Kiss and Tell (14 page)

So Gene moved in with us and learned to drive. It just wasn’t realistic to live in Los Angeles and not know how to drive. This was a very big lifestyle change for him. He’d had a limo and driver when he’d spent time in L.A. before, though it had never been for extended periods of time. Gene bought Lionel Richie’s secondhand Rolls-Royce and proceeded to run into everything in town. I suggested that he carry a large amount of cash in his pocket every time he went out driving so that he would be able to pay off everyone he hit on the spot. Truly, he was and is the worst driver I’ve ever seen. To this day, whenever possible, I try to take two cars to wherever we’re going. To avoid conflict, I think it’s best for couples to have separate cars and separate bathrooms.

WHY WERE WE IN DISNEYLAND WITHOUT ANY CHILDREN?

We lived together very happily in the apartment with Tracy and Ruben for about six months or so. I must have been feeling pretty domestic, because I became a very enthusiastic baker. We had recently been on that New York dessert binge, and the craving for baked goods stayed with me. I asked my mom for some recipes, and Gene was crazy about my oatmeal-raisin-nut cookies. He couldn’t get enough of them, so much so that he encouraged me to sell them. We actually considered starting a cookie business for a while, but then Mrs. Fields beat me to it, so it never really got off the ground. Plus, I didn’t see that kind of business as my future; I was involved in all kinds of acting projects.

Life was a flurry of activity. Gene and I were both globe-hopping because of our work. There wasn’t time to notice the little things most people criticize each other about after they’ve been together awhile. After the first few years they have time to obsess on how she really hates the way he does this, or how much her little habit bugs him. But we didn’t.

Gene was preparing to go back out on the road and said to me one day, “I have to go back on tour; I think I’m going to buy a house here. Would you like to look for one while I’m gone?” I started checking into houses for him. When he got back we went to look at them together. There was one particular house we both liked; it was fully furnished because the owners were still living in it. It was a small ranch-style house, perfect for two people. But its big draw was the huge lot; it was a large property in Beverly Hills. We thought it would be a great investment. (It certainly turned out that way; it’s where we still live today, though in a bigger house.)

Gene asked the couple, “How much cash will it take for you to walk away and leave all the furniture?” They came up with a price, he paid it, and they left with just their clothes. Gene and I moved in and even though there were a lot of things we wanted to change, we were so busy that we didn’t do anything to it. We’d wake up in the mornings and just see each other briefly before taking off for work—auditioning or actually shooting a film or television role for me; rehearsing, handling his other business, or touring for Gene. We both loved the property, though, and now we had a little house that we called home base, where we could meet.

The first year we were dating, I used to go out with my friends and come home at midnight, and Gene never even asked, “Where were you?” He’d just be sitting at home, working, usually, and when I came through the door, he’d say, “Hey, come over and watch this with me!” He was always just happy to see me. It was so cool, and it made me want to never do anything to damage our relationship. This kind of behavior from both sides was unheard of in my love life. I’d been accused, followed, brow-beaten—and now I wasn’t even being asked where I had been. Not that I’d been anywhere questionable.

A LITTLE TAE KWAN DO TO GET IN SHAPE FOR A FILM

Some girls might have seen Gene’s attitude as an insult, as not caring, but he meant it in the best, most respectful way. He has taught me many things about tolerance and self-worth, but this was one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from him. Gene’s actions made me want to behave respectfully toward him. I thought,
I really like feeling this way. I want to behave well for us.
It felt good; it was easy. It’s so much easier to let go of suspicion and speculation and making something of nothing when the person you’re living with comes home.

One of the things that makes our relationship work so well was that we never did any of that stuff. You’ve got to leave the doghouse door open, because they’ll come home eventually. Gene had been in (brief) monogamous relationships before, but he always had a wandering eye. I think he’d always thought,
Well, it’s not going to last forever.
He always felt safe; free to walk away. He can’t walk away now, of course, because of our children, but it’s not bugging him, because he’s not married. And I still don’t ask him where he’s been, with whom, or when he’s coming home.

Sure, there were other guys who would have married me, but it doesn’t count if they’re not the one you want. I could have had six husbands by now. I don’t have a “husband,” but I have Gene.

Chapter Nine

She Works Hard for the Money

E
verybody I worked with told me that I had an incredible ability to be “me” while speaking someone else’s words—always a nice compliment for an actress. The word in the industry at that time—the straight-to-video market in the eighties—was that I was technically brilliant—a precious commodity, because there was a lot going on, and it was very fast-paced and budget-conscious. I knew how to set up my shot and what light to ask for, and could specify which filter I wanted; I picked up all of this knowledge by observing.

