(Part 2 of a 4 part series of Himmmms sharing their crazy nights. This is the second "M" and has been written as told to the group's writer who typed it all up for you. It's long so the TL/DR short attention span crowd can bookmark it and read it when you want. WARNING: Some NSFW adult language & events).
I'd been a good guy all my life. Truly. The dorky kid, kind of bookish and keeping to myself. I knew right from wrong, and was raised in a large family with a great dad who always steered me away from crazies and creeps. That's unusual growing up in Hollywood, at studios, and there is where I met a lifelong good friend who is the idiot who roped me into sharing this story on this amazingly addictive blog you call CDAN. He and I have a lot in common – including bad car experiences and others' bodily fluids, and have shared many insane nights together. He wasn't with me on the one I'm about to share, but I still blame him for it. In fact, I blame him for everything crazy in my life. I still can't figure why I need crazy people around me all the time.
I'm going to start this story at the end. That's how I remembered the entire event – all in reverse.
I awoke on the floor, staring straight up at the ceiling. The morning sunlight painted the room. Two faces were staring down at me, and I could barely move. My head felt like a steamroller was parked on it, and some wild animal used me mouth as a port-a-potty. I raised up and was covered in stains, and something smelled tragic. Yes, it was me. The two people hovering over me had a look on their face like they'd just seen a car hit by a train. Total disappointment. Shock, confusion, and disgust. I meant me. That's how I felt. Where was I? Who was I? What happened?
Slowly, the two people became familiar. Family members, two of my judgmental siblings and…uggh. What a headache. I was in my sister's house, or maybe it was hell. No, because if I'd died and gone to hell there's be good music and strippers I'm positive of it. Worse than hell, I was at this Leave It To Beaver house here in the suburbs of Hollywood.
"It was nice of that strange girl to bring you home Mister Big Shot Hollywood. Good thing dad's not here or mom either or you'd be in the drunk tank young man. Or at Cedars. Are you on drugs? I thought you were in your writing cycle, hiding away somewhere. You were out with that crazy guy again weren't you? Hope it was worth it, whatever it was. Who WAS that gorgeous girl who woke us up at 4am and dragged you in here? Get up and get a shower because you're stinking up the house."
Nobody loves you like family.
How and why was I here? Why did I feel so off-kilter, and WHAT was that SMELL on me? Is that blood dried on my pants? Is it mine? Oww my hand really hurts…damn, that's glass and dried blood in my hand. Oh no. No. Oh hell. NOW I remember. It's all coming back now. I remember Darth Vader. A crazy killer guy. Naked blonde goddess. What the – Oh, Dear…God. No good deed goes unpunished. Amen to that.
It began with a call from a beautiful young lady who was best friends with my current girlfriend. We'd been dating a while and my lady (#1 - flash in the pan A list singer who defined that heroin chic look of her time) was enjoying her musical success. She was sweet, but a little fruity – young and mental like me. I too had found success in the movies and was unprepared for the explosion of life that came with it. I was too young. After all the craziness of that first big movie, I'd decided to hole up and write my next movie. It was a horrible time in my personal life, with a sick parent and feeling like I was going insane. So my girlfriend's friend, we'll refer to her as Saffron – she wanted to drag me out of my pit of despair to give me a break.
"Be social, come out with me. Just a few hours – it'll energize you and you can go back into your hole and write some more." Sounded good. My girlfriend put her up to it. Gee, thanks. Saffron wasn't a famous celebrity, but she worked for (#2 - follicly challenged A list mostly movie actor who has a franchise and is an Oscar winner/nominee) as an assistant. She was super brainy, graduated from London School of Economics, and she was related to the fallen Shah of Iran. A stunning brunette, tall and tan, and could probably kick my butt. She also modeled, and looked like a svelte image of Princess Jasmine. Saffron was raised in many of the same prep schools as I was, and though American she had a dignified royal sensibility about her. As well as a wild streak fifty miles wide.
Of all damn things, she wanted to take me to a movie premiere. But she pleaded, and since it was at my favorite theater, I agreed. It promised to at least be interesting, not my usual type of film or my crowd. I forced myself to get ready, and picked up Saffron in my new convertible. We drove over to Sunset to the legendary theater where I was shocked there was anybody even there for this premiere. People knew my name but not my face so we were safe from paparazzi and publicists.
