Queen of the Oddballs (11 page)

• I am hired to teach Jimmie “J. J.” Walker—wisecracking, “DY-NO-MITE”-spouting star of the hit TV show
  Good Times—
  how to juggle.
  
 

• While people use the first portable listening device recently introduced to the United States—the Sony Walkman—to listen to Captain and Tenille’s “Do That to Me One More Time” and Rupert Holmes’s “Escape (The Pina Colada Song),” I’m listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees’ “Christine” and X’s “Los Angeles.”
  
 

• President Carter leads a boycott of the Summer Olympics in Moscow to protest the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. Decades later, there are protests when President Bush invades Afghanistan.
  
 

• I lose twenty pounds on the Scarsdale diet shortly after Dr. Herman Tarnower, the creator of the diet, loses his life when his jilted lover, Jean Harris, bumps him off.
  
 

• The new toy Rubik’s Cube is in such high demand that it’s as difficult to buy as it is to solve.
  
 

• I go several times to Chippendales, one of L.A.’s most popular nightclubs, to see their hot, all-male, dancing stripper revue.
  
 

• The David Letterman Show
  , a morning talk show, runs for just three months on NBC before being cancelled. Guess Letterman’s not really talk show material.
  
 

• I am obsessed with watching the Z Channel, one of the first cable TV movie channels devoted to screening rare classics, important foreign films, and American titles that have fallen through the cracks of commercial distribution.
  
 

• I perform my
  Gong Show
  –winning comedy juggling song at clubs and theaters along with my piano accompanist—
  Michael Feinstein
  .
  
 

8/8/80

Dear Olivia Newton-John:

Let me say what a pleasure it was working with you on
Xanadu
! Remember, I was the dancer wearing the twenties bathing suit in the “All Over the World” number (I know—what the hell was the costumer thinking?), and I was also in white face (again, not my idea!) when I juggled in the big Xanadu nightclub finale. After spending more than a month filming together every day, I think we know each other well enough for me to call you Livvy.

So Livvy, I’m writing this now because I’ve just come from the premiere screening of our movie. It transported me back ten months to the shoot, and when I got home, I realized I owed you a long-overdue thank-you note.

That’s right, Livvy, THANK YOU! Because whether you know it or not, you gave me some valuable advice on the set of
Xanadu
, advice that has had an enormous impact on my love life. Oh, and not because you’re a lesbian! Despite the rampant rumors, I don’t believe you’re gay. Remember, I witnessed you and my fellow dancer, Matt Lattanzi, get together on the set! Damn, were we all shocked—I mean whoever thought some twenty-one-year-old boy, eleven years younger than you (don’t get me wrong—you look fabulous!) would score with you? You were just so totally out of his league.

But anyway, let me explain why a thank-you is in order. See, when I was cast in
Xanadu,
I had
just
moved to L.A. Before that I had been living in San Francisco for two years where, besides performing, I was busy marching in demonstrations and hanging out with women who didn’t shave, who believed fat was a feminist issue, and who thought makeup objectified women and kept them under the patriarchal rule. In fact, I was one of those women!

My girlfriend, Daisy, decided to move to L.A. with me. She was my first long-term relationship, despite the fact that she had had several affairs while we were together—including a tryst with a female friend of ours and a wild night with our male next-door neighbor. At first everything was fine in L.A. We moved into a cute little duplex in the Hollywood Hills. But then I started getting jobs, and she couldn’t find one. I had my own car and friends; she had
my
car and friends. She quickly became resentful and I was still distrustful. But Livvy, we did love each other and we tried to make our relationship work.

And then came
Xanadu
. Let me tell you, that first day when I walked onto the set at Fiorucci, where you took Gene Kelly to buy an outfit for the big opening of the nightclub, I could hardly catch my breath when I saw all those gorgeous dancers. I’d never set eyes on so many amazing-looking women all in one place.

Then the shooting began—those fourteen-hour days, all those people having affairs with each other (you included, Liv!). It was tempting, but I lived with someone, and just because she had cheated on me didn’t mean I was going to do the same. Besides, I had never gone after any of my relationships—since I wouldn’t dare take the chance of being rejected, I always let others pursue me. And although I was putting together a style that was a little more interesting than my who-gives-a-shit-how-I-look fashion in San Francisco, it was obvious that none of those beautiful dancers were going to be beating down my dressing room door!