I did much of my own hairstyling, makeup, and wardrobe on these movies. I learned to take charge of my own look because, first of all, no one ever knew what to do with me, and second, the process was always very rushed. They’d just slap some makeup on me and send me out the door. They’d put black rings around my eyes and nothing else, or blush in the strangest places. This is one of the reasons I always showed up on time: I needed the extra time to redo whatever had been done to me. It was a quick education on how lighting and filters really worked. I got very proficient at getting myself camera-ready, leaving the crew to just powder my nose and fluff out my hair.

We used to put bright neon merkins on before filming, but only after writing something like “Fuck you” over it. Or a little sign you’d paste on yourself that said, “Camera, get out of my ass!” That way the director had to keep your full-frontal nudity out of the shot. If the note or merkin were filmed, the take would be ruined. I would negotiate it all out. I’d say, “Look, you can pan up and down to your heart’s content while I fake away, but you cannot go there.” First of all, full frontal nudity means another rating. And secondly, people take stills off videos and out of context, and post them on the Internet. Some of them really look bad. There are some stills of me floating around from scenes shot with, I thought, plenty of fog—but apparently not. Topless I had no problem with. What are boobs, after all? Who cares? Aside from a desire to look neither fat nor bad, I never had a problem with nudity, but maybe I should have. I certainly came from a very conservative background. Maybe too conservative, and that’s why I was so willing to burst out of my shell. At some point I sure did!

Filming in the nude could be nerve-racking, though— particularly love scenes. While I was kissing the guy it was always in my mind that it had to look good, that he had to look really good, because I did not want to shoot the scene over and over again. I always wanted to do it right the first time, otherwise we could be there all day long. You’d be surprised at how many film virgins I had. I was always Mrs. Robinson with these young guys. Even when I was in my twenties I played older, because I looked and sounded older. I never had the young bimbo look or sound. I usually played someone who could haul off and kick some ass at the end. I started moving away from being arm candy—the reason men were running around with guns—to being the one who was running around with a gun. This was much more fun. There was a crossover time where I had to be sexy and half-naked and run around with guns, but it gradually evolved into me just kicking ass all the time.

AN IDEA I HAD IN THE EIGHTIES FOR A COMIC STRIP COME TO LIFE CALLED DELTA TEAM. WE PITCHED IT AROUND HOLLYWOOD, BUT IT NEVER GOT MADE.

I worked constantly in the straight-to-video market. I did at least 45 of these projects, but many of the titles escape me now. Often all that separated my kind of movies from the A movies was the budget. Some, of course, were just bad, but most had perfectly decent scripts. If Jack Nicholson had been starring they would have been great. But we didn’t have the budget or Jack, so they weren’t. We did the best we could with what we had. We were working in the genre that was a cut above a C movie, but not an A movie either. I was Queen of the B’s.

When I did get a small part in a major movie, like the part I had in
Detroit Rock City
with Eddie Furlong, I was surprised at the difference between genres. That film had a budget ten times bigger than anything I’d ever been involved with. But can I tell you how boring it was, just to sit and wait? What I learned from doing a “bigger” movie was that it meant a lot more waiting. A lot more time wasted because they have the money and the time. When an actor didn’t like his performance, the director gave him another take. Or if the director didn’t like it, he’d say, “Let’s do it again.” They do take after take after take. I would be going out of my mind. “We have it. It’s in the can. You can just
tell
people we did a hundred takes!” I was used to a much faster pace, like television. In fact, I preferred television, especially sit-coms.

I could, however, see myself getting spoiled by the budget and perks of a major film production. The food was better. The hotel rooms were better. The makeup and hair people were better. Just the general production values, of course, are what make movies “Movies.” You know, syrup blood versus real special effects in the action movies. When deciding about doubles and the technical aspect, it revolves around the affordability of both the effects and the talent. So much of it’s computerized now; it sure wasn’t like that when I started.

In the straight-to-video market my stunts were mostly my own, and there was no budget for retouching or enhancement. Then there was what we in low-budgets call “scene stealing.” I was doing a film once in Century City and we all jumped out of a van, shot the scene, and ran away before we were caught without the proper permits. We did the same thing downtown—the director and I rode in the van with the cameraman, who sneaked shots of me descending a big stairway in a famous downtown building, speaking my lines. I dubbed them in later.

