Is My Bow Too Big? How I Went From Saturday Night Live to the Tea Party by Victoria Jackson Page A
Authors: Victoria Jackson
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Surgeons have a cool job, but they don’t show up at charity events and wave. Wait a minute. Yes, they do. Charity balls. Never mind. I told Joe I’d pay for my own plane ticket so that I wouldn’t be taking from the charity fund. I brought my daughter Scarlet, who was five. I was recently divorced and dating Paul, the SWAT-guy, during this time. He stayed in Miami to work. He had a real job: 9 to 5. Well, 6 p.m. to 5 a.m., actually. And it’s a cool job, but he doesn’t wave at anybody. Sometimes people wave at him though. Sometimes women “flash” the police choppers.
Anyway, as soon as we landed in the Midwest, weird things started happening. Our hotel room was a trucker stop with a plastic Jacuzzi standing in the center of the room. I kept saying, “No Scarlet, you can’t swim in that—you’ll get a disease.”
She looked at me quizzically, “Why can’t I swim in the tiny pool?”
When I spoke at the Chamber of Commerce, they laughed a little too long when I answered their question, “How did you meet Joe?” I said, “He wrote to me at SNL . He could’ve been a psychokiller for all I knew!” I didn’t know what to say. I’d never raised money for a little girl’s mysterious illness before. They laughed, so I kept saying it at all the events until Joe told me to stop saying it. He said that people were sensitive to mental illness in his town; and that there were lots of mental institutions nearby.
Joe’s wife disappeared one night and he told me it was because she had a lover in another town who made her pregnant. The last night I was there, Joe called my hotel room at midnight, “I want to come over. I have to tell you something about my past. It’s going to be in the newspaper tomorrow.”
“Oh, no, don’t come over! I don’t want Scarlet to wake up. You know, we have to get up at 6 a.m. to catch our plane. You’re driving us right? You could tell me then!”
“Have you read my autobiography yet?”
“Oh, no… not yet.” I rushed over to the manuscript he had handed me the day before. I quickly flipped through it while he spoke on the phone. He was abused as a child in horrible ways. On the phone he continued, “I stabbed a girl to death when I was… I wrote to you at SNL from a mental institution, where I met my wife…”
“Wow,” I stammered. “Uh…” I said a quick prayer in my head. “Well, uh, Jesus forgives people for all kinds of sins. Remember the guy on the cross next to him?” I tried to be calm and normal. I called Paul, the cop. He screamed into the phone, “Only you could get into a situation like this!”
“Can you get me a police escort?” I pleaded.
“No! He hasn’t done anything to you yet.”
“So, if he stabs me to death, then I can get a police escort?”
“Vicki, whatever you do, don’t let him drive you to the airport tomorrow.”
It was 2 a.m. I didn’t know anyone in this little town. I made a few phone calls. There were no rental cars or taxi services. My plane was leaving in six hours and I wanted outta there! I left Scarlet locked in my hotel room and ran to the lobby and dinged the bell frantically. Finally, someone woke up and told me the nearest big town. I dashed back to my room and phoned a cab to come earlier than Joe, so we could be gone. However, there was a complication: my brand-new Springer Spaniel puppy was lodging at Joe’s house because the hotel didn’t allow it. So with one hour of sleep and a toothless taxi driver in a dented car, I drove around looking for Joe’s house and my puppy. Minutes ticking by, I called Joe from a pay-phone, there were no cell phones in 1991, and told him my dilemma. He understandingly arrived with his teenager and my new dog. I apologized for Paul’s worrying about him. I was confused and sleepless and afraid of the toothless taxi driver, so at 6 a.m., a psycho-killer was driving my five-year-old and me to the airport. Joe said, “I didn’t tell you before because I thought you
Anyway, as soon as we landed in the Midwest, weird things started happening. Our hotel room was a trucker stop with a plastic Jacuzzi standing in the center of the room. I kept saying, “No Scarlet, you can’t swim in that—you’ll get a disease.”
She looked at me quizzically, “Why can’t I swim in the tiny pool?”
When I spoke at the Chamber of Commerce, they laughed a little too long when I answered their question, “How did you meet Joe?” I said, “He wrote to me at SNL . He could’ve been a psychokiller for all I knew!” I didn’t know what to say. I’d never raised money for a little girl’s mysterious illness before. They laughed, so I kept saying it at all the events until Joe told me to stop saying it. He said that people were sensitive to mental illness in his town; and that there were lots of mental institutions nearby.
Joe’s wife disappeared one night and he told me it was because she had a lover in another town who made her pregnant. The last night I was there, Joe called my hotel room at midnight, “I want to come over. I have to tell you something about my past. It’s going to be in the newspaper tomorrow.”
“Oh, no, don’t come over! I don’t want Scarlet to wake up. You know, we have to get up at 6 a.m. to catch our plane. You’re driving us right? You could tell me then!”
“Have you read my autobiography yet?”
“Oh, no… not yet.” I rushed over to the manuscript he had handed me the day before. I quickly flipped through it while he spoke on the phone. He was abused as a child in horrible ways. On the phone he continued, “I stabbed a girl to death when I was… I wrote to you at SNL from a mental institution, where I met my wife…”
“Wow,” I stammered. “Uh…” I said a quick prayer in my head. “Well, uh, Jesus forgives people for all kinds of sins. Remember the guy on the cross next to him?” I tried to be calm and normal. I called Paul, the cop. He screamed into the phone, “Only you could get into a situation like this!”
“Can you get me a police escort?” I pleaded.
“No! He hasn’t done anything to you yet.”
“So, if he stabs me to death, then I can get a police escort?”
“Vicki, whatever you do, don’t let him drive you to the airport tomorrow.”
It was 2 a.m. I didn’t know anyone in this little town. I made a few phone calls. There were no rental cars or taxi services. My plane was leaving in six hours and I wanted outta there! I left Scarlet locked in my hotel room and ran to the lobby and dinged the bell frantically. Finally, someone woke up and told me the nearest big town. I dashed back to my room and phoned a cab to come earlier than Joe, so we could be gone. However, there was a complication: my brand-new Springer Spaniel puppy was lodging at Joe’s house because the hotel didn’t allow it. So with one hour of sleep and a toothless taxi driver in a dented car, I drove around looking for Joe’s house and my puppy. Minutes ticking by, I called Joe from a pay-phone, there were no cell phones in 1991, and told him my dilemma. He understandingly arrived with his teenager and my new dog. I apologized for Paul’s worrying about him. I was confused and sleepless and afraid of the toothless taxi driver, so at 6 a.m., a psycho-killer was driving my five-year-old and me to the airport. Joe said, “I didn’t tell you before because I thought you
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