So it is official. In two weeks I hop a plane to Chicago to play a teenage babe with a bad reputation. She is notoriously promiscuous, worlds away from any clout I’d ever gained in real life high school. Who wants such a rep? She does, thrives off it even, regardless of the negative implications. Just a girl hoping for a place in her little world. I am beside myself with the joy of bringing her to life. However, what am I doing?!

This is the first feature film I’ve embarked upon. The cast is flooded with talented unknowns and speckled with accomplished stars. It seems I will be in the midst of creative souls who are excited to make a clever comedy. And although I’ve been acting since 9 years old it suddenly occurred to me that I have never prepared for something like this. What to expect? Well, I imagine it is different every time. I don’t feel nervous as much as a heart thumping expectation. I’ve said for a long time now that if one director or producer would just take a gamble on me then perhaps my paid, sole career could acting be. Could it? That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

As an embarrassed and faithful fan of The View I tuned in the other day to find Christopher Walken a guest. I was almost stunned to hear his take on readying for a project; he swore that every time he is overcome with nervousness and self doubt. Well if Christopher Walken feels free to question himself then who doesn’t?

At the end of the day I’ve just decided to get daily exercise to focus my mind, keep familiarizing myself with the script, prepare my character, and breathe. Beyond that, what is one supposed to do?

Two weeks and counting… <3

So it’s a beautiful Saturday morning in Los Angeles and I’m sitting on a fire escape, homemade latte by my side, memorizing my lines. Ordinarily everytime I am repeating written words over and over again under my breath they aren’t “my” lines. Usually they lead to a curl of my hair so I may competitively swim in a sea of fellow blondes at a casting. However, today is different. A director friend of mine who lives in Chicago has cast me in a feature. It is such a fun role and will undoubtably lead to galavanting around in a school girl uniform and acting like a teenager come April, and most likely with name actors by my side.

The first two times he told me I had the part it was like trying to convince a girl the world was flat. After all, have I not been promised a half dozen movies and once by a wildly successful actress? I wasn’t about to go down that road of expectation again. It only lead to crumpling over in my bed and crying in the fetal position. Nonetheless, the more I heard it the more it fell on my ears as the honest truth from a friend.

Anyway, today Drew is busting out his camera so we can focus it on one of my scenes and send the results out to Chicago. I absolutely cannot wait to jump on that plane and do this thing! Two months to go…

I have been in the devoted process of self-torture since last night. It takes a lot of will-power, a great ability to self-loath, and an amazing lack of self-esteem. I am really, really beating myself up the best I can, and it’s working. I was even dedicated enough to pop open my eyes at 5AM and only manage a light and angry sleep, making sure to be pissed at myself all the way ’til 9.

A week ago I went on an audition for a feature film and it went spectacularly. The director became so enthusiastic about my performance that he nearly cried when I announced my hour long meter was up and I had to go. He sighed in disappointment but added, “I will see you at the callbacks! Absolutely.” The producer’s eyes popped in surprise. This must not be his usual protocol, I imagined. We all shook happy hands and I left, floating on a cload of my own approval. 

When I received the callback notice I thought, welp, gotta wait ’til Wednesday to claim that role. It was so mine. The other two girls had no idea they were wasting their time. A whole summer on set; I could hardly wait.

The situation at the callback was to be, 3 potential leading men, 3 potential leading women. We would be interchanged to determine who proved the greatest sexual chemistry, as it is an intense film on love between a younger girl and an older man. So, last night I arrived and found myself to be the only chick on time. The 3 men waited and we all chatted until the director pulled me and the first man into the room. I was really not attracted to him and, although I should have pushed that aside, I did feel it hindered my audition. I shrugged it off knowing I had two more chances to make it right. However, when I entered the foyer again there sat a girl I would let ruin my whole night. 

We actually looked and dressed quite similarly. She was much more petite but we essentially wore the same outfit and a nearly identical desire to be the funniest in the room. She purposefully ignored the other girl and I, only making eye contact to ask me to hand over a bottle of water. The rest of the time she spent buttering up the guys and cultivated a flirtatious relationship with the most attractive guy of the three. I got the distinct impression she knew the role was hers and it was just a matter of deciding which guy she preferred.  