In the eighties, straight-to-video was a perfectly good market. Andrew Stevens and I had a couple of the all-time best-selling straight-to-video movies; he did very well with those. I got producer credit on a couple of them, but most of them were buyouts, which means you are paid a certain lump sum for two or three weeks work; and that’s it. No residuals. One year I did seven movies. They’d just shoot my part out and do the rest after I’d gone. If my salary was what cost the most, they’d shoot all my scenes in the first two weeks. Then I’d be wrapped and on to my next project while they finished up. I lost track of many of these films; some were retitled or I wasn’t told when they were released.

NICK ON THE SET WITH ANDREW STEVENS, PLAYING WITH FAKE BLOOD. IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY.

If only I had been five foot seven, I would have won so many more parts! I was just too tall. I towered over Andrew Stevens and the other actors, but we did lots of projects together. Andrew just stood on stuff; he didn’t care. He was a great guy that way. He hired me many times when he started producing and found scripts with me in mind. We had a lot of fun, but there were many famous actors I read for parts with who were intimidated by my height. Guys just didn’t want to look smaller. Surprised?

There were many actors over the years I probably would have had big crushes on, had I not been so involved with Gene. Michael Pare, for example, was just a beautiful man. I had such a good time with actors on so many movies. Gene would joke around with me when I came home at night, “So, did you suck face today?” “Yes,” I would mock-complain, “Andrew Stevens stuck his tongue down my throat again today.” “That’s my man,” Gene would say approvingly. We were never jealous of each other’s work life. He knew I was not being diverted emotionally. Gene is not a jealous guy; he’s not insecure in that way.

Gene was never my career adviser. If he had been I probably would have made a lot more money and lasted longer in the business. I was working so steadily when I met him that he didn’t presume to give me any advice, nor did I give him any advice about KISS. At the beginning, of course, we weren’t sure where our relationship was going or how serious it was going to be. We were both very busy working on our respective careers.

The night I met him at the Playboy Mansion Gene had just wrapped his role as the villain in
Runaway,
his first foray into acting. He was cast in a couple of projects after that as an actor—a bad actor; that’s part of his charm. Everything with Gene is so overdone when he acts. He puts on his newscaster voice and starts talking in a very deep, serious tone. I’d say, “What are you doing? You don’t talk like that, why are you doing it now?” And he’d say, “Well the script calls for this.” “Gene,” I’d tell him, “they want
you.
Just be
you.
That’s who they hired, that’s who they want to see.” I think he gets nervous and has a real mental block about remembering a lot of dialogue. Though after all these years of remembering lyrics and chords, vocals and stage directions, it seems he would be quite comfortable with acting.

I could always memorize pages and pages of dialogue. Which is funny, because I can never remember anyone’s name. But dialogue—throw it at me. I can remember tons of it, especially when it’s well-written and the conversation really flows. Gene says, “I don’t know how you can remember all that. How do you do it; I can’t ever remember what I’m supposed to say.” When we watch television and see a show like
The West Wing
where they all talk so quickly and have such long, complicated conversations, he just marvels. I say, “Gene, stop worrying about how you’re saying your lines. Stop thinking about you and think about what’s going on. Then you’ll get it.” This is advice he doesn’t understand. Everything in his life is about appearances; a large part of his job is overacting and theatrics. The subtleties escaped him.

There were so many times critics said, “She’s just about to break out,” or “She’ll be the next big thing.” You keep thinking, if you just get that one thing, that next role…And then—crickets—all of a sudden you’re too old for that one big role. I was too tall, too pretty, too young, and then too old. There were so many near-misses with real fame, but I don’t tell these stories with melancholy.

Warren Beatty called me in to read for a film role when he was involved with Madonna. I met him at a restaurant, and he asked me to go somewhere with him to talk about the project. “You know, I work very closely with my leading ladies,” he told me. I’m sure he did, but I just headed home. I got a call a few days later from Warren at home. “How’s Gene?” he asked. “Fine,” I said, “How’s Madonna?” And that was the end of that, until years later, when I saw him being interviewed at a restaurant while I was trying on sunglasses nearby. I walked over to where he was sitting and said, “Hey, Warren—this one, or that one?” showing him both pairs. He said, “That one.” I later read the writer’s description of what had happened in
Vanity Fair
: that a voluptuous blonde in thigh-high boots had approached him, asking whether or not she should buy these glasses. Warren told the writer that he didn’t know who I was, that things like that happened to him all the time.