Kiss and Tell (13 page)

I was expecting a lavish meal, and here he just wanted to show me that note with the wrong number. I said, “Gotta go. Heading to the airport. Nice seeing you again. Thanks for that breakfast you didn’t bring.” He said, “I will send my driver for breakfast right now.” I said, “You have a
driver
? Where’s your car?” He said, “I don’t drive.” I cracked up. I’ve been driving since I was twelve, tractors and everything. This was L.A. for God’s sake. Everybody drove.

When I asked, “Why don’t you drive?” Gene said he was from New York and had never needed to learn; he took taxis or subways. He added, “Look, I’ll send the driver right now to pick up some breakfast from Greenblatt’s.” It was at that point he realized he had forgotten his wallet. I could not believe this guy. All I could say was, “You are the biggest loser. You are a
loser,
and I’ve got to run now. Bye-bye.”

He did a strange thing as I was leaving. Gene pulled my sweater out from the waistband and stuck his head completely up and under my sweater. It was so weird, it was almost enough to make me say bye-bye for good, but then he came back up and gave me a great kiss. He told me, “I’m going to call you every day.” I said, “Oh sure you are,” and headed out the door shaking my head.

But he did call me every day while I was in Canada. And he’s called me every day since then, for the past 22 years.

Chapter Eight

Beauty and the Beast

T
o find someone who truly adores you is the greatest thing in the world. I had been looking for such a long time for something, and I found it in Gene. I’m sure it was more than just one thing; it was a combination of many of his qualities. But it was also that waiting-to-exhale thing. With Gene, I could finally just breathe normally, and it was a great feeling. I don’t think Gene knew what was going to happen when we met; I certainly didn’t. I think he immediately sensed I was someone special, otherwise he would have made a move on me in the wine cellar. Something in him told him right from the start not to treat this like a quickie.

Gene and I talked every day while I was in Canada and decided that I would fly directly from Toronto to visit him in New York. I had only spent a couple of hours at the party with him, then a few minutes the next morning when he came by to visit. Since then we’d had some great conversations and I was excited to see him again, but truly, I didn’t know what to expect.

When the shoot ended I flew directly to New York. He was waiting, and the whole scene was straight off the cover of a romance novel, with Gene as the hero. Flowers, a limousine, food—we headed straight for his place. I didn’t leave New York for three months! I stayed for so long that Tracy eventually had to fly in and bring me my dog, Vanilla. Tracy stayed for a while, then took off for Europe to model.

While I was in Canada, I had heard a few things about Mr. Simmons. For one thing, I knew from Tracy that he had something going on with Diana Ross. Just a few days after I arrived Gene picked up the phone and called Diana Ross and told her, “Look, I’ve met somebody, and I don’t want you to read about it in the tabloids or anything. But I’ve met this girl Shannon and I want to spend some time with her.” I was impressed with his honesty and forthrightness. He didn’t have to do that. He could have avoided an uncomfortable discussion for a long time.

Gene really won my heart; he tried so hard. He placed candles around the bathtub, he brought me scones and jam and tea in bed, and food whenever I was hungry. As anyone who knew Gene then or knows him now can attest, this behavior was completely out of character for him. The man can barely make a sandwich. He was knocking himself out, though I didn’t fully appreciate what an effort this was for him. Several of his previous girlfriends had had housekeepers and chefs. I thought I must certainly be the poorest girlfriend he’d had in quite a while; he actually had to do things for me. The whole dynamic of our relationship was very new to him, but he liked doing things for me, and it was very endearing. He actually picked his clothes up off the floor while I was there—something he hasn’t done since. He wanted to make a good impression, and I wanted him to want me around.

Gene was different from the other guys I’d been with, because he was so completely accepting of me. I didn’t ever have to be embarrassed about opening up too much…. or think, “Oh, if I say that he’s got ammo.” I’d had those thoughts with other people. And it was just not like that with Gene. I was still smoking cigarettes at the time, a habit he just hated, but he didn’t give me any grief about it. It wasn’t a deal breaker. Nothing I did was a deal breaker. I was the exception to all his rules. I suddenly had a man who just wanted to make me happy. He’d head out to rehearse and come home and I’d still be in bed! He’d just happily jump back in. It was so romantic, I couldn’t believe it. I thought,
This, too, has to pass. Another not-real situation. Too good to be true.
But it wasn’t.