For some wretched reason her assurance slowly chipped away at mine. The greatest audition blunder is comparison and this one gave me three entire hours to ruin myself through her. She went second and when she reentered the room she was practically holding the guy’s hand; it was as though they decided it would be them. And unfortunately, I believed it.

From then on, I could not bring myself back to planet earth where I am fun, confident, and talented. My mind made the experience a competition for a role I cared about instead of an exhilarating opportunity to act. My greatest regret is that the director was on my side and I still couldn’t deliver. He kept saying, “Where’s your electricity? The real you I know? Give that to me this time. Action!” And instead I performed a half-assed rendition of, “God, why won’t that girl get sick and go home?” 

The man tried everything to bring me from my shell. At one point I was even straddling an actor on the floor, kissing, and trying to be intimate… but yes “trying.” “Acting,” not being present. I was on planet jealousy…or rather, insecurity.

Long story short, what hurts the most is that I thought I was so past being such an idiot. I keep thinking I know who I am and what I have to offer. I was so sure I knew better than to stoop down so low. I can’t even believe how badly the director wanted me to succeed… and I didn’t. 

All I can say to the benefit of myself, is that it was a great awakening to my heart. I am so grateful to become aware of this monstrous problem now, because I’ll be damned if I let myself be that way again. I need to work on this issue, starting this instant, to be sure my brain takes a 180 on this. Three cheers to that being the last time insecurity ruins me. Here’s to confidence! Hip. Hip. Hooray.

The old man’s hands shook as he held the papers uncommonly close to his face. He had that sweet, almost forfeited depth in his eyes that many older people seem to have; as though he’d gained peace with the up and down roller coaster of life after 70 some years of riding it.

He looked to me with his watery eyes and managed a half smile despite his apparent nerves. The casting director called his name and he slowly stood from his chair and climbed onto the small stage before us. The room shared a collective hush of breath held and I pondered being that age, what he must have seen, wondered if he was a good man all along. I sighed out in gratitude as I looked to the gold band on his left hand; I hate to picture old people all alone in the end.

He swayed and had trouble on his feet as many old men do to which the casting director asked, “Are you drunk?” This was intended to be a joke, but we all seemed to imagine it hit too low. It must be quite difficult to go from agile to faltering. 

The man answered, a bit offended though trying to mask it, “Haven’t had a drop in twenty two years.” We all smiled and he proceeded to read the scene. There were some misplaced words, but everyone could tell he was a wonderful actor. In the end it felt natural to applaud him after such a laborious undertaking. He retreated back to his chair and when I smiled he voiced disgust. “That was terrible. Just terrible.” I argued, of course, but he had already resolved it in his mind. 

I discovered later that he had a very prosperous and successful career in the 1950’s and beyond. He starred with some of the greats and, well, it made me sad that later in life we’d find ourselves in the same room. I, at the beginning of my journey with prayers to be discovered and he, at the end of his life, sharing my same prayers. It begged the question, when is enough enough?

When a hopeful actor touches down in Hollywood they imagine that there are hundreds of thousands of pathetic people chasing similar desires who will never be as good as they. However, although there may be 99,999 terrible actors, the rest are pretty good. Great even. There truly is a ton of tough, substantial competition. So, when one is talented, prepared, and well-studied it simply comes down to playing roulette: whose space will the ball land on next?Of course I believe that God destines us for things, but I suppose that’s the point. I wonder how many people just desperately want this, and are even fully skilled to have it, compared to those who have really sought their hearts and found, “this is the only thing for me.”

I’ve had the privilege of experimenting and enjoyed a wide array of careers. I helped produce a show for New York fashion week, worked as a celebrity stylist, wrote for a nationwide publication, did music reviews for Universal, and even had a stint at a talent agency. All in all, my heart consistently draws me back to “actress,” but I love not limiting myself to that alone. 

Recently a fear has even grown inside of me, on behalf of myself and those around me. I’ve wondered, which of us is missing, or has missed the boat? So many gifted people strive an entire lifetime to act and, even if they’ve been guest stars on an a host of television shows, sometimes it only adds up to maybe one year of solid acting work. It’s quite heartbreaking, actually.