We snaked our way up the red carpet to the legendary Cinerama dome. This rotund cinema on Sunset is a landmark, and even though this movie should've premiered on Cinemax – they gave it the big screen treatment. It was dog sh!t. A real turd of a film. It starred (#3 - permanent A list daytime talk show host). About 180 degrees opposite what I liked or was used to in my own films, but hey – it takes all kinds. It was a fun movie, and pretty wild. Funny enough? It had a lot of talent in it. The Director (#4) was a real sweet guy, very talented, and taking any gig he could to build to his career. He did some great music videos. Sadly, this movie nearly ended him in Hollywood.
The big star of the movie was another warm, sincere, and intelligent man – totally the polar opposite of his persona. The movie had several in the cast who were destined for great things, including (#5 - former B/B- list actress who probably none of you will get), (#6 - A-/B+ list mostly television actress who has had two shows make it past the 100 episode mark), and (#7 - B/B- list mostly television actress who did have a recurring role in last year's big pay cable hit). It also starred a young tough guy (#8 - B list mostly television actor who will never shake a character name he played) who became a close pal of mine and who later had a role in an iconic film (#9 - one of the better superhero movies). It also had one that was there simply as a personal favor to a pal of the Producer. That producer had lots of pals, and I'd known him years before and he was quite a showman. The lady he cast, (#10 - it was her second to last movie) was a favor to her current man (#11 - permanent A++ list mostly movie actor). The producer behind it, had certainly had bigger hits (#12 - Starred Julia Roberts) and (#13 - Starred a sexual predator who made a sequel) and his commercial instincts were sharp. Sadly? They were dull on this one. Hey, it happens to us all in the industry.
The real, undisputed, breakout star of the movie was (#14 - A- list mostly television actress currently on a network hit). Let's call her Blondie. She was very sexy, very short, and very fit. She was just hitting the stride of her private life – although her professional arc wouldn't peak for a few years until she landed (#15 - a show that didn't quite make it to 100 episodes). Although years later she'd go on to win a big award, at this point she'd mostly done some television, some modeling, and an erotic thriller (#16 - kind of surprising the names that starred in the first two) that put her face on the map. Well, honestly, not so much her face. Her body? Certainly. She was very in-shape, and her derriere looked like a bubble carved from granite. Least you think I'm objectifying, you should know this actress was very proud of her physique. She was no dummy, and knew it was – literally – her money maker, which she was happy to shake. Or show. Anytime she wanted. I doubt anyone complained, and combined with a great sense of humor, cursing like a sailor (and drinking like one too) made her fun to hang around. Tough lady. Hot too.
This movie wasn't winning any awards to be sure, but people enjoyed it. So at the after-premiere party everyone was in a happy mood. At the old Hollywood Palladium, it was a great place for a party. Strangely, the man starring in it was about the only one not partying. He spent most of the evening on a cell phone in the lobby. Probably cursing out his agent or seeing if Dr. Kevorkian was available. The actresses from the film were dancing, singing, and kicked off the party with many, many shots of alcohol. As did Blondie. It was evident that no man nor woman could compete. Until Saffron stepped up. They began doing Goldschlager bombs and tequila shots while the music blasted, people dance, and the party raged on. In fact – the party may have lasted longer than the film's run in theaters.
Striking up a fast friendship due to commonalities in their lives, Blondie and Saffron were laughing, talking, and conspiring. Meeting me, Blondie said she wanted to talk to me about helping her career to survive this dumpster fire of a movie. But first - she needed my help in escaping her date. A guy she'd dated on and off who had become a possessive stalker, and she wanted to ditch him. Would Saffron and I help her? Uhhh, okay, I guess. So when he stepped out to smoke – the two ladies jumped in back of my convertible. Both of them in the backseat. I told them to slide low in the seats (my convertible top was down), and we'll sneak out quietly. It was almost 1am.
We began to pull onto Sunset when Blondie yelled out at full volume: HOLY SH&T! HE'S BEHIND US!. Indeed he was, almost inches off our bumper. She yells that "he'll kill us all!". Adding, "He works with Steven Seagal and they're both crazy." She also said he had a pistol and would kill all three of us, because he was a total nut bag. Not the best time to be told the hot actress you just absconded with is the imagined "property" of a Steven Seagal acolyte/assistant/probable hitman.