One day Gene took me to Bloomingdale’s for a shopping spree. Hef had given me presents sometimes, but let’s face it, I knew his secretary had been the one who picked them out. The sentiment had been there; Hef was thoughtful and I appreciated it when he said something like “Go out and buy yourself a dress,” but I had never experienced anything like this shopping trip with Gene.

Not knowing New York, I’d never been inside Bloomingdale’s. We walked around the store and Gene said, “Pick out whatever you want.” He sat patiently while I modeled all the latest fashions. I had certainly never shopped on this scale—one with an unlimited budget. I was in heaven in the Donna Karan section, trying on everything I could put my hands on, while Gene said to sales staff, “She’ll take that. And that. And that.” Coats and hats and thigh-high boots. Sweaters and accessories and outfits. Gene was helping me try on a gigantic Donna Karan rhinestone belt, very fashionable and trendy at the time, when security approached me and asked if everything was all right, because Gene looked like a thug. “It’s all right, he’s with me—not to mention he’s paying!” I told them. (I still have that belt, by the way, up in my closet. I can’t buckle it around my waist anymore, but we won’t talk about that.) So then Gene found a personal shopper to come assist me—as if I needed any help. I’ve never needed help spending money, only making it.

The whole thing was just fabulous. I needed some new clothes, because all I had with me was what I brought in my suitcase from the Toronto shoot, but this was way beyond anything I could have imagined. I’m not sure he was thinking clearly, because Gene was setting quite a standard, one that he would never want to live up to again, ever. Trust me on that one.

We were having so much fun. I loved New York, its pace and rhythms were perfect for me. It was certainly more of a city like Toronto than L.A. was, with busy sidewalks and high-rises and crowds of people walking everywhere. We’d go out to dinner and order two of every dessert and try them all. We went to the Russian Tea Room one evening and ordered the entire dessert cart. The whole pastry thing was new to me; I developed quite a sugar habit in New York. My feelings for Gene grew stronger every day. I had found someone who would finally put me up on my own little pedestal like my dad had. It was incredible to have that feeling of being cherished once more. Any defenses I had crumbled; the feeling really grew into love. When I was ready to give back, Gene was right there waiting.

I met the other members of KISS on that trip. Paul was handsome and charismatic, but I knew he had seen girls come and go. I wanted to make a good impression on him, because I knew Gene loved him and respected his opinion. Eric Carr was with the band then; what a sweet guy he was. I ventured out a couple of times to watch Gene rehearse and see what KISS was all about. He actually got a little shy playing in front of me. He was blushing. They had to practice where each band member would walk during each song so they wouldn’t crash into each other, and I watched them map out their territory. This was just practice; no fire breathing, no costumes, no bombs going off. It looked funny, and I had to giggle, watching him scuttle around the stage.

Gene had made me aware of his feelings about drinking and drug use right from the start. “Drinking is for losers,” is certainly something he said to me on more than one occasion. I said, “Gene, we’re not all losers just because we have a drink. I will agree with you that it’s not especially good for you. I have a lot of vices that I’m probably willing to give up for the right reasons, when I’m ready. And when I’m ready, I’ll let you know.” I was being cocky, but I knew that if I didn’t give these things up, I wouldn’t be able to have a serious relationship with him.

Alcohol and drugs were not going to fly in Gene’s world, but I think I’d been looking for a reason to quit all that. I’d been partying hard for years, and I was tired; I was pretty much done. It was time to grow up and be sober. I felt for the first time I was entering a healthy environment, becoming one-half of a healthy relationship. It was good for me and good for him.