They call my home “the city of broken dreams,” but whose dreams? Who is living out a dead childhood fantasy or feeding off a pressure not to fail, all the while losing sight, or even being incapable to see, the extent of their true desires? Sometimes I wonder if the cure to cancer or the next Nobel Peace Prize recipient isn’t just sitting in a Colgate audition. 

In the end, I will always be an avid and fierce advocate of never giving up. But, without open eyes and a true sense of self there’s no way to be sure one is refusing to abandon the correct thing. It’s OK, wonderful even, to want to be an actor. Just be sure that it is your love and not your fear that is driving you. And not because, “geez, you’re never gonna make it” but because the peace of doing what one is born to do must be the most exhilarating, beautiful thing imaginable. 

<3

Drew and I saw Watchmen last night. I am a total dude and nerd when it comes to action movies, so I really loved it. (No one will contend with Batman, regardless.) I didn’t realize this guy I once knew starred until a few scenes in and… it kind of tripped me out (in a good way).

When I first got to LA I was required to take an “industry” internship for USC credits. I was brought on as a receptionist at a boutique talent agency in West Hollywood. Masi Oka (pre-Heroes) and Jeffrey Dean Morgan (pre-Watchman) used to come in all the time for meetings and to refill pictures. However, the most thrilling client I perceived they had was Jennifer Aniston’s dad. At the time I was all, “Oooo I’m in Hollywood now! Oh yeah!”

Masi was so adorably sweet, always making a point to remember us receptionists’ names, while Jeffrey may have come in soley to harass Julie, the jet-black haired, sparkling blue-eyed Southern belle in the office. If the door opened and Julie darting a look at me and rolled her eyes, I knew it was Jeffrey at the threshold. He was so much of what I saw in “The Comedian” last night, minus the heartless murderer bit. More like the aspect of his rugged look, and somewhat overwhelming in his advances… I wonder if they ever hooked up. I know I would have fallen for that kind of forward confidence in those days. 

The point is, meeting people after they’ve starred in many-a-movies is pretty interesting and encouraging. But it’s also been fun to see Masi hit red carpets all over the world and Jeffrey now brandishing an enormous flame thrower, in slow-mo. It just really goes to show, one never knows who will have the next wild success and who will have the next chance to be a larger-than-life superhero.

It really could be anyone. I dare say, it could be me. Or, if it’s what you too dream of, you.

Hillary Rhoda

Yesterday I had to drop off my amazing boss’ press package to an enormously powerful production company at WB studios. 

Can I just say, I LOVE being at movie studios. I can’t believe it’s been so many years and I’ve had so many experiences driving onto them and yet my heart still skips a few beats and the butterflies rumble in my tummy. I suppose it’s the exhilaration of knowing how many people are living out their dreams on them and how much potential they hold. To me, they are the heartbeat of this city. 

So, I drove to my assigned spot knowing the clout of the woman I was about to meet. I walked up to the production company’s double doors and was taken aback by the waiting room. The walls were covered from top to bottom in dozens of illuminated movie posters, all recognizable and epic. And there were props and body double life-size castings from movies we all would know. I mean, aliens and modern movie star replicas, and giant futuristic guns, all used in the films. Apologies for being such a freakin’ dork, but I totally am. I couldn’t hold myself back and practically shouted to the receptionist, while falling over and subsequently catching myself, “Wow! This is totally amazing!” He cocked his head and looked at me with scornful loftiness. I quieted down, “I mean. Yeah. This stuff. So…cool.”

“May I help you?”

“I’m here to see [Blankity Blank]?”

“And youuu are?”

“Brenda. King.”

“I’ll go and see. Would you like a beverage?”

“Water!…water, please.”

He excused himself for a bit and left me to gaping in awe at the props until I was interrupted by the major producer I awaited. “Oh, darrrrling, hellllo!” With arms outstretched, “Do you have everything I need?” I handed over my boss’ package, quite a bit loving how awesome and friendly she was. “Oh, thank you sooo much. Give [boss] my hellos. Kisses, darling!” And she threw her arms around me. I really didn’t want to let go or leave that office. Ever.