I ducked and weaved through Hollywood traffic, trying to either draw a cop's attention to us or lose him. I knew we'd never make it back to my house so I started brainstorming. Saffron said we could get to a studio lot – and he'd never follow us in. Paramount is closest – she's digging through her purse for a pass. Amazing plan, and that's why even drunk she was smarter than me. Looking in the mirror, I could see Blondie turned facing the car behind us, with her rump sticking up over the headrest. Then I - and all of L.A. - could hear Blondie yelling: "F%#K YOU PSYCHO MOTHERF%#KER! YOU CAN'T TOUCH ME NOW YOU PU$&Y! I'M WITH A REAL MAN NOW AND WE'RE GONNA F%#K ALL NIGHT BABY!! WHOO-HOO!!!". Then…she gives him the finger. Because, ya know…drunken crazed actresses.
We're soooo gonna die.
I wonder if the DGA will honor me with a headstone? I could almost read it know: Here lies the short career of a promising young filmmaker. Snuffed out in the prime of his career by a jealous psycho steroid slayer. All to save the life of a big-mouth blonde with a motor-driven ass. RIP young filmmaker, walk with the angels.
Saffron is almost heaving from hysterical laughter, and I'm scared sh!+less. I'm darting through traffic and turning against the lights, anything to outrun him. We go sailing down Gower, nearly swiping a car, and blasting down the road. Just then Blondie yells "WE LOST HIM! HELL YAY-UH!!". Saffron says, "Oh hell, I think we did!". Between their laughing and dancing in the backseat, I was about to have a stroke.
Saffron said to still head for the Paramount Lot, and just as we took the turn onto Melrose – approaching the gates – I hear "NO F%#KING WAY???". There was Mr. Psychokiller approaching the other direction. Melrose, this time of night, was pretty empty – and he could see us too. He pulled sideways facing wrong-way traffic, to parallel the curb near the gate entrance. He could cut us off, or shoot me when I used the drive-on pass at the gate entrance.
If my mind had been thinking logically instead of about fear, adrenaline, and clouded with sexy-actress influence…then I'd have pulled in and had a gate guard help us. Or driven to a police station. But I was far too distracted for anything logical. Back then I had passes for several movie studio lots, as I had friends there and several were trying to get me to sign a deal with their different studios. So I knew we had options.
Saffron shouts "FOX!!! Go to FOX! To FOX! To FOX!" twenty times in a row. Like Rain Man on crack. "Fox!!! To Fox! To FOXXX!".
Blondie drunkenly bellows out: "To Fox! Release the HOUNDS! On the HUNT! Let the games BEGIN!", and making a trumpet blast sound. Both of the delinquents in the backseat explode in laughter, drunkenly singing. Like it was the funniest thing in history. Me? Not so much. Saffron reaches up over the seat and cranks the radio volume full blast on KROQ fm. They played one song to death, constantly: Harvey Danger's Flagpole Sitta. But it's a great song to drive to, so it was perfect when Blondie yelled: "Go !!!".
I did a bootleg turn and spun the car in the road. Saffron flies back, landing on Blondie. I go tear-assing down through Hollywood to hit Olympic Blvd., as we'd hit bumps in the road wide open. No cops in sight. Every time Blondie start singing at top volume we'd hit a bump and the two ladies in the backseat went airborne. I was more worried about the nutjob. Thankfully, I'd out-run him again. It seemed. This was a brand-new Mustang GT convertible and it would haul ass. I'd made a Luke Duke-worthy turn at the cloverleaf onto Ave. of The Stars, and had clear sailing. Blew the intersection onto Pico and was home free.
I could see our turn coming in sight. Approaching the FOX main gate we see – you got it – Steven Seagal Jr.'s car high-balling right up our ass end like a train behind us. I could never figure how the hell this guy could find us so easy. Did he have a lo-jack up Blondie's ass? I slide it in through the FOX gates and screech to a halt. Not a soul around. Sh&t. I got my drive-on pass out, and put it into the card reader (no ez-pass scanners in those days). The gates C-R-E-E-P open very, very S-L-O-W-L-Y. Like a team of elderly hamsters were pulling it or something. The killer screeches his brakes and leaves black marks and smoke as he overshoots the turn in driveway. Then he backs up. Come on, come on, HURRY DAMN GATE!!
That's when I heard it: "BAM! BAM-BAM!".
I looked back and saw Mr. Psycho holding a revolver. He was shooting at us. From the street, still inside his car. HOLY SH%T!! Thankfully he missed, but it was loud as hell and scared me to death. I punched it through the entry and the gates began to creep closed behind us. We managed to make it inside, just as the psycho pulled up to the closing gate. I didn't think to ask Blondie if he was an employee who may also have a pass. Thank you eight-pound baby Jesus – he did not have one. We weaved through construction zones and spots on the lot until we got close to the stages.
