cab fare. I walked about half a block down the street when I heard his voice behind us.
"Jennifer! Jennifer! Wait up!"he called as he ran up to us with the stroller and all our crap piled on top of it. "I was so worried! Where WERE you guys!!??" he said.

My initial instinct to be annoyed with him (HE had disappeared after all, not me)was instantly flushed away by the worried look on his face. Peter did not have much of a filter.At Interlochen, I would have said he had none. And that same quality that I found so annoying and young a couple of years before, turned out to be one of the best things about him.
He had been so concerned about us, that he'd spent almost the whole movie looking for us - we'd been going in circles.

If I had any doubt remaining about Peter, or how he felt about BOTH of us, it was gone now. It was gone after seeing that look on his face, and hearing all the way home how worried he'd been that something bad had really happened to us.

At home,we put Max to bed, ate cold chinese noodles right out of the fridge, and made plans to take Max on the ferry the next day (for a quarter a piece) and check out the Statue of Liberty.
As we snuggled into bed, and Peter put his strong arms around me he said, "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you guys. You know that, don't you?"
I nodded my head "yes", and tried not to let him feel the tears that were running down my cheek.

Peter.

This story is my argument that it isn't always the LENGTH of a love story that determines it's worth - sometimes a LOT of love and life can be packed into a few short months. Three, in this case.

Peter Steadman came to Interlochen my senior year. The same year that I took off a quarter to do musical theater in Dallas. He was just starting Interlochen that year as a sophomore.

Peter had bright red/orange hair, freckles,was an inch shorter than me, and looked exactly like the 'young Santa' in that stop-motion animation thing that ran every Christmas when we were kids - it's called 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town', I think. Anyway - it's the one where they tell you the origins of Santa Claus - with Miester Burger Burger Miester - that guy was who hated toys. PLEASE feel free to chime in if any of you know these details!
Peter was VERY energetic, just like a puppy with SOOOO much energy, and one day - near the end of school, he took me out to the forrest to have a chat. It was spring time, after a LONG winter. Birds were chirping, bees buzzing, flowers blossoming....Spring, in fact, was in the air. Peter sat me down on a fallen tree and proclaimed his love to me. He stood there, baring his heart....and what did I do? Evil, evil girl that I was! I couldn't help it! I just started laughing. I mean he was so SINCERE! I just couldn't help it. I didn't WANT to be mean - but I laughed. I did. It was horrible. But it wasn't THAT horrible, because Peter laughed with me. Not at first - but when I wasn't stopping...he started laughing, too. That was a big part of the reason that he thought he loved me. Because we had so much fun together.

So that's what happened at Interlochen. I laughed at him, scorned him as a younger man, if you will, and that's it. But we remained friends somehow.

Cut to a couple years later. I get an offer of a Broadway show. While I'm still at LAMDA. I can't refuse. Steve Fox and his family fly Max and I to NYC, and relocate us into this bomb apartment on West 17th St. In Manhattan. It's on the top floor of a new building, and it's TWO WHOLE bedrooms and TWO WHOLE BATHROOMS!!!! In the city! With hardwood floors. And a new kitchen! And I'm given carte blanche - car service, accounts at restaurants - I feel RICH!!!!! After starving to death at LAMDA - saved ONLY by Joe's kindness and homemade Italian food - I feel RICH!!!

I had everybody over I possibly could. The Husky girls, Hilary, Lothair came, I think John Patton, Chris Earl came one time (different blog) - and finally - Peter came.
Peter came over one day on his own. I don't exactly remember how we connected with each other. But - he came over one night for a visit. He got along swimmingly with Max. And I was immediately impressed with several things about him. First off, he was taller. Secondly, his voice had dropped an octave. Thirdly, he had dropped out of NYU's writing program to become a union carpenter - and it SHOWED!!! Fourthly, he just seemed like a man instead of a kid.

After Max went to sleep,Peter went around the apartment telling me all of the non-union flaws that he saw - and explained WHY they were so bad and how they should have been done on a union job. This was very sexy to me. I have always been a sucker for a man who is good with his hands.
Then, we watched a little TV, and talked about stuff. Drank some wine.We discussed the idea of Peter staying the night - because it was so late and he'd have to take the train out to Brooklyn and all..