Nothing changed overnight. I continued to drink for a while, but not get drunk. The night I met Gene was the last of its kind. If we were out for dinner and I ordered a drink, he wouldn’t confront me about it. He was still trying to make a good impression on me, of course, and was on his best behavior. He would just sit there and wait—like something was going to happen. I would say, “You’ve been around enough drunks to know that nothing happens when you have one drink. Don’t sit there and act like because I have a glass of champagne I’m going to fall off my chair and cause a scene.” But Gene likes to drive his points home. He beats things to death. I got the message.

I did eventually quit drinking, but not because he objected. I had been drinking for so long to help me cope or help me be less shy or for whatever reason, and it was something I just didn’t need anymore. I didn’t miss it. It’s no fun to drink alone, and now I had a guy who was as clean and sober as it gets. Mr. Goody Two-shoes, Dudley Do-Right.

Those months I spent with Gene were a dry-out spell. The whole New York experience was wonderful, and our relationship was still too good to be true. But I had to get back to work, and life had to go back to a new normal. It was time to incorporate my family, my life, and my work into our new world. When I got home to L.A., all my friends were still running around doing this and doing that. Gene went on tour and I was alone, so I fell back into the party life a little bit. And the funny thing was, it wasn’t so great. I looked around and thought,
All this isn’t as fun as I remember.
I just didn’t want to do it anymore.

A few months after I returned to L.A. I headed off to Africa to do a movie. I was traveling all over the place; so was Gene. No matter where either of us was in the world, Gene faithfully called me every single day. Slowly I dropped the friends who were still doing drugs and all those things I didn’t want to do anymore. I think that should be Step One of any 12-step program: Get away from it. Get away from the people around you doing that kind of stuff, it’s half the battle. I think I was lucky, because I had been partying hard for a good while by then and stopped just in the nick of time, before I had some really serious problems to deal with. It’s not that I was drinking so much I had to go to rehab or was losing jobs—but then again, I really don’t know. I don’t know what jobs I didn’t get because of my lifestyle, or because I was a Playmate, for that matter. I’m sure there was stuff going on behind closed doors: “Should we see her?” “Nah, she’s a Playmate, forget it.” It may be that some people were looking at me thinking,
She was stoned during that audition.
All I knew was that the time had come. I stopped drinking and doing drugs, and I didn’t miss it.

Gene and I did have some things to work out in the early days. He had a real problem with some of the ways I expressed myself, for example. I had picked up a few New York words and phrases from him, such as
scumbag,
which I loved and used everywhere. I also used the phrase
shut up
to mean “No, get out, I don’t believe it.” He did not care for that at all. I used it a few times and the last time, I guess, was one time too many. We were driving somewhere, and he pulled over and said, ‘
Shut up
‘ is not a phrase I ever want to be told or hear again from you.” He was not kidding.

I was surprised. I said, “What, you mean ‘
shut up
‘? It doesn’t mean for you to literally close your mouth. It’s a saying, for God’s sake. Are you not from around here, or what? It’s just an expression. You’re in America now. It’s not a sign of disrespect.” This was the closest thing we’ve had to an argument to this day.

Generally it was small stuff we had to work out and get around in the beginning of our relationship. Gene spent so much time on the road touring, surrounded by people saying “yes” to his every request, that it was hard for him to come home to me. I was always a bit of a troublemaker, and was never afraid to talk back to him. He got yessed to death on the road, but he wasn’t going to get it from me. He’d always had diva girlfriends, and I’m sure part of that personality type is attractive to him.

Gene was fascinated by the fact that I hadn’t finished school, that I had been a “bad girl.” I’m sure at the very beginning he was wondering to himself, “Why do I like her so much?” Bottom line: he has a double standard. There’s a standard for girls on the road, and a standard for girlfriends. From the first night in the wine cellar at the Playboy Mansion, I was definitely “girlfriend” material, and he had high standards where I was concerned.

When Gene finished his tour he moved in with me—and Tracy and Ruben—and put his New York place up for sale. He was very concerned about the legal ramifications of actually living with me and wanted to be sure he didn’t “owe” me anything. He was scrupulous about paying the rent, which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t much money. I don’t imagine it was cheap when Cher redecorated his New York apartment—though I had certainly enjoyed it when I was there. All things considered, I was a pretty inexpensive girlfriend.