Wanting to put buildings and space between us and the gate, I wheeled into one of the open employee lots, killed the motor, and just sat there. I was trying to let my heart slow; while my ears rang from all the racket. Mostly of the blonde variety from behind my head through the entire escape from witch mountain event. Looking over out in the distance around the big building, I could still see that guy's car sitting just outside the gates. Still running. Waiting for us to leave. Minutes, hours, days…years. However long it would take, he'd be there. Persistent bastard. Waiting to shoot us. Let's find a phone and call the cops.
From behind me, a blonde cackle: "That was AWE-SOME! Like, seriously. I wasn't shittin' you guys – he'd really killed us all. He was shooting at us! He said he used to be a cop. But ya know? We're here. Let's go do something fun". No, let's not.
"Come on stud! You got two hotties here with 'ya. Let's go sneak on a set and do somethin' freaky. Wanna?"
Hell no. But Saffron agrees. I don't. I just want peace, quiet, safety, and a time machine to un-do this night. And possibly a platoon of Marines to escort us home. But Blondie had other plans. "Lookie, lookie what I got guys. Am I just the bomb or what? Ohh – damn. I gotta piss somethin' ferocious baby dolls. Yow! Like now. Let's go make a mud puddle!".
With that, my two companions drunkenly claw their way out of my backseat, with liquor bottles in hand. TWO liquor bottles. Full sized. Both ladies still dressed to the hilt, stiletto heels, and stumbling on shaking ankles. So I – the now-anointed sole responsible adult in the group, followed. This was a new role for me actually, and I've not been accused of being a responsible adult before that time, nor since.
We wobbled and waddled our way, until I admonished the ladies to please keep the noise down. It was very late (or early) and the security guys here had to have heard the shots. They would throw us off the lot. Which would put us back out there on the road as chum to feed to Mr. 5150. So the girls decided the best way to calm me was with lots of physical contact. With one on the left, and one on the right, they used me as both a walking cane and plot of their jokes. In between swigs of booze, which was obviously affecting their agility, they'd kiss and tease me.
"Uhhh, not that I mind really, but you know I have a girlfriend. In fact – she's your best friend."
Saffron giggled, and said it was fine. They "share everything" she assured me. Besides, it would be great inspiration for me to write another great movie. "Don't be such a total pussy" said Blondie. So somewhere between rationalization and inebriation I did what any young hetero man would do in this situation. I turned into a dog, and decided to go for it. Like Clark Griswold in a swimming pool, I lost all morals and decency. But holy hell they were gorgeous. Life's short. Go for it. That's my creedo. Thus, with two drunk and horny actresses, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad night. I thought that right up until Blondie announced to us that she's gonna pee. I looked around. Okay, but let me see…I told her there weren't any bathrooms.
Hold this. She hands me her bottle.
Blondie hikes up her black designer dress. Then…SQUAT.
Right there. Right smack dab in front of Darth Vader & Luke. She hiked up her dress, adjusted her undies, copped a squat and peed. RIGHT THERE! In the middle of the asphalt, there on the lot, facing a gigantic building-sized wall mural painting of Darth & Luke from Star Wars amidst their epic light saber battle. An iconic painting, of an iconic scene. Now it was background dressing for a drunken actress doing cop-a-squat as she let it flow. Good Lord. Blondie asks about Vader's dick. What color was it? Did light come out of it? Was it an evil penis? Could he give you an orgasm using the force? And on, and on, and on she asked. As she squatted laughing, watching the mural.
Speaking of watching, I didn't have the foresight or warning to consider there where probably a dozen cameras that could see this event transpire (which obviously hadn't registered to me but doubtful girls would've cared. Actually, Blondie probably would've liked the exhibitionism of it all). Meanwhile, I gotta go really bad too, so I turned towards a building and the flower bed and lost 20 rounds of fluid weight in seconds. Only then, did I raise my gaze to indeed see a security camera pointed right at me from the building's side. Not good.
After completion, I turned back around to hear the ladies both cackling again – and Blondie cursing a blue streak. While squatting, Blondie peed on her dress. Not a little, but the entire back of her dress was soaked in the puddle. Ten gallons of urine. Wet, she drunkenly peeled it off and slung it over at me until I heard...THWAP!
