It’s been suggested I go splashier in my revelations about Hollywood. But this is where I live, so I need to be careful. Also, I started this blog with the intention of not spreading malicious gossip — but babies, let’s dish. (Mama’s got a book to sell…)
I can tell you how not to pick me up at a party… Saunter over like you still retained your matinee idol looks from the 1980s (when your belly has started to expand and you obviously dye your hair) and tell me I look like Patti Lupone’s younger prettier sister…
Speaking of matinee idol good looks (he used to look like Adonis and now he looks like a haggis) the most famous of a quartet of acting brothers though not the craziest had a one night stand with one of my girlfriends in the 1980s and then acted as if he didn’t know her. Not good, Mr. O-oops! Now she did tell me, no… now wait… this isn’t that kind of blog. Moving on.
Let’s see, I was talking about parties. Do you know I met Dick Cavett at a party? He was bird-tiny, very well spoken, and had beautiful manners. Very old school. I liked him.
Who else do I like? Keanu Reeves, an extremely good egg. Bradley Cooper, ditto. Mila Kunis, raised with a strong work ethic and possessor of great comedic timing, Emma Stone, there’s nothing not to like about that gal. I could go on and on about the lovely ones, but it doesn’t make good copy. Let’s spice it up…
Now straying into people I don’t like, or people who avoid me at parties… Actors who were hound dogs in their youth (one girl after another to his hotel room door) who pose as great intellects and ask me if I understand their ouevre. (Seriously! Ouevre?) I think he forgot I was in the makeup trailer when he was having his cold sore attended to.
Or, the director who dumped his wife of thirty years for an actress not yet thirty years old? Particularly odious? Those producers and directors who play casting couch games. One would think they would grow out of it at a certain point, but still it goes on. There’s the the aged (once upon a time high-wattage) Lothario who entices women to discuss new projects at his local Starbucks where the baristas just roll their eyes as he makes his very tired, very slimy, moves.
Speaking of the elderly, I had a friend who was sent (many years ago) to deliver a script to a very well established producer’s home, and he answered the door smoking a cigar, with his bathrobe open, not wearing any briefs. Can you imagine?! She was in her late twenties, and he was in his seventies. I don’t think she had the presence of mind to do anything but drop the script at his feet and run away but, it would have been sooooo splendid if she told Ray Stark to “ZIP IT, GRANDPA.”
Preparing for my novel to be ruined by Hollywood in the future, in the tradition of Faulkner, Fitzgerald, and Hemingway. I should be so lucky… Cheers!