The Art of Men (I Prefer Mine Al Dente) (30 page)

Those six weeks were pretty ridiculous for many reasons, but an uptown girl can’t tell all her tales. They were also fulfilling. Everything I did by day turned out productive. I got the Poise account. I got three play offers, two Broadway and one West End London. I got a TV pilot for ABC and landed a book deal with Atria.

Everything I did by night was memorable—and ridiculous and well, sparklery.

I have no regrets. It was splendid because it was unique for me. But I did worry for a moment when after my last night out, after hitting the Boom Boom Room, SL, and 1 Oak, I found myself sitting with Kelly on the fire escape of the Tribeca loft I was staying in, smoking a cigarette (I hadn’t smoked in over seven years) and drinking a Beck’s as the sun rose over Gotham. I was three sheets to the wind. “Ya know Kelly, I don’t know what I’ve been doing for the last ten years,” I slurred, “but I should have been doing this, why don’t people live like this every day of their lives?” And somewhere from New Jersey I could hear Jeffrey say, “Because that’s fucked up, man.”

There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work. And time for love. That leaves no other time.

—COCO CHANEL

The Art of
Men I Have Not Hit On

B
URT REYNOLDS taught me how to be good on a talk show. He took me from my Kansas one-word answers to being worthy of watching on TV. I was going to be on Johnny Carson for my first guest appearance. Burt was directing and starring with Parker in a movie in Atlanta called
Stroker Ace
. I think he was married to Loni Anderson at the time, and if not, they were a couple. I mentioned I was going on Carson and was nervous because I was in such awe of Johnny. He sailed right into, “Here’s what you do with Carson, well, with any talk show host, but specifically Carson. You walk out there and flirt a little and give him a compliment. Then ALWAYS give him the first joke! After he has the first joke and the first laugh, go crazy, tell funny stories, flirt with him, and find a way to throw in that he’s hot. Be yourself amplified. It’s a piece of cake, try it.”

That next week, I went on the Johnny Carson show. I walked out and said, “UH OH, I didn’t realize you were so handsome.” Then he blushed and cracked a joke. The audience went wild with laughter. I then told a story about being on the back of a Harley-Davidson and threw in, “I wish it had been you I was straddling.” The appearance was a hit! I was “in,” so to speak, in the guest-star supercircuit. That advice worked like a charm with Johnny and has with each host since . . . even Ellen and Oprah. After all, it’s only good manners to let them have the first laugh and give them the first compliment. It
is
their show. Thanks, Burt.

CARL REINER

is a comedy icon and a renowned actor, film director, producer, writer, and comedian. He has received nine Emmy Awards. I had the pleasure of being directed by Carl in
Sibling Rivalry
alongside Bill Pullman, Scott Bakula, Sam Elliott, and Carrie Fisher. He also directed me in a movie called
Summer School
, starring opposite Mark Harmon (or “Hormone,” as I fondly call him). He was a memorable director, and a kind, gentle, funny soul. He’s also a very deep man. He asked me questions about my personal philosophy and shared a bit of his own. Carl is brilliantly funny; you will meet no one more quick witted. But the thing Carl taught me that I most remember was how to make a leading man look like a sex symbol.

One day on the set of
Sibling Rivalry
we were chatting along. What pure pleasure it was to just sit and listen to the stories of his life’s experiences. We got onto the subject of leading men, and he gave me these pearls of wisdom: “It is up to the leading lady to make the male lead a heartthrob.” He continued, “It works the other way around, also, but more so with actors than actresses. If you act like he is
the
most handsome, sexy man alive, he will be. You must look at him adoringly as you would your own lover. In interviews you must talk him up, fawn over him, drool if you have to, but always treat him as though he is the object of your affections. The world will follow your lead. Every woman in the universe will fall as in love with him as they
think
you are.”

Boy, now didn’t that make sense? I’d wondered growing up why not-so-movie-star-handsome men had been so attractive. Spencer Tracy, Humphrey Bogart, Jimmy Stewart, all nice-looking men, but far from the likes of Clark Gable or James Dean. It was true, those actresses like Bacall and Hepburn had adored those actors so thoroughly on screen, and they themselves were so stunning that it made us fall in love right along with them. (They also adored them offscreen, but those are their stories.)