Meanwhile Daisy finally got a job (she’s a hairdresser), and started making her own friends at the salon. We both were so busy, we almost never saw each other during the week, and on weekends we’d try to reconnect. But even when we went out to dinner or to a movie, we were feeling really strained. One Sunday when we were cleaning the house, Daisy turned off the vacuum and said, “Maybe we’d be happier if we had an open relationship. Whaddya think?”

Wow. She was already sort of doing that anyway, so I said, “Sure, let’s try it.”

“I think you should have an affair,” Daisy added, and then she returned to vacuuming the hallway. I swear, I’m not making this up. There was my girlfriend, urging me to have an affair!

So back at work we finished shooting the “All Over the World” number at Fiorucci and moved over to the soundstage at Hollywood General Studios to shoot the BIG XANADU FINALE! On our first day at the studio, a few of the dancers were rehearsing part of the production number without you, Livvy. I was watching this inner circle of boy dancers facing an outer circle of girl dancers. Each boy would twirl his girl, and then the girl circle would move one step right so that a new girl stood in front of that boy. Then he would twirl her, and so on. You remember that routine, don’t you?

I was standing there, leaning against a pillar and wondering if the girls felt dizzy with all that twirling going on, when suddenly I spotted her. A GORGEOUS, striking dancer with sandy red hair, radiant green eyes, and a sexiness that exuded in spite of (or maybe
because
of?!) the baggy overalls she was wearing to rehearse in. She looked like a young Ann-Margret from her
Kitten with a Whip
days. I’d noticed her at Fiorucci, too, but there she’d been just one of the bevy of beautiful dancers. What made her stand out now was that she was
in the boys’ circle
, twirling one girl, and then another, and then another. Come on, Livvy, even if you’re not gay, you have to admit that was
totally hot!

So I stood there thinking, hmm, Daisy says I should have an affair. Well, why not with this girl?
Yeah, right
. Like she’s even gay. Just because she’s dancing with other women, it’s choreographed that way. And even if by any remote chance she
is
gay, like I’m ever going to pursue a totally stunning dancer I’m sure to be rejected by? No way!

By now you’re probably trying to remember the advice you gave me, Livvy. I’m getting there in a sec! So even though that gorgeous girl dancer was completely out of my league (like you were to Matt, see where I’m going?), I had to find out who she was, and I guess Fate played a little part in this because I happened to ask the perfect person: Nick, one of my fellow jugglers, who was standing nearby.

“That’s Celeste,” he answered with a grin. “Did you ever meet my ex-girlfriend Danielle? She manages Fiorucci.”

“No.”

Nick leaned in close and whispered, “A couple of years ago Danielle left me for Celeste.”

Livvy, I almost fainted.

Okay. Here’s where you come in. As we rehearsed over the next couple of days, your song for the finale played again and again and again—hundreds of times a day. Over and over, your words (sung so beautifully, I might add) hypnotically planted the suggestion in my brain:

 

You have to believe we are magic, nothing can stand in our way You have to believe we are magic, don’t let your aim ever stray And if all your hopes survive, destiny will arrive I’ll bring all your dreams alive…for you.

 

Because of your lyrics, Liv, I was determined to believe that
I
was magic, let nothing stand in my way, and trust that I could bring all my dreams alive…for me! Too bad I wasn’t dreaming of a huge career break or financial freedom or world peace and justice for all. I was intent on pursuing, wooing, and scoring a dancer on
Xanadu.

I decided that during the eleven remaining days of shooting, I would make some sort of move toward Celeste daily.

DAY 1: I walked up to Celeste and told her she was great in the twirling number. She said thanks and turned away.

DAY 2: I smiled at Celeste and asked how her weekend was. “Nice, thanks,” she said, and turned away.

DAY 3: I befriended Mandy, you remember her, the one who did that killer swing dance with her partner? She was Celeste’s friend, and I figured if Celeste saw that Mandy thought I was cool, she might, too. (I really liked Mandy, so it wasn’t entirely scheming!)

DAY 4: When I saw Celeste writing in a notebook, I sauntered over and asked if she could spare a piece of paper. This time I said, “I’m Hillary, by the way.”

She said, “Hi, I’m Celeste,” and we chatted for about three minutes. Actually, I think it was about you and Matt! I tried to be as charming as possible.

DAY 5: In the morning we said hello, and smiled at each other during the day. In fact, several times she caught me looking at her, and a few other times I caught her looking at me. And whenever either of us caught the other looking, we’d quickly turn away. I seemed to be making progress!