I gliding out with such joy. My boss is in talks to be a star in this enormous action film and I couldn’t want something for anyone much more than I want this for him. It felt great just to know that I could help, even a hint in the process.

As I left, my own desires crept up and I felt like Lindsay Bluth when she visited prison.  Just looking around, walking a turtle pace to my car, begging to be noticed. I know how silly it is to hope it would happen that way, but a girl can dream right?

When I drove out I texted my boss, “I hate leaving!”

He responded, “Focus. Visualize. Watch it happen. See it for yourself just as you want it. As if you have it RIGHT NOW!!! And you’ll wake up in it. :)” 

I know things won’t happen verbatim to the way I imagine, but I know I’m on the path towards my desires. As difficult as this “stand firm and hold your ground” part may be, I believe he’s right. One day, I will just be living a dream and I’m sure it will feel normal and extraordinary all at once (much like my dream-come-true marriage. So real, and yet such a fantasy.)

Until then…

As many know by now, I like having complete transparency in my writing. When I’m up, it’s known, when I’m down, it’s clear. That being said, I’ve been struggling with the idea of “success” for a while…uh, I mean forever. And lately, it’s rearing its ugly six headed being in a more full force. It would seem that, as honored as I may be to work for successful people, my supposed lack of accomplishment keeps nawing at my feet, begging the question, “Brenda, are you really on the right path? Are you actually walking in the right direction?” For some clarity, here is my story.

In elementary school I was exceedingly quiet. I don’t recall being shy, but more so, observant. I used to sing, loudly and proudly, in the privacy of my bedroom constantly so when the teacher announced auditions for the “head ringmaster” of our circus concert, it seemed natural that I audition. It never occurred to me how astonished Mrs. Dash and her class would be when I opened my mouth and allowed that loud, belty voice to escape. All my classmates’ teeny mouths lay agape as Mrs. Dash uttered several surprised adjectives, staccato.

I remember just how I felt to this day. There was a flush in my cheeks and a gentle roll butterflies breaking through their cocoons in my tummy. I gazed out into the bleachers ahead and knew I had stumbled upon something incredible. The passion I uncovered that day has never left.

In the beginning, I did all I could to move forward. I auditioned for plays in middle school and in between seasons I sought opportunities in the paper for community theater. Not long after I educated myself on local talent agencies and decided to meet with the only “bigwig” I could find: Edie Rob of Talentworks, renown for discovering the 3 Lawrence brothers.

My rejection letter from Edie Robb.

As you can see, it was a disaster. Well, she didn’t type “humiliating failure” in the letter but, believe, it was! My lack of confidence held me back worse than a bouncer would in a bar fight. I couldn’t deliver amidst my fear. Thankfully, local theater kept up my resolve and an understanding that I was talented, just lacking a strong sense of self with the New York or Philadelphia types of industry folk.

However, I never ceased to dream. I spent countless hours in my room creating monologues, rearranging my furniture to resemble a set, teaching myself to cry in the mirror, and staring in awe at the huge screens in local movie theaters. I imagined my life as a pint-sized starlett and even cried in misery over Anna Chlumsky’s role in My Girl. “Why wasn’t I in that movie,” I begged my mom, “Why didn’t I audition?” After I wiped my tears I just imagined myself as her instead, with pretend cameras capturing my Oscar-worthy reaction to Macaulay’s bee death in the back yard.

by Bruce Weber

Fast-forward to today and it’s hard to figure out who I’m “supposed” to be. I have friends my age with Oscar nods, others with starring roles in motion pictures, more who audition constantly, and a few who appear on TV now and again. If I had a dollar every time I heard, “Oh geez, I just was modeling and thought acting would maybe be kinda fun, ya know? And boom! Haha, isn’t that so funny?!” … Yeah. Hilarious. Plainly, it has been confusing, and sometimes disheartening or lonely, to be in a category all my own. I hardly feel like delving into all my supposed woes and instead would prefer to highlight my many blessings.

