right next to me.
“Gibson,” I told her as my eyes watered from having almost
snorted gin through my nose. “Martini with pearl onions.”
“Huh.” She studied my glass, then asked, “You mind?”
“No, go ahead.”
She took a sip and perked right up. “Oh that’s tasty!”
Maxine appeared suddenly and Biel ordered a round for us
both. Two women at a regular table on the level lower than ours eyed us
curiously and whispered indiscreetly. Biel smiled at them and wiggled her long
fingers in a little wave.
Lifting my glass to them, she said, “It’s a Gibson.”
Catching Maxine before she made her way to the bar, Biel
called out, “Two more, please, for these lovely ladies.”
I stared at her, astonished. “They were just gossiping about
you.”
“I know.” She tossed back her dark auburn hair and settled
more comfortably in the seat. “The men who watch me walk by are much more
blatant—but nothing terribly offensive is really going through their minds
except ‘nice tits’ or ‘tight ass’ or ‘damn, I’d love to bang her’. The women,
however… They’re all looking for something to criticize that makes them feel
better about their own bodies.”
“Well, sure. You’re perfect.”
“No, I am not,” she insisted. “Believe me. But it’s like
that scene in Eyes Wide Shut , you know, with Tom Cruise and Nicole
Kidman?”
I nodded. “I’ve seen it.”
“Okay, so Nicole is in the bathroom getting ready for a
party or something and she’s just in her underwear and she’s absolutely lovely.
Flawless. And you really want to hate her for it.”
“I’ve experienced that feeling a time or two,” I deadpanned.
Ignoring my comment and my sardonic tone, Biel said, “Well,
then the camera pans over her body and you see this tiny dimple in her ass—and
what’s the first thing that goes through every woman’s mind? ‘Oh my God! Nicole
Kidman has cellulite! Hallelujah , she’s just like the rest of us!’ And
they tell all their friends and the men in their lives and that makes them feel
better.”
She paused as Maxine delivered drinks. Once again, she
raised her glass to the two women at the other table and said “Cheers!” in her
vibrant tone, then returned to her conspiratorial diatribe.
“So they’re just hoping they find something about me to make
a claim about what a bitch I am or how I don’t look nearly as good in person as
I do on TV or in magazines. Someone must airbrush me or some such thing.”
“In other words, you don’t give them a reason to feel
inferior around you.” Like the eye contact at the launch. There hadn’t been a
hint of snobbery in her eyes, just confidence and maybe a twinkle of delight
she was fortunate enough to be Biel McKinley. And once she’d made that eye
contact with me, hadn’t I wanted to save her from public humiliation?
Hmm. Smart cookie, she was.
“Well, I’m not a bitch,” she said with conviction.
“Doesn’t the scrutiny make you crazy?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? I’ve been modeling since I
was seven. There’s absolutely no escaping public attention or criticism. You
learn to live with it.”
Biel had a healthy outlook on the microscope under which she
lived, but it also seemed she garnered life lessons from movies too, suggesting
she was intuitive and perceptive.
“So, you’ve never considered leaving the industry?” I’d
wondered about that the other night, when I’d been curious if the Montlimiere
disaster was a way for Biel to get out of the business.
But she said, “Hell, no. I love being the center of
attention.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t know what to do
with myself if I passed magazine stands and never saw my face on a cover
again.”
“And what about Piper?” I had to ask. “Does she mind sharing
you with the masses?”
“No, not that masses,” she said. “Piper loves the limelight
too. In fact, that’s why I was so thrown by her rant this afternoon.
“Gibson,” I told her as my eyes watered from having almost
snorted gin through my nose. “Martini with pearl onions.”
“Huh.” She studied my glass, then asked, “You mind?”
“No, go ahead.”
She took a sip and perked right up. “Oh that’s tasty!”
Maxine appeared suddenly and Biel ordered a round for us
both. Two women at a regular table on the level lower than ours eyed us
curiously and whispered indiscreetly. Biel smiled at them and wiggled her long
fingers in a little wave.
Lifting my glass to them, she said, “It’s a Gibson.”
Catching Maxine before she made her way to the bar, Biel
called out, “Two more, please, for these lovely ladies.”
I stared at her, astonished. “They were just gossiping about
you.”
“I know.” She tossed back her dark auburn hair and settled
more comfortably in the seat. “The men who watch me walk by are much more
blatant—but nothing terribly offensive is really going through their minds
except ‘nice tits’ or ‘tight ass’ or ‘damn, I’d love to bang her’. The women,
however… They’re all looking for something to criticize that makes them feel
better about their own bodies.”
“Well, sure. You’re perfect.”
“No, I am not,” she insisted. “Believe me. But it’s like
that scene in Eyes Wide Shut , you know, with Tom Cruise and Nicole
Kidman?”
I nodded. “I’ve seen it.”
“Okay, so Nicole is in the bathroom getting ready for a
party or something and she’s just in her underwear and she’s absolutely lovely.
Flawless. And you really want to hate her for it.”
“I’ve experienced that feeling a time or two,” I deadpanned.
Ignoring my comment and my sardonic tone, Biel said, “Well,
then the camera pans over her body and you see this tiny dimple in her ass—and
what’s the first thing that goes through every woman’s mind? ‘Oh my God! Nicole
Kidman has cellulite! Hallelujah , she’s just like the rest of us!’ And
they tell all their friends and the men in their lives and that makes them feel
better.”
She paused as Maxine delivered drinks. Once again, she
raised her glass to the two women at the other table and said “Cheers!” in her
vibrant tone, then returned to her conspiratorial diatribe.
“So they’re just hoping they find something about me to make
a claim about what a bitch I am or how I don’t look nearly as good in person as
I do on TV or in magazines. Someone must airbrush me or some such thing.”
“In other words, you don’t give them a reason to feel
inferior around you.” Like the eye contact at the launch. There hadn’t been a
hint of snobbery in her eyes, just confidence and maybe a twinkle of delight
she was fortunate enough to be Biel McKinley. And once she’d made that eye
contact with me, hadn’t I wanted to save her from public humiliation?
Hmm. Smart cookie, she was.
“Well, I’m not a bitch,” she said with conviction.
“Doesn’t the scrutiny make you crazy?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? I’ve been modeling since I
was seven. There’s absolutely no escaping public attention or criticism. You
learn to live with it.”
Biel had a healthy outlook on the microscope under which she
lived, but it also seemed she garnered life lessons from movies too, suggesting
she was intuitive and perceptive.
“So, you’ve never considered leaving the industry?” I’d
wondered about that the other night, when I’d been curious if the Montlimiere
disaster was a way for Biel to get out of the business.
But she said, “Hell, no. I love being the center of
attention.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t know what to do
with myself if I passed magazine stands and never saw my face on a cover
again.”
“And what about Piper?” I had to ask. “Does she mind sharing
you with the masses?”
“No, not that masses,” she said. “Piper loves the limelight
too. In fact, that’s why I was so thrown by her rant this afternoon.
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