I did All Things Considered and we discussed Clap Your Hands . Peter showed some of the photos of me ‘flying’ and one with me looking about a foot high in front of Lauren Boscombe, the nine-year old extra.
Peter’s first order of business after we closed on the house was to start remodeling the ‘rumpus’ room into a studio. I was rather unceremoniously, but nonetheless officially, appointed the interior decorator for the rest of the house and instructed that, on no occasion, for any reason whatsoever, was I to ask or solicit Peter’s opinion on anything that was being done outside of the studio.
It took almost two months to get the house together, and we spent a good deal of the time at work in the mountains. The house and studio came together just about the time the show was renewed for another block of episodes and I had to go back to work. Dillon got me a big raise over and above the already scandalous amount the former two-fifty a bout catfighter was getting for being America’s favorite ditz.
Peter worked in his new studio, I had basically posed in about all the positions he needed for the show. The ones he finished drying on the wall were pretty spectacular. The only nude was his take on Ingres’ Grande Odalisque, correcting Ingres’ anatomical distortions, and drawing on similar paintings by Titian and Giorgione, but mostly on his favorite artist, Jacques-Louis Alex. He was still working on it when I went back to work on the show. It showed my tush and a tit, neither of which do I have any reason to be ashamed of. I thought that immortalizing them in a painting was a sweet gesture on the part of a sweet man who had trouble keeping his hands off them in real life.
The show was the same grind, and Peter maintained the tradition of massaging me to sleep on weeknights with sufficiently carnal weekends to tide me over. The second Saturday night I really went a bit wild on him. I did my cat cleaning thing, tongue and paw on any and all exposed parts, rolling as we did it and we managed three times before falling asleep, followed by his usual wake me up to an orgasm morning. That Sunday I was really primed too. As soon as the fog cleared and the orgasm passed my toes, I pushed him on his back and just hopped on. I got my hands underneath him on his tush and pulled us together like I wanted to come out behind him. After which, I reminded myself that, at some point in the coming renovations, it might really be a good idea to soundproof the bedroom.
The show remained pretty much the same; it wasn’t broke and the general rule in television is that if it isn’t broke, copy it.
I did interviews with half a dozen publications, all of who seemed to know of my past in the Valley and told me that it wouldn’t be mentioned. I got along really well with Elle Fanning, who was freelancing an opportunity for Glamour. So when she told me that the Valley wouldn’t come up, I said I wasn’t ashamed of it and it didn’t need to be covered up. I added that the painting that was going to be exhibited in Peter’s one man show in the spring showed more of me than I showed in the Valley.
Well, it wasn’t really a cover up; it’s just that the publishers had learned that the public didn’t react well to such revelations. Over the last decade or so, a lot of actors crossed over. Usually the ones that did were not stars and – acting pretty much being acting – the rating was not as relevant as the number that ended up being written on the check.
Plus, I had the protection of Kelvin Gardener who had his fingers in enough pies in the publishing business that any writer bringing it up could expect freelancing opportunities to dry up for a while.
“And I just thought Cash was the worst producer and cameraman in the Valley,” I said.
“Truth be told, Cash is almost the triple X industry all by himself. The others come and go, Cash is about the only constant, well, you have to throw Ron Jeremy in there somewhere I
Peter’s first order of business after we closed on the house was to start remodeling the ‘rumpus’ room into a studio. I was rather unceremoniously, but nonetheless officially, appointed the interior decorator for the rest of the house and instructed that, on no occasion, for any reason whatsoever, was I to ask or solicit Peter’s opinion on anything that was being done outside of the studio.
It took almost two months to get the house together, and we spent a good deal of the time at work in the mountains. The house and studio came together just about the time the show was renewed for another block of episodes and I had to go back to work. Dillon got me a big raise over and above the already scandalous amount the former two-fifty a bout catfighter was getting for being America’s favorite ditz.
Peter worked in his new studio, I had basically posed in about all the positions he needed for the show. The ones he finished drying on the wall were pretty spectacular. The only nude was his take on Ingres’ Grande Odalisque, correcting Ingres’ anatomical distortions, and drawing on similar paintings by Titian and Giorgione, but mostly on his favorite artist, Jacques-Louis Alex. He was still working on it when I went back to work on the show. It showed my tush and a tit, neither of which do I have any reason to be ashamed of. I thought that immortalizing them in a painting was a sweet gesture on the part of a sweet man who had trouble keeping his hands off them in real life.
The show was the same grind, and Peter maintained the tradition of massaging me to sleep on weeknights with sufficiently carnal weekends to tide me over. The second Saturday night I really went a bit wild on him. I did my cat cleaning thing, tongue and paw on any and all exposed parts, rolling as we did it and we managed three times before falling asleep, followed by his usual wake me up to an orgasm morning. That Sunday I was really primed too. As soon as the fog cleared and the orgasm passed my toes, I pushed him on his back and just hopped on. I got my hands underneath him on his tush and pulled us together like I wanted to come out behind him. After which, I reminded myself that, at some point in the coming renovations, it might really be a good idea to soundproof the bedroom.
The show remained pretty much the same; it wasn’t broke and the general rule in television is that if it isn’t broke, copy it.
I did interviews with half a dozen publications, all of who seemed to know of my past in the Valley and told me that it wouldn’t be mentioned. I got along really well with Elle Fanning, who was freelancing an opportunity for Glamour. So when she told me that the Valley wouldn’t come up, I said I wasn’t ashamed of it and it didn’t need to be covered up. I added that the painting that was going to be exhibited in Peter’s one man show in the spring showed more of me than I showed in the Valley.
Well, it wasn’t really a cover up; it’s just that the publishers had learned that the public didn’t react well to such revelations. Over the last decade or so, a lot of actors crossed over. Usually the ones that did were not stars and – acting pretty much being acting – the rating was not as relevant as the number that ended up being written on the check.
Plus, I had the protection of Kelvin Gardener who had his fingers in enough pies in the publishing business that any writer bringing it up could expect freelancing opportunities to dry up for a while.
“And I just thought Cash was the worst producer and cameraman in the Valley,” I said.
“Truth be told, Cash is almost the triple X industry all by himself. The others come and go, Cash is about the only constant, well, you have to throw Ron Jeremy in there somewhere I
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