I brushed my teeth and got into my PJ's. My head was reeling. I could FEEL Peter waiting out in the living room - probably pacing. I didn't know what to make of it, or what I should. I couldn't stop thinking about Peter's confession in the woods only a couple of years prior - and how I had been so mean - probably screwed everything up - in CASE ...just in CASE he liked me like that still.

As I was coming out of the bathroom with sparkly clean teeth, Peter sort of rushed in to me. He grabbed both of my hands and pulled me into the bedroom, sat me down on the bed and kneeled before me.
"The thing is, Jennifer, " he said in an earnest whisper, "Is that I can't stay here. I just can't.."
He said this, but he didn't SEEM this.
"Why, Peter? It's 2 o'clock in the morning." I said back to him, trying to read his face and voice over and above his words.
"I can't stay here with you tonight....", Peter said carefully and slowly, "because I am REALLY attracted to you. And I'll go crazy. I will literally go stark, raving mad if I have to sleep in the other room with you just in here...I just can't do that. I can't."
He tried to pull his hands away from mine, but I wouldn't let him. I pulled back. Brought him in close to me. So close, I could smell his breath.
"Stay." I whispered.
"Really?" Peter said - and it was almost a little too loud.
I just kissed him and pulled him into bed with me.

That night started one of the best love affairs of my life. It only lasted three months - but when I tell you abut those three months, I think you might understand where I am coming from.

our first Christmas in LA...

I moved out to LA against ALL advice from everyone. Except maybe my boyfriend at the time. He was an actor, and supportive. Otherwise - no one. For some reason my whole family thought (and mostly still thinks) that LA is the land of the DEVIL.
When my mind goes into imagining their version of LA - I see lakes of molten fire with creepy plastic surgery ladies dancing around it and chanting some evil words to seduce me into a life of plastic bad-doing and HELL! The casting couches are as big as a small house, and when you DARE to sit on one, you are swallowed up whole like quick sand! Evil, bad men with slicked - back hair, driving convertable BMWs lure young girls into their cars - only so they can drive them straight to the gates of hell - where there are crazy orgies going on night and day!
And I just want to say to them all (I still do!) - I SURVIVED DALLAS!!!!! NOTHING can be MORE plastic or EVIL!!!!

Anyway, I moved out here with a 3 year old little boy (Max) and a crappy car, and no-one else that I knew in the world - except that my boyfriend was going to move out some months after me, and Hilary Aptowitz was coming to live with Max and I just as soon as we got an apartment.

David Poynter ( my boyfriend) drove me out with all of my stuff. David was hands down the most beautiful man I was ever with. Hands down. He looked like a model. And he had a place for us to stay when we first landed. It was with a pretty big casting guy at Disney. He had a place up, up, up Beachwood Canyon.A really sick place. And it was so odd - because at the very same time that this guy was flirting with ME - in front of my boyfriend, making him jealous - I was getting some major gay-dar vibes from him. It turns out I was RIGHT. He was in lust with David, and well, whatever. Not important.

Because of David's introductions to agencies from this guy - this friend - I got an agent in the first week of moving here. And not just any agent. A GOOD one. STE, if anyone remembers. They later turned into Paradigm. And they started sending me out immediately.
We found an apartment in Korea town - which I chose because it reminded me of New York - David wasn't going to live with me - but Hil was flying out right away. She was great. We had no furniture, poor as Church-mice, but Hilary made our place look great. She turned cardboard boxes into little side tables, threw beautiful scarfs over everything, filled our big closet up with beautiful clothes, and our tiny bathroom up with the most expensive and lovely smelling bath products imaginable! She had a couple of items that I LOVED to borrow and wear - and of mine - I mostly remember her wearing my jodpurs - which she looked GREAT in!

And the two of us with Max were a hoot! Hilary was especially funny. She would sweep Max up in her arms - this adorable little blonde boy - and say "Kiss me, you fool!" and Max would collapse into giggles and try to squirm away from her. But then, after awhile, he sort of got the routine down and would answer back VERY dramatically,"YES!!!! I will kiss you - but YOU are the fool!"

By the time Christmas rolled around, I had already had a couple of TV jobs,Hilary had I been on some great adventures, and we felt like we could throw a Christmas party. So we did.
We got a Christmas tree with Max, and decorated it with the most random things you can imagine - lots of jewelry, and some paper things we made - some of Max's toys made it onto the tree - and we made some phone calls.

