Jason Priestley (19 page)

I headed back toward the trailers and found hers. I banged on the door and after she opened it, I grabbed her and gave her a big hug. She was very surprised to see me. “Come in, sit down, talk to me!” she said. “What is going on?”

“Shannen, I am so happy for you,” I told her sincerely. “The show is great, a big hit, and you're doing so well. This is awesome. But seriously, girl, how did you talk Aaron into giving you another show? Tell me!”

I wasn't even kidding. I really wanted to know.

Shannen launched into an explanation. She told me that she'd heard about the script, gotten her hands on a copy, and read it. She knew right away that she could bring something special to the role of Prue, the bravest and most powerful sister, and somehow felt personally drawn to this show. It offered her the perfect opportunity to spin all her previous bad press into something new and Aaron had agreed.

“Shannen, that's genius,” I told her, in all sincerity. I was pleased to see her doing so well.

However, within five minutes she was already complaining about Alyssa Milano and how she didn't want to work with her, and that she was going to call Aaron, and he would have to make a choice—“her or me,” as she put it. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

“Shannen, what the hell? Don't do that! Do you understand how lucky you are to have an opportunity like this, a great role on another hit show? Why would you do anything to screw this up for yourself? Come in every morning, know your lines, hit your marks, and keep your mouth shut! Don't make waves; just be cool and make it work!”

“But, Jason, you don't understand . . .” and off she went for a good twenty minutes. I listened, and then tried again. Eventually, I was sure I'd made my point and that what I was saying had sunk in.

It was not to be. By the end of the season, Shannen was off another hit Spelling television show.

I
n March of 2001, I asked Naomi to officially come live with me in New York, and she accepted. The two of us loved it there, and we had a fantastic time. We were two young people in love, living in a fantastic loft in Tribeca, with plenty of time and money . . . kids in a candy store. What's not to like about that city? Believe me, we took a big bite out of that apple. Restaurants, nightlife, parties, shopping, shows—we did it all, every day and night, then did it all over again the next day.

The only one not happy was my beloved dog, Swifty, who did not care for life in New York. He would very begrudgingly go outside, do his business on the sidewalk, then turn around, ready to go back in. He hated the noise, the honking, the crowds, the heat in summer, the cold in winter. He didn't even like going to the dog park to play with other dogs! This West Coast dog would have none of it. He preferred hanging out in the loft, lying on the sofa sleeping, or watching television. He was a funny little guy, but always great company.

Naomi, with her degree in fine art from Nottingham Trent University, found a job at an art gallery. She began selling lots of pieces to all kinds of crazy-rich people on the fringes of the art world, and we soon fell in with a group of “trustafarian” kids who literally had more money than they could ever spend and nothing but free time to run all over the city and do whatever they wanted. These guys—and girls—had no limits. I never once saw an off switch. It was New York—go go go go go go—and for a while it was superfun.

My buddy the hockey star Theo Fleury had signed a four-year, 32-million-dollar contract with the New York Rangers and bought a place outside the city up in Rye. Theo had a lovely wife, Veronica, and two small kids, so they were considerably calmer than the crowd we'd been seeing. Naomi and I started spending time with the Fleurys as they were a bit more in tune with what we were looking to do in the future, and I was more than happy to be around another Canadian again!

At a certain point we could no longer keep up with the trustafarians; we just didn't have their stamina. I was far from old, and Naomi was the same age as they were, but we were the ones who simply had to call it a night at some ridiculous hour, while they were just getting going. Seriously, the party never stopped . . . they may possibly have been the hardest-partying group of people I ever partied with, which is certainly saying something (#CharlieSheen#RobertDowneyJunior). These were brief, intense, but transitory friendships where we hung out all the time and then everybody moved on. That's the joy of New York City.