DAY 6: I knew Celeste would be at a party one of the dancers was throwing, so I put together my best outfit, which included a black bowling shirt with “Betty” embroidered in red over the pocket. I felt sorta cute at the party until I laid eyes on Celeste. She was wearing a sixties minidress, the bottom black-and white-striped and the top a lime green material, with a green bow around her narrow dancer’s waist. Her vintage black patent leather spiked heels matched her purse, and she wore sixties makeup with the eyeliner extending into cat eyes. She looked unbelievably, stylishly, fabulously, extraordinarily, well, unbelievable! We smiled at each other from across the room, but an hour passed with no contact. Finally when I saw she was getting tipsy, I made my way over to her. We talked awhile, and then she suggested we go together on a “mission” to capture a bottle of wine and sneak out to my car with it.

“Oh, but there are obstacles,” she declared, pointing at Lonny, “an international spy who has been tailing me throughout Europe and the States.” The ruse went on, becoming more complex, and I joined in, pulling her away to hide from Tanya, her “angry ex-girlfriend who can’t see us together or there will be hell to pay.”

We agreed we must remain cool and discreet. Celeste touched the pocket of my bowling shirt. “Code name: Betty,” she whispered.

I smiled at my own beautiful Ann-Margret and said, “Code name: Ann.”

We were officially partners in crime.

I knew right away that “Ann” was a madwoman. As she drank another glass of wine, an edge surfaced. She was the type whose hostility and bitterness lash out unedited when they’re drunk. But she was gorgeous, creative, and totally fun, so I was thrilled when she sent her friends home, telling them she’d get a ride with me.

By the end of our mission we were sitting in my car swigging white wine from the bottle. Well
she
was. I don’t really like alcohol, and someone had to drive, so I kept pretending to sip because I could tell that she didn’t want this night to end and, of course, neither did I.

At 3:30 a.m. we went to Canter’s restaurant. When we strolled in we ran into several people we knew, and joined their table. Others arrived and with each new arrival, “Ann” and I were pushed closer together. By sunrise, when I dropped her off at home and she hugged me good-bye, I was drunk on her perfume, which I later learned was, naturally, Ambush.

I climbed into bed as Daisy was climbing out to go to work. I told her I’d been out with a bunch of people from the film, figuring there was no sense letting her know that my every nerve ending was electrified and I couldn’t shake the scent of Ambush out of my head.

DAY 7: It was dark and pouring rain all Monday. I wasn’t scheduled to work, and it took everything in me not to stop by the set anyway.

DAY 8: I saw Celeste first thing in the morning, and although I greeted her warmly, she was frosty and distant. Shit. Maybe she realized I was interested in her and this was her way of showing me she didn’t return the feelings? Most of the day I didn’t see Celeste—she was rehearsing a number with you, Livvy, while the other jugglers and I were working on the bit where we passed clubs over your co-stars’ heads as they entered the nightclub under the arch of our pattern. That evening, when we wrapped for the day, I asked Mandy and a few other girls if they wanted to go out for a drink. Mandy invited Celeste (as I’d hoped she would!). On the way out of the studio, Celeste walked over and uttered her first words to me all day: “You comin’, Betty?”

“Yeah, I am, Ann.”

From that moment on, we referred to each other only as Ann and Betty.

Six of us sat around a table at the Gold Coast bar in West Hollywood talking about who was sleeping with who on the set, when Ann excused herself to go to the ladies room. As she stood up, she kicked me under the table and subtly motioned with her head for me to follow.

I waited the longest minute of my life then excused myself. Just as I approached the door it creaked open, and Ann extended an arm and yanked me inside. She pushed me against a wall and began to kiss me furiously. We couldn’t keep our hands—or our mouths—off each other. Frenzied, heavy-breathed excitement mixed with slow, deep exploration, nails digging into skin, tongues swirling, lips smothering.

Twenty minutes later when we finally returned to the table, the others laughed and gave us knowing looks.

“What?” Ann asked. “There were people in line, we had to wait.”

Later, in the parking lot, we waved good-bye to our friends, and the moment they were gone, Ann and I lunged for each other. We leaned against her car, a brilliant 1961 black and yellow Metropolitan with plaid seats, and began to make out some more.

A policeman walked by. We stopped. When he was out of sight, we moved a few rows down to my car and continued to kiss. The cop walked by again. We ducked. Everything about Ann was thrilling and dangerous.

That night I decided to come clean with Daisy—well, maybe not full-on shower clean, but at least sponge-bath clean. I told her I had met someone I was
thinking
about having an affair with.

“Good,” she said.

I could tell Daisy was pissed, though she didn’t have the right to say anything more. She sort of swallowed hard and said, “By the way, remember the other night when I came home so late? I slept with a guy from work.”