Honestly, everything I’ve accomplished came so naturally, it just flowed like sweet honey. Those blessings are uncomplicated and lovely. I moved to Los Angeles in short notice after being encouraged by an acting coach. From there every home in which I resided flowed from one to the next. My relationship with Drew was easy from the start and the way we met was never forced. I fell into celebrity styling without even trying, then into PA extraordinaire from there, and have written for magazines simply thanks to word of mouth. None of that is glamorous, but the moments within it all have been cinematic and beautiful; a huge adventure, for sure. But, those were the things I never pined over and exhausted myself towards. It’s all been more like eating a piece of cake I was simply offered- then kicking butt at gobbling it all up.

So, perhaps the lesson is: relax… I am creating- with my Creator- everything I desire. I need to just enjoy the ride.

Enjoy life!!

Vanity Fair

Some moments just feel like a piece of cinema. Of course, as an actress, I practically see everything in my mind’s eye through the lens of a camera. Just perhaps, some pieces of my movie are slightly more illuminating, and a bit more exceptional than others (or so they seem.) This weekend was a double feature that generously kept going until last night. This passage is not intended to show off, but to simply include readers in my journey. I know there are some consistent ones, and this is for you. Although, who knows, there may be a portion of good old-fashioned advice in my frantic doubts. Anyway, here it goes.

Friday night I left directly from Drew’s office at the movie studio to my best friend Teresa’s. I was frazzled and glistening from a long day, in a bad and smelly way. Teresa flung a shirt at me and I added a generous spritz of Christian Dior to my jeans and leather boots. We walked up the hill to Sunset and were soon greeted by a rude woman at the extravagant hotel. Like a Doberman in a junkyard she barked, “Excuse me! Do you have reservations?” Teresa dismissively flew by and shouted a certain starlet’s name, let’s say, “Vanilla Sugar!” and the Doberman stuck her tail between her legs. I watched somewhat fascinated and decided to drop Posh Spice’s surname all over that dame next time.

Teresa and I were the last guests to arrive at the dinner table for seven. I had never met Vanilla Sugar or the television star “Doug Fairchild” (haha, this name game is fun) who sat beside her. Everyone was warm even before we were toasted on cocktails. I sat clear across Teresa and found myself sandwiched between Vanilla’s agent and his co-worker from one of the grandest talent agencies in the nation. My inner monologue, embarrassingly but truly, included things very close to, “You’re talented, you’re lovely, and gosh darn it, people like you.” A small consolation in the midst of, “WAITER, BRING ME MORE WINE STAT!” Long story short, Teresa was an enormous hit, like I had never seen, I subtly managed to let the agents know my aspirations briefly without embarrassing myself, Vanilla I loved enough to squeeze, and after the 6-hour meal I felt like no one would hesitate to reunite (especially with Teresa, geez!)…

The apparently snooty-patooty Chateau Marmont

Saturday morning abruptly stirred me off cloud 9 at a morning audition: webisodes. But, I would be thrilled to work. Let’s just say signing with Vanilla’s agent felt a bit far away that forenoon. No matter; I brushed it off. Anyway, I was guest starring in Drew’s first musicvideo later that evening. Very exciting; the beginning of who knows what!

Teresa aptly took the role of PA and “everywoman” while I applied makeup and Drew burned through One Block Radius’ song at an abandoned building. I can hardly wait to see my man’s finished product! It looked amazing through the teeny viewfinder alone.

Then sleepy but Sunday, my brother Kris and his roommate Garbe drove to visit our Aunt at the beach. We hadn’t seen our older cousin in a decade and my body only knew of saltwater once this whole summer. We lounged on the beach, let the waves beat us down, and had a beautiful salmon and halibut meal with roasted potatoes as the sunset washed over Aunt Dorie’s balcony. Explosive laughter is what my family’s all about, and indeed we shared it.