The night of the party, our tiny apartment looked and felt like Holly Golightly's place in 'Breakfast at Tiffanies'. There were people packed into every corner. In the tiny kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and also spilling outside into the hallway, and the stair landing. I was beyond impressed at our combined effort to throw such a good party. But I felt that it was mostly due to Hil.

Anyway - the party was slammin', and we were all having a great time. The median age was probably 23, and there were all kinds of beautiful people and characters there. And then a surprise walked through the door.

Our friend, Phil Lewis, (from Interlochen) walked through the door with Christian Slater and some other actor that ended up being a big deal. It was SOO great to see Phil! I didn't have the slightest idea that he had a TV show...he was the teacher on a show called "Teach" back in the early 90's - if you have kids, you might know him from a current Disney show, "The Suite Life of Zack and Cody" - which I think has moved to a boat or something, but my kids are too old to watch that show anymore, so I've lost track! Phil played the manager of the Hotel that Zack and Cody lived in - you know the uptight and proper hotel manager - lots of eye-rolling at the kids' antics!

Drinks were flowing, music going, everyone having a good time. I have a couple of polaroids from that party - must find those! And before I knew it, Christian Slater was beckoning me to come outside into the hallway with him.
He asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said "yes".
He asked me if it was 'serious', I said "yes".
We talked about acting. Agents, movies coming up, auditions, etc. I was sitting on the stairs, and he was sort of leaning over me. We were getting along really well. Conversation was easy. And just as he leaned down to kiss me anyway - my boyfriend came out and saw the whole thing.
"What's going on?" David demanded.
"Nothing", I said, with a guilty look.
"REALLY?" David said. "REALLY? 'Cause it LOOKS like something is going on." He said, looking like he was going to murder Christian Slater.
Christian just laughed. "Look, man. Nothing happened. Calm down."
You know what Christian Slater is like - you can imagine perfectly how this all came out - his sly grin, slightly superior look on his face, the attitude that he and I were in on some secret joke that David just didn't GET.....horrible for David. Just horrible.

Well, despite a few moments of not knowing - David did NOT beat Christian Slater to a pulp, and we all had a great time.

A few days later, we had to get rid of our very DRY Christmas tree. Hilary and I put our heads together, as we did with all things back then. We realized that the trash bins were directly below our windows, and decided to simply throw the tree out of the window. Max was thrilled. We all got it off of it's stand, and heaved it out the window - 6 stories down. It landed with a big thud on the dumpster, and Max's cry of "Oh yea! Yea, baby!"
It's a memory that has stuck out in his mind all these years. So funny what people remember - and don't.

That Christmas, Hilary and I were best of friends - that was a treasure in and of itself. I was in love with an amazing and gorgeous man, my career as a TV actress was just getting started, and my little boy was having fun doing the simple things. He didn't resent me because all three of us lived in a one bedroom apartment, or even because I didn't always have money for his favorite cereal - Max just thought it was great that we were throwing Christmas trees out of the window, and that he got to ride around with me going to auditions all day instead of going to some scary pre-school or day care. He thought it was cool that our local grocery store was Korean and they had lots of 'monsters' (lobsters) and fish swimming around in tanks to visit every time we went for groceries.

Our futures were right in front of us. We were all young and beautiful and fearless.

"Kiss me, you fool!", Hilary said to Max after he quit jumping up and down with glee over the Christmas tree landing.
"I SHALL kiss you, fair maiden!", said Max this time, "But don't tell me I didn't warn you!"
And with that, he gave Hilary a terribly big and wet 3 year old kiss - and Hil went down shrieking with laughter.

drowning.

do you remember this feeling? when was the last time you felt it?

I'm drowning in this water.
Your love is taking me
I can breathe through your lips
in the middle of your love
I can move like a mermaid.
Like a sea flower.
folding
unfolding
A baby-flower
in your arms.
You sing to my fears.
Forever is in your eyes.

the worst Christmas ever.

For a few reasons, I am inclined to write about the worst Christmas ever. There have been a couple of bad ones. But this was, in my memory, the worst.

We were all living on Ave G., in Austin. I was pretty young. Eleven or so. When I say 'we were all' - I mean that it was the original family. Before divorce, before we started splitting up. My dad, and step-mother (who was my mom for all practical purposes, I didn't have another), me, my 2 brothers, Robert and Marcus, and our half siblings, Alice , Paul and Emily - in that order.