I felt the sting of a flimsy wet dress plaster itself to my head, face, and shoulders. There I stood, covered in a black designer gown, dripping with rapidly-cooling human urine. Gross. My cohorts roared with laughter. I peeled it off, wringing it out, and trying to wipe off the liquid which covered what little dignity I had left. Not happy. Just as I was about to leave the women to fend for themselves against a murderous psycho outside the gates – I turned to see them both. They were snuggled up to each other, standing right there in the dark lot.
All I heard, in a low, almost beckoning pair of voices, was: "Sorry…will you forgive us?".
I didn't have to answer. No words could escape. All I could do was stare. Standing there in only her thong and bra. The blonde goddess body wrapping itself around the other dark-haired tanned body. Blondie did her little pout, and looked exactly like she did in that erotic movie. Wow. Saffron began a slow, gentle chuckle at me in my dumbstruck state. Blondie says in a low voice that she really is sorry, but drinking liquor makes her crazy…crazy horny. Then she turns to Saffron and plants a drunken kiss on her – I'm stunned to total paralysis. They start making out in a major way, hands everywhere. So hot. (I realize now I should've started this story out with: "Dear Penthouse – this never happens to guys like me but…"). This was really happening.
Lost in my daze, over the girls' shoulders in the back of the lot, I see tiny bright lights coming from way off. All I could think – after the chase from hell earlier, was "OH SH!T! PSYCHO KILLER!". I step up and grab the ladies, and pull them as we start to run off towards a big construction dumpster to hide behind. The Fox lot was always under construction for years. So I'm pulling a confused Saffron under her arm, trying to get the bottle from her, as she tries not to drop the glass; and a nearly-nude confused Blondie is being dragged by Saffron's other hand. All while Blondie is running in only her skimpies – and very tall stiletto heels (which still only made her five feet tall). She's cursing, yanking her hands free, and trying to reach down and unstrap her heels while running. Very drunkenly. I tell them that I think security is coming for us in a golf buggy. Saffron's got her heels and booze bottle already in her hands saying: "They're coming!".
And as sure as you're born – Blondie falls. HARD. Splat, onto the asphalt, her head hitting as the topples over in a pile of tanned alcoholism.
Blondie's fall knocks Saffron down with her, and SMASH goes the glass bottle. Everywhere. They both lay there splayed out in a heap of tangled, half-nude bodies, limbs, and hair – with broken glass, booze, and other detritus every which way. How they never got cut by the glass I don't know. We never made it to the dumpster. Seeing the lights getting closer, I turn, bend down, and try to pull them both away from the glass and booze. I got them clear about two feet away, when Saffron yanks me, and I too come crashing down on top of them both in the pile. Thankfully, again, away from the glass – though the booze has run down the asphalt to begin marinating Blondie's hair. We wound up in a pile right there in front of the building (Darth Vader-adjacent), sprawled out on the asphalt like a carton of broken eggs. I was then able to bounce right up. Blondie was out cold. Saffron was groggy and now her dress was torn from falling on her heels previously in her hands. Saffron yells: "Sh*T!". At top volume. Blondie starts to mumble, and I'm one leg up and one down leaning over both trying to rouse them before this security golf cart arrives.
Too late. Do you remember that scene in the movie "Stripes"? When the MPs catch Ramis straddling Bill Murray at night while escaping? And the jeep lights make it appear…very awkward? Yeah. That was this. Exactly like us at this moment, except I was on top. Of two nearly naked actresses.
One drunk, the other semi-conscious with a bleeding abrasion on her forehead. In a pond of booze, and broken glass. (And I still was damp and stinking of pee).
This wasn't gonna end well. The security buggy comes to a halt – headlights blinding us. The first guard was Mean Joe Greene-sized-huge and all I heard was "Wha – tha – fahh?". Guard 2 (obviously too militant for Army Rangers) – had his stun gun in one hand, and mace in the other. Pointed right at me as they slowly approached. Saffron, rubbing her head, groggily saying "Now my dress is ripped too! Thanks". Probably not the best words to utter in this moment. Blondie was just moaning in pain, a red nasty scuff on her forehead..half-awake…and mostly bare-assed naked. With me fully dressed, mostly sober, and realizing the headlines tomorrow would read: Two heroic guards rescue actresses from bladder bandit, with me being charged with attempted rape, assault…and contributing to public urination or something.
"Guys, this isn't what it looks like – honestly, we all just fell down. Funny thing is…"
Then they lunged. At me. Scooping me up, away from the girls, and over. I went down like a bag of rocks. Right on top of the pile of glass and booze. Oww.