Monday I rehearsed for a play and by nightfall my Honda and I were headed to a Beverly Hills hotel to meet Teresa and a lovely girl that can only be referred to as a movie star. We shall call her “Ruby Red.” Drew and I spent an intimate July Fourth playing Marco Polo, drinking Mojitos, and assembling puzzles with Teresa and Ruby so I was excited to see her again. In the presence of Ruby I tend to feel entirely assured that I can survive “Hollywood.” She has discovered herself to be incredibly unshakable amongst adversity and encourages me to the limits. Once she clenched my leg and forcefully proclaimed, “Brenda, nothing is too far reaching.” Ruby has gone beyond such to assure my spirit I’ll be fine, but that is a greater journal entry to be saved for later…

A handful of my freakin' heroines for Vanity Fair

From Ruby’s hotel room in 90210, the three of us dolled up and went back to the aforementioned fancy-pants hotel on Sunset. Ruby has quickly become a brilliant girl and Teresa’s best friend more so than a “star” to me. But, nonetheless, as every eye on the dining patio gawked with her passing, it was quickly evident I was nearly alone in that opinion. We had a wonderful time over bottles wine and calamari and eventually our friend Sara, her former roommate, and my Drew joined us. In a pinnacle moment, Teresa overtook and made love to the lobby’s piano with every stroke of her fingers. Ruby sat beside her as Teresa’s angelic but bold voice filled the room. Staff and guests alike stopped to hear the enchanted notes before we all left for our consecutive beds.

Tuesday morning I awoke to discover myself resolved and secure. I wrote my talent manager and asked if the industry’s “slow season” was almost at a close and for advice on what I can do to be seen by more casting directors. To my utter dismay, I received a somewhat defensive and confidence-shattering reply. They said they send out my picture everyday and graciously included the entire list of auditions I didn’t get, making sure to capitalize the fact that I got NOT ONE audition. Folks, I cried. Let’s say I sobbed. Let’s agree that snot bubbles were pouring from my nose. I didn’t even flirt with choosing to envy Ruby and Vanilla; not at all. I simply want my own path and with that email it sounded like I wasn’t even pedaling a beach cruiser, let alone being on the highway towards my desires.

In all my wild (often Yaz birth control-inspired) emotions, I called anyone that loved me to blubber and beg for encouragement. Drew only got upset: first, he couldn’t hold me, and second, because we ARE creating our own path. Teresa offered the practical fact that a manager with minimal clout can hardly move and shake a career into being; there’s too many politics. My acting teacher proclaimed a simply solution: we will kick my butt in gear to move ahead. My wonderful boss (a fellow actress) gave a motivational speech worth all the 45 minutes it took to record it on iMovie for posterity. My mom “oooed” and “ahhed” my inner child while offering prayerful truths. Tony called out of the blue after months of disconnect to only explain, “I felt like God told me I had to call you. What’s up?”- enough said on that. And after acting class my TV star boss rung and offered a long sigh. “You there?” I checked. “Chill the fuck out, girl! I’ve been laughing at your impatient ass all day. I’m gonna smack you when I see you.”

All that exposition to say: I was back to full “Brenda” by nightfall.

Finally, last night I donned my favorite sequence top and headed to the jazz bar Green Door to meet Teresa, Vanilla, Ruby, Drew, and an old and favorite friend (and fellow actor for goodness sakes, Justin) Justin. Additional and lovely persons joined our lounge area of comped Skyy and various juices. Vibrant jazz resounded as we all simply spent precious time together and, again, Miss Teresa found herself at the piano, with Ruby and Vanilla as her back-up singers to entertain the various baroque rooms. Inspired, Ruby even asked Drew to produce a project with her on behalf of showcasing Teresa’s music and prowess in performance. Are we excited an international “movie star” wants to work with Drew on something that will benefit Teresa? Um…yes.

Long story short…I had an exceptional weekend.

by Terry Richardson 

“You don’t mind if I bring two gorgeous girls, do you?… Haha, yes. See you soon.”

We pulled up to the immaculate Beverly Hills street and I put my horribly disfigured Honda in park. “Bobby, I can’t do that! Bren, he wants me to leave the phone on the whole time so he can hear his voice. He wants to talk to him.”

“No, that’s gay; we can’t! Just leave the phone on and hold it close to him. No, no that’s retarded, too. I’m scared! Let’s just go in. Breathe!”

Two east coast girls at the original gangsta’s house. Every Philly frat house dons his picture, every boy quotes him, and every character in the Sopranos wants to be him. Living in New Jersey, 80 percent of your friends are at least a little Italian and every family reunion has at least one table of shady- lookin’, cigar puffing Mafioso discussing “business”. I was so under-dressed and sweating bullets. All I wanted in life was to be as skinny as Michelle Pfeiffer and be packing heat at that very moment. Would there be mirrored walls and machine guns? Reality sets in: actors are people who pretend to be other people for a living. This man is just a man.