I wish that I could take you into that world. I wish I could without writing an entire novel about it. My dad, our dad, was going back to school for his PHD in English. Our mother was having babies and going to U.T. as well. She was a painter, and studying early childhood education. They were in love. Despite all of the fighting, and our poverty. They were in love. My father was a photographer, he had black and white photos of us up all over the house. In the hall by their bedroom was a black and white photo of our mom, topless, in the park, wearing her John Lennon glasses, her hair in braids, looking very young and smart and sexy.

My parents always had a big bookcase right in the living room with books, photo albums, and the bottom 2 shelves were devoted to their records. My dad had the top shelf - jazz, classical, opera. My mom had the very bottom shelf. Fellini soundtracks, Billy Holiday, Joni Mitchell, the Beatles, The Stones,Rick James, Edith Piaf, etc.

They had great parties. Even with six kids. My dad's best friend was another English guy at U.T. - the guy who played "Leatherface" in Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But in real life,his name was Gunnar Hansen, and he was a kitten. Sometimes he got drunk and I would find him on our couch the next morning. Or even a couple times on the porch swing out side. When Star Wars came out - all of my parents' friends were obsessed with it. They went to a big Star Wars party - and I remember thinking it was the coolest thing in the world to watch them get dressed up, especially when my sexy aunt Annie came over dressed as Princess Lea. This may have even been before THAT Christmas.

We had a big, old house that my grandmother - the same one that sent me to Interlochen - bought for us. For me, it was a little bit of heaven because I had my own room, way up in the attic. Attached to the attic. It was blazing hot in the summer, and pretty cold in the winter, but I didn't care. I got to get away from everyone up there - hide out with the squirrels in that big pecan tree that was growing right outside and UP TO my windows. My step-mom let me paint it violet. She guided me away from a gaudy purple color and towards a very light, soft violet. I loved that room. I could read all night up there without getting caught. And I did.

It was coming on Christmas time, and we were all getting excited. I remember, earlier in the month, a pretty funny thing happened with my little brother, Marcus.

We had this clutch of bushes on the side of the house that we called a fort. The bigger kids. There was a little hollowed out space in the middle that we could hide in, make plans in. Also, it was a great place for finding rose quartz. And, early in December, just as it was getting really cold, Robert and I dared our little brother, Marcus for a dollar.

We took him in the 'fort' and put it to him thusly; "OK. We have a proposition. WE will give YOU a whole dollar.." (Robert held up the dollar to show him we were serious) "if YOU will do something OUTRAGEOUS."
"What do I have to do?", Marcus asked timidly. He was the runt of us bigger three. The little brother we could always hear calling, "Wait for me!"
Robert looked at me,and our neighbor, Brad, knowingly. The four of us were inseparable in those days.
Brad took up the lead "OK." he said. "Here's the deal..." he bent over and whispered into Marcus' ear.
"No WAY?!" said Marcus.
"YES WAY!" said Brad and Robert. Marcus looked to me, I was often his savior, but this time I was in on the evil plot.I nodded 'yes', then removed myself from the 'fort', jumping up and down in the cold and breathing hard so that I could see the little cloud of smoke come out of my mouth. I contemplated whether or not it was worth it to stay out there. He wouldn't go through with it! It was COLD out there.
Then the bushes shook and I was joined by Brad and Robert, rubbing their hands in delight.
"He's gonna DOOO it! " they practically sang with glee.

Before any of us had a moment to prepare for the event, our little brother, skinny and white as all get-out, came streaking out of the bushes with a high-pitched yowl - naked as the day he was born.He ran into the street, stopping one car, as I remember it, jumping up and down screaming like a banshee!
It all seemed like it happened in slow motion, but super fast, too. I felt like I didn't have time to shut my wide open mouth and transition from gawking at his little rubber penis flapping around, to letting the belly-laugh rip that was just about bursting from my seams before our mother came running out the front door, yelling like nobody's business at all of us!
"Are you all CRAZY!?" she yelled. "What the hell got into YOU?" she directed at Marcus as she swooped him up with one arm and whisked him inside faster than any of us could ever believe.