Instead, we began to spend more and more time at Madison Square Garden and got very into the hockey scene, socializing with the Rangers crowd, which was incredibly fun for me. Being around that whole organization was fantastic. Theo and Veronica were definitely not “trustafarians,” but we all certainly managed to have fun in the city. Maybe too much fun. Theo's ongoing struggles with drugs and alcohol had been well documented, and I witnessed a few worrisome incidents that I couldn't ignore. It was no longer all fun and games and there were some serious consequences for my amazingly talented but troubled friend. Eventually, I was forced to take a good look at myself as well.

New York was dangerous. It didn't seem so at the time, of course. I was navigating some tricky waters as a young man who was young and successful, had worked his ass off, and now wanted to have some fun. The opportunities were constantly there with drugs. My life had started to spiral downward a little—slowly, imperceptibly, but going down all the same . . . and had been for a while. For the first time in years, I had plenty of time on my hands, and I never did well without lots of balls in the air. For a long time I'd forgotten that, as I felt that my more relaxed lifestyle was well deserved after a decade of hard work.

I wasn't working much at the time, so there were no more 6:30 set calls in the mornings. I'd lost my ride, not having driven race cars since MCI had gone under. I was a young guy with money and a great girlfriend. It was party time—until I could no longer deny that it was heading to a place I most definitely did not want to go. In the past, I had always been able to snap back to my professional self when there was work to do—I never fooled around with work, ever.

Still, I wasn't doing anything productive with my days. In fact, I was sleeping away plenty of my days because my nights were so active. I was pretty aimless, and that was not good. I liked to have purpose, a reason to jump out of bed every morning. I thrive on goal setting and structure. I had no goals besides having a good time; conversely, everything that had kept me in line in the past was no longer there.

Having Naomi live with me was a huge move, one that in retrospect I am not sure either one of us really thought through completely. We hadn't taken into account the kind of strain it would cause for her to move to a new city where she didn't know anybody. We were no longer courting in London; she wasn't visiting for five days; this was now her permanent life. We were both settling into a regular daily pattern. The novelty of life in a new country wore off for her, and the adjustment was tough. On both of us.

I was pushing the recreational habit hard—drinking, smoking cigarettes, and becoming irresponsible in a number of ways that were just not me. Skipping commitments here and there . . . being late . . . not returning calls . . . not being where I said I'd be . . . blowing friends off. At the time I felt these were all small things, and for a long time I found them easy to justify. It was insidious, actually. But I'm not the kind of guy who can kid himself for long. I realized pretty fast that I was going to do permanent damage to my relationship with Naomi, not to mention my career and reputation, which I had spent so many years creating and building. I hadn't blown anything up yet, but this messing around had to stop. It was a humbling realization.

It was a hard pill to swallow, if you'll excuse the expression. It's always difficult to admit you're wrong, admit you're weak, admit there's something you can't handle—that you've made a mistake. I had been taking care of myself and making my own decisions since I was seventeen years old, and most had turned out well. It hurt my pride to admit failure and defeat. But make no mistake about it, my excessive partying had to stop.

All the goals that I had set for myself as a young man, I had attained. And I hadn't bothered to set new ones. That was a big mistake. But one that I would rectify.

I
had no ride but wanted to stay involved in the racing world, so when I got a call from the Indy Racing League, I listened to their offer. Buddy McAtee asked if I wanted to meet with Bob Goodrich at NBC and talk about doing some color commentating for the IRL. I met with Bob and we explored the possibilities, and then ABC offered me the job. At that time in 2001, another Hollywood writers' strike was looming, which was supposed to cripple the industry and bring show business to a screeching halt. I remembered the last strike, so when I got this offer, I figured why not? I should stay busy. How long could it take, anyway? Fourteen races? No big deal.

So . . . I joined the team and became a color commentator. I am here to say that while it was fun, and an excellent learning experience, I had absolutely no idea of everything that went into being a color commentator, or any sort of broadcaster. I had never done anything like that in my life, and it was much more difficult than I could have anticipated. I have a tremendous amount of respect for all those guys, as that was one tough job. I sat in the booth with well-known broadcasters Bob Jenkins and Larry Rice, while Jack Arute and Vince Welsh were the pit guys, giving viewers' reports from the pits.