The three of us were beeped in to the white gate and helped ourselves up the brick walk and into the expansive rancher. The interior had a stuffy, strange aura and an antique smell. Nothing was as I suspected. Floral sofas? Cheesy, romantic paintings? He walked by and his eyes widened. Cold as ice, “I’m feeding my kids. Not now.”

The man who invited us stiffened uncomfortably and quickly scooted us into the backyard. We could still see the gangster feeding his young twins through the kitchen window as he glared at us. My heart sank as I reasoned that while being shot by him might be the coolest way to die ever, being shot an annoyed look by him was just plain awkward.

Our host spoke about how close of friends they are and how their friendship goes on for years and years. Strange to see a grown man sink under the assertive power of their “best friend”. I was so turned off by everything. Who cares about being friends with a celebrity if you have to submit to their demands? Respect your friends? Of course. Let them boss you around? Get new friends.

The gangster’s personal assistant was noticeable nervous as he took calls rounding up all the bigwigs that were attending the evening’s poker game. To Tara and I, “I’m so sorry. You just have to understand…” the assistant let his voice trail off and he smiled meagerly.

“It’s fine. Really.” I smiled.

Another ten minutes and we were allowed to sit quietly in the living room. There was a bar of cheap liquor, book lined shelves with stuffed animals and toys shoved in between certain selections, and stacks of candy bars in huge cardboard boxes. “Would you girls like a Kit Kat?” our host inquired.

Are you serious? I just want to go home. This place was creepy and we were not welcome. “Um, no thanks.” We accepted wine that tasted worse than boxed Franzia and sat silently. Finally the gangster entered.

“Hey. I’m sorry, I just had to send the kids to bed.”

“Oh, we understand,” I said sticking out my hand to shake his with Tara following suit. He nodded uncomfortably until another guest arrived. The vibe became friendlier as everyone loosened up and more polite people arrived.

My favorite was his “girlfriend”. A precious, skinny woman of late 30 something. She met him 20 years ago on a set. Were the children hers? No. Did he call her “girlfriend”. No. In the most roundabout sorrowful way, she explained that her youth is wasted on a man who can have any young pretty thing he wants and that he’ll never settle down. Were we brought here just to be young pretty things? I hoped not, of course, so when his assistant beckoned only Tara and I into the game room we declined and remained with this woman instead. Our conversation thickened into personal issues and she complimented everything from our shiny hair, flat bellies, and wrinkle-free skin. We insisted on her beauty and she laughed in disbelief. At one point she explained, “I’m not anorexic or anything but some weeks I only eat a head of lettuce a day.”

Isn’t that the definition of anorexia, I muse, hoping my sadness for her wasn’t written too boldly on my face.

Suddenly he himself entered, “Um, what are you girls doing?”

“Just girl talk,” I replied. He chuckled and left slowly.

Moments after our host came in, “He’s asking what you girls are doing. Don’t you want to watch us play poker?” I thought not. Tara and I had plans for that night anyway…

We left with his girlfriend’s phone number and while he was tending to his daughter’s nightmare and following request for a favorite stuffed animal and night light. He had just walked around in a panic asking if we’d seen a certain doll, overturning pillows frantically. His girl jumped up to instantly tend to this emergency, as well.

After letting the whole event sink in, I decided that I respected his need to protect his children. What little girl needs to see random blondes parading around her daddy’s house? On the other hand, lack of introduction only makes the situation seem shady. Kids, I fear, are smarter than he suspects. And so are Tara and I.

His lady also later informed me that the house is only a rental because the majority of his life is in NYC. None of those strange, stuffy belongings were his. Makes sense.

And, push comes to shove, how do you live your entire life portraying the darkest and most powerful of people and not expect some of that mentality to rub off on you? He’s actually doing pretty well considering. And, fine, I’ll admit the sex appeal of two machine guns in hand still prevails, even when he’s merely in search of a doll under pillows.