Saffron was oblivious to the whole live drama of a Cops episode two feet from her, only smacking Blondie around and trying to wake her. It worked. She came to, focused, and started cursing out the guards. Saffron steps over and pushes one guard off me. The bigger guard is grinding me into the asphalt and glass. The other guard lunges for Saffron, who – even drunk – does a roundhouse kick to his chest and levels him. The big guard yanks me up in time for G.I. Joe to pull out his mace and let it go. All towards the other guard and me. Nice aim.
So I'm heaving, coughing, retching and spitting. Eyes dripping, my hands cut and bleeding with glass shrapnel. The big guard says: "Hold the hell on here! What's going on?". He too is coughing, wiping his eyes. Saffron attempts to explain, as Blondie staggers to her feet. Falling and trying again. I'm just there in a pile. Saffron explains, and tells the guards who I am and about the psycho. Mostly, they're more focused on Blondie, half nude, stumbling to life. After the guards realized who we all were – they apologized to me, and began to call Paramedics, which Saffron and I begged them not to do. Saffron yanks Blondie quickly, to prove she was fine. Big scrape on her forehead notwithstanding, she did still look rather glamorous. And clothes-free. Which the Guards both continued to notice.
ISIS could've been "looting the Food King" and they'd never have noticed anything else. Then the full force of Saffron's violent yank of Blondie caught up with Blondie's equilibrium. Saffron hands her the urine-towel dress, which she carefully uses to wipe up her bloody head – before throwing it again, right across my head. Uggh, really? Now I've got more of this actresses bodily fluids and DNA on me than I have of my own. But I too use it to wipe the crud from my face, blood from my hands, and hair.
The Guards finally gave us a ride back out to my car, and after serious side-eye from telling them about the crazy boyfriend chase – they checked that all was clear outside the gates. It was. They said they heard no gunshots and asked if I was dreaming it? Great. I honestly may have surrendered to the psycho killer at that point. I just had enough. After a round of the Guards determining I was sober enough to drive (not a high standard for them I guess) and not a predator, they let us all go. I was gonna ask for the security tapes, but figured they earned it and didn't wanna push my luck. Because by that point? I'd had very little by way of luck.
I'd like to brag by stating that we all went back to my place, shared a shower and Jacuzzi and freaky circus-sex til sun-up…but it wasn't to be. We poured into my convertible – and the CD player began to play the most famous song of my girlfriend. ACK! I'm being haunted! I pushed eject, and slung the damned CD out of the car. I felt bad enough. I remember that we eased off the lot, and the psycho was gone. Then we slowly drove until we took Blondie to her condo, and Saffron was sober enough to drive. I climbed into my backseat, and it was the last thing I recalled. I surrendered and passed out. No good deed…
Saffron knew where my sister's house was so she drove me there and took a cab home (she later said). Apparently leaving me in the walkway of the hall to my sister's house. Which is where I awoke when we began this story. I was just glad everyone lived. Mostly myself. But after cleaning up, getting rid of the gross smells contaminating my body – burning my clothes – I began to reflect on the night. I knew enough that I didn't cheat on my girlfriend, and felt relieved. That's the total sad truth. I retreated to my home and resumed writing my most personal film. I copped to everything and confessed the night to my girlfriend. She laughed, and said Saffron told her everything. She was only sad she missed it. We broke up not long after, and I found the love of my life. My ex and I still remain friends to this day.
Saffron got married not long afterwards, is now an amazingly hot mom, and possibly the coolest lady in the Brentwood Minivan Mafia carpool nowadays. We never got a do-over of that night, but I've seen Blondie several times since then over the years. She too settled down and married (even to an attorney so that should tell you she's got real issues). She also had a few kids, and by now has a few ex-husbands too I think, but probably still has a wild streak wider than Saffron's. I know that in the past few years every time I see Blondie, whether around town or at an industry event? It's always with a fond thought. Always with a shy smile, a look of "sorry", and a nod of the head.
All from me, that is.
When SHE sees ME? She cackles laughing, slaps my butt, and makes mocking "snarling" gestures at me (as if she smells the bodily fluids which never washed off). I just shake my head, remind her that both Darth Vader and I have seen her cop-a-squat, and that she nearly raped me, got me killed, and arrested - all at once. She always laughs, like it's a normal weekend for her. Thinking back on her life? It may be. All in all, just surviving that night was worth it – and having a story to remember it by. No matter who owns that Fox studio lot or what Disney does with it? I know a certain patch of asphalt right there on that lot will always be mine. I still have the scars to prove it.