Thank you, Carl, what an honor to have worked with you twice and listened to your captivating stories and viewpoints on filmmaking. And thank you for showing me how to get the world to fall in love with my leading men. It did us all an enormous service.

JASON WEINBERG

has been my manager/publicist for 20 years. We met back when he was a baby. I was filming a movie in Toronto called
Radiant City
. I had . . . a what? Everybody join in: “a slight crush on my costar,” Gil Bellows. One night at my favorite Toronto restaurant, Joso’s, Gil and I were joined by this black-haired, dark-eyed dude named Jason. I assumed he was an actor. He looked like a cross between Andy Garcia and Al Pacino. We were chatting away, and when I asked him what films he had done, he started laughing. “No films—I’m a publicist.” I couldn’t believe it! What a waste of a good mug!

Jason and I hit it off immediately. It evolved into a 20-year relationship that has been nothing less than extraordinary. Jason was this
Whiz Kids
math genius and chess wizard in his hometown of NYC. He is one smart cookie! He is also the best publicist/manager on the planet. Jason always remains patient, calm, and professional. When I’m losing my shit, every other day, he soothes me and makes it all okay. Unlike most publicists, he never gossips or talks about his other clients. I can’t tell you how RARE this is.

Our success together has been uncanny. The best part is the friendship we developed. Although I’ve tried to convince him for 20 years that he’s not gay (so that I can marry him), it appears that he might be. He’s lived with his partner, Merrit, for ten years and they share twins, my godchildren Harry and Jasper.

Jason prefers remaining behind the scenes, so I won’t go on about him, other than to say he now owns a management company called Untitled Entertainment and represents every diva in Hollywood. We prefer to think of ourselves as actresses but if the shoe fits . . . I’m just lucky that I was the first actress in his stable.

PRINCE

I met Prince when I was sitting all alone in the middle of an enormous arena. I’d come to participate in the Special Olympics. The rumors were that Prince was very shy and never approached people, at least according to those in Hollywood.

He walked right up to me. I looked up, and there he was. “Hi, I’m Prince,” as if I wouldn’t recognize him, “and this is my father.”

“Hi, I’m Kirstie,” I chimed in.

“I know who you are,” he dreamily replied.

Prince and I went on to become sweet friends. He visited me on the set of
Cheers
and on occasion would drop in to my Encino house. I met up with him at Paisley Park when I was filming
Drop Dead Gorgeous
in Minnesota. We had no trouble communicating with each other, and it was never frivolous conversation. We each spoke of life’s most complex mysteries. We talked about religion, business, and families. He is the most interesting person I’ve met to date. I needn’t speak of his talent because it’s evident. What you might not know is that he is electric. His being radiates and lights up the room. I mean that literally. He lights up a room like a firefly in a jar.

We’ve spoken on the phone over the years, and I find him as fascinating as the day he said, “Hi, I’m Prince.”

We were an unlikely duo by standard observation, as I am anything but mysteriously captivating, but somehow we clicked, and what a fine click it was.

He asked me to be on one of his albums and in his video. I did. I was. He asked me to present an award to him at some VH1 or MTV event. I did.

All I’ve ever wanted from him was to simply hear his viewpoints on life. They are unique and funny. He is forever funny.

Prince taught me that I was unique, just by being the only “me” in the universe.

I love him.

MICHAEL WISNER

You probably don’t know him, but he saved my life. In the mid-1980s, I got terribly ill. I kept working and filming, but I was so sick that I couldn’t walk across a room without becoming winded. My neck was in excruciating pain. My body was weak and frozen. I could lie in an almost scalding bath and only after hours would my body warm up inside. I developed tremors in my hands; sometimes I lost all peripheral vision. After two years of countless doctor’s visits, expert opinions, and specialists, I was hopeless. No one knew what it was. They knew what it
wasn’t
after hundreds of blood tests, MRIs, X-rays, and such—it wasn’t MS, it wasn’t ALS, it wasn’t cancer, it wasn’t leukemia. So after two years the expert consensus was—it wasn’t anything. A few suggested I was mentally ill and suggested antidepressants. I let them know I wasn’t depressed. I was DESPERATE because I was suffering, and there was no apparent cause!