The entire time I was broadcasting two guys were talking to me, one in each ear, giving constant updates and information and direction. Meanwhile, I had to process what the other hosts were saying, while following the action and holding up my end of the commentary. When you're a pro, it all looks and sounds very natural; trust me, it's not. It's a hard freaking job!

By far the best part of the whole experience was getting to call the Indy 500 with the legendary Al Michaels. As much fun as I had that year, however, it was indisputable that I was not a broadcaster . . . nor did I want to be. The memories were priceless, and I was glad I did it, but I was relieved when the season ended and I could return to my regular job. Of course, the writers' strike that everyone had been fearing never actually materialized, so I really should have been working instead of broadcasting. However, I would never walk out on a commitment, and being allowed to sit in the booth, calling races, will remain a very cool memory for my entire life.

Best of all, since I was hanging around the paddock that whole year, when the IRL was thinking of bringing the Indy Lights racing series back, they thought of me. Kelley Racing called and asked me to campaign a car for them in what would now be called the Infiniti Pro Series. The series was being rebranded to highlight Infiniti, their big engine sponsor.

Now this was my kind of racing offer—a fantastic opportunity. Of course I agreed!

E
xcited about my new racing opportunities, I had nearly six months to fill before race season started so I returned to Toronto to do a couple of quick movies for my friend Peter Simpson. Then, while working on these short projects, I wound up signing to do a few more quickies. I was spending so much time there that I finally just bought a condo and lived in Toronto for six straight months.

While staying in Toronto with me, Naomi decided to pursue a dream she'd been nurturing for quite some time—to study to become a professional makeup artist. Since her teenage years she had been fascinated with cosmetics; she was the girl who always loved making up her friend's faces. What she really wanted to do was learn how to do special effects makeup, a very complicated art. It was a natural profession for her, given her interest in arts and painting and sculpting. She took advantage of my time parked in Toronto and enrolled in the Makeup School. She was completely occupied with her classes the entire time we were there and got officially certified—first in her class!—just as it was time to head back to New York.

As my film projects were wrapping up, I made a quick trip to Los Angeles for several meetings. I met with Anthony Edwards at his production company on the Paramount lot and read for Tony and his partner, Dante Di Loreto (later to be the big-time television producer of
Glee
). I was going for a part in their new film
Die Mommie Die!,
starring Charles Busch and Natasha Lyonne, along with a very interesting group of performers. I landed the role and was asked to return to L.A. in June 2002 to begin shooting.

I also had a meeting with my agent, who pointed out that I'd been in New York for quite a while. “It's probably time for you to return to L.A. You've been gone for so long, everyone has pretty much forgotten what you look like.” I had to agree. I thought that I should probably start looking around at houses. I put the Tribeca condo on the market and called my friend Fred Henry, a real estate broker in L.A.

Fred took me to see a few properties and we looked at a 1928 Spanish home in the Hollywood Hills that was just right. The house was in a very desirable neighborhood called Outpost Estates, a hillside community of 450 '20s-style homes. The area was popular with actors and entertainment industry people, and I'd often dreamed of owning a house there someday. Built into the hill, the home's garage was on the street level, with fifty-two steps leading up to the front door. I put in an offer immediately.

Production on
Die Mommie Die!
turned out to be an unbelievable experience and resulted in a campy, funny cult classic. I was in L.A. shooting the movie for the month of June and began the racing season for Kelley, then raced back to Toronto as soon as production wrapped. I helped Naomi sell a bunch of stuff, then we packed up the few things that were left and shipped them to our new home in L.A. Our good furniture and everything else we owned was still in the New York condo, which we were showing furnished to attract prospective buyers. We didn't have anything for the new house and we pretty much walked in the door to our new home that July with only two suitcases.