A couple minutes later , she was lecturing us all as she was ironing in the dining room.
"Would you like to tell me what that was all about?"she said, sternly.
"WE didn't tell him to run out into the street neked...." Robert started to say.
"NEKED???!!!" Sheila seemed like she was about to burst a gasket. That word sent her off five times more than Marcus actually doing it, apparently. "NEKED!!??" she repeated. "What ARE you, hillbillies? Your FATHER is an ENGLISH teacher! The WORD is NAKED! Don't you EVER let me catch you saying 'neked' again! Do you UNDERSTAND this? And what in God's name? Sending your little brother out in the freezing cold! AND in the street! He could have been KILLED!"she looked at us all with a withering look. Marcus had been sent to bathe and get into his PJ's. "And let me tell you - you (she pointed at Robert) had BETTER give him his dollar!"

The lesson I mulled over that evening in my little attic bedroom was this. 1:don't sound like a hillbillie. 2: don't send your little brother into the street when it's freezing and he could get run over by a car. 3: don't welch on your bets.

A couple of weeks later, the week before Christmas, it happened.

Our little brother, Paul, got very, very sick. He had to go to the hospital. My brothers and my sister, Alice, were sent to Dona Hilda's in San Antonio.(our Cuban grandmother) My parents were at the hospital night and day. I was all alone. I was left behind 'to help'.
Mostly, I was just scared. I stayed up in my room reading Dickens every minute that I could.
Then, my father asked me to go and get a Christmas tree with him.

As we were getting our warm things on, he said to me very seriously,"Jennifer, your little brother might die."
I heard a catch in his voice, and I wanted to be so strong for him. I nodded, and tried to be brave like the heroes in my books.

We got the tree and brought it back home. Putting it in the stand involved some sawing, and some nails. We had the tree sort of hanging off the front porch, so that we could work on the bottom bit. I wasn't strong enough to hold the tree while my dad was trying to saw it straight across.
It went every which way.
"Damn it." my father said over and over again "Damn it to hell!"


Then it came to the part where we had to hammer some nails into it. I didn't know what I was doing.I don't remember exactly what happened after that, but I do remember this - I remember it so clearly that my face turns red just thinking about it. I did something wrong, and my father lost his temper on me. He lost it big time.
"No daughter of mine doesn't KNOW how to Hammer a FUCKING NAIL!" he yelled at me as he let lose and started whaling on me. His big hand landed across my face and just kept going. He pounded and pounded on me, yelling the whole time.I ended up curled in a ball, trying to protect myself, hiding my face from his blows. When he was done yelling , he picked me up and threw me across the yard.
I was no stranger to blood coming out of my nose from these kinds of incidents, or from my lips. But somehow, this one hurt worse. It hurt my heart worse. It was supposed to be Christmas. That was normally a happy respite in our house.
But there was also a part of me that just felt for him. I could tell how worried he was.He thought my baby brother was going to die. My mother hadn't been back for days from the hospital. Things must be pretty bad. And Paul was such a cute little boy. White blonde hair and brown eyes, such a sweet,sweet little angel of a boy.

That evening, my sexy, fun aunt Annie came over and rescued me. Everyone else was at the hospital. I was crying so hard - still - that I could hardly breathe. She ran her hand down my back and smoothed my hair.
"Oh, honey." she said. "They're all just so worried. They're worried sick. Look, why don't you and I go down and make some Christmas cookies, hu? We've got the kitchen all to ourselves...?"

Aunt Annie and I made Christmas cookies and listened to Joni Mitchell's 'Blue'. It was the night before Christmas Eve, and I kept breaking into tears as we made the cookies. The damn Christmas tree still wasn't up.

Eight years later, my little brother, Paul, died in a car accident.My mother was taking the younger kids to Santa Fe for Thanksgiving. The guy who was driving fell asleep at the wheel,Paul flew out of the car, and his neck was snapped instantly.

I was in Dallas with my new baby, Max.
I had woken up in the middle of the night to a horrible nightmare. Max's father said, "It's ok. it's just a dream. Go back to sleep."
Then, early the next morning, the phone rang.
I've always had this thing with phones.
As soon as I heard the ring - I was snapped back into that nightmare.
It was my beautiful Aunt Annie on the line. Before she could finish explaining what had happened , I let out a wail..."NOOOOO!" I screamed "NOOOOO!"

No. No. No. No. My little brother had made it through that horrible Christmas to become a strong, handsome, headstrong ten year old - only to be taken away on Thanksgiving a few years later.