That would have driven anyone to drugs, but I’d already taken the cocaine train, and I wasn’t jiggy with the drugging-up mentally ill route, plus, I could FEEL that it was physical. A friend suggested I go see this Michael guy. He was an expert in toxins. Hell! What did I have to lose? Michael looks like a clone of Robert Redford, so I instantly perked up. He sat me down, luckily, because I couldn’t stand very long, and asked me to tell him every symptom. Jeez, by then I could reel them faster than 30 Hail Marys. He looked me square in the eye, “Have you been exposed to termite spray, methyl bromide?”

I didn’t know what methyl bromide was but I said yes, I’ve lived in three houses within the past two years and they were all tented for termites before I moved in.

“Look at this,” he said, while handing me a large book. It was some toxicology handbook or something. There, listed under methyl bromide poisoning, was each and every symptom I’d just rattled off. I almost fainted from the effect of finally knowing what had happened.

He recommended I redo the Clear Body, Clear Mind Scientology detox. He also introduced me to Alka-Seltzer Gold. It’s like mainlining potassium, and it quelled the tremors and cleared a lot of the pain. He said, “We use this with our ‘glasshouse’ patients, the ones who are supersensitive to environmental toxins.”

I did the detox and drank the Alka-Seltzer Gold, and within four weeks I was up to 80 percent of being my normal self. Within four months everything was perfect.

Michael and I joined forces with several environmental groups and with their help got methyl bromide banned in the United States. Michael went on to help thousands, including many of the first responders of 9/11, ridding their bodies of the poisons that were slowly or swiftly killing them.

I’m eternally grateful for my good friend Michael for discovering what was destroying my body and my happiness. He remains to this day my guardian angel.

WALLACE AND GILBERT

are lobstermen in Maine.

When Parker and I first arrived on the island, we had the pleasure of having them caretake our house and somehow take care of us. You don’t meet men like this anymore, even in Maine. They are a dying breed. They taught me what hard work looks like.

Wallace had been the caretaker of famed New York City interior designer Sister Parish. Both Wallace and Gilbert are master carpenters, and they restored our 22-bedroom Maine cottage. They also caught lobsters full-time. Is that how you say it? Caught lobsters? Anyway, suffice it to say they worked their asses off.

They reminded me of Hemingway’s
The Old Man and the Sea
. Once I wrote, directed, and starred in an independent film in Maine. I titled it
Babies and Butter
. It still hasn’t been cut together, but it was a swell film. My friend Scott from Connecticut played an enormous lobster. I had a costume made in LA, and believe me, it was really authentic. The story line was that something or someone was stealing all the babies and all the butter on the island, and no one could figure out who the culprit was. It turns out this giant lobster had been observing how we Maine socialites were ignoring our children, leaving them to be raised by nannies and such. He was not impressed. So every night he would creep out of the water and kidnap the babies. We finally found them all hidden in the fern patches in the woods. They had huge slices of bread. Huge, I tell you! And he had given them HUGE bowls of butter and jam to spread on the huge slices of bread. All the babies were laughing and frolicking (in the story that is; we had 10 babies in that shot and when one would start to cry, they would all cry). Anyway, Scott played the lobster, I played the widow who fell in love with him, and Wallace and Gilbert played the mean townspeople who tried to kill him and cook him. There was a wild chase around the island with Wallace and Gilbert riding in the back of a truck with shotguns. Gilbert is a lunatic, so he played the part easily. Wallace is shy and soft spoken. He probably still wants to boil me for forcing him to be in the movie.

Wallace and Gilbert were always there for us. Doing clambakes, bringing me bouquets of flowers, building new fireplaces, taking us on boat rides, and helping us lug our stuff back and forth to Camden. Wallace still works for me at my house in Maine. The other day he brought me an enormous bouquet of peonies and 10 Walla Walla onions. For over 20 years, Wallace and Gilbert have taken care of us and made sure we felt like Maine was our home. They are among my favorite men on the high sea of life.

DAN CORTESE, DARYL “CHILL” MITCHELL, AND WALLACE LANGHAM