going.”
“What?”
I asked.
“She’s not going,” he repeated. “Let’s just go.”
“Well, let me go in and see how she’s doing,” I said. “Maybe she needs some soup or something.”
I turned and started toward the bedroom, but O.J. stopped me in my tracks.
“Oh, no, no, no, no!” he said. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
He was so adamant. At that time, I couldn’t figure out why. O.J. and I had been friends forever, and Robert had known him even longer. Now, suddenly, he was acting very private. It wouldn’t dawn on me until several years later that Nicole had been threatened or abused by him. In hindsight, I should have gone into that room to find out what was going on. But you don’t imagine in a million years that your friend is in danger or trouble. Not like that. Not back then.
It was 1988, and that was one of the first signs, a sign I should have noticed.
Six years later, Nicole would be dead.
Later, she told me that she and O.J. had had a terrible fight. But she didn’t say that he had hit her. I guess she wasn’t ready or willing to tell me that. Not yet. Apparently, they had been arguing a lot at that point, which was why she had wanted to go on that long walk with me in Central Park. Every time she tried to leave O.J., he wouldn’t let her go. That same year, on New Year’s Eve, she had the pictures taken with the bruises on her neck and face, pictures that would be circulated far and wide. But we wouldn’t know anything about it then, and we wouldn’t see them until it was too late.
About a month after that trip to New York, O.J. beat the shit out of Nicole, and she finally had the nerve to call the police. The problem was that most of the policemen who patrolled O.J.’s neighborhood were O.J.’s friends.
It was a strange dynamic: even though Nicole and I were extraordinarily close, she was ashamed or embarrassed to tell me what was really going on. Thinking back on it now, I realize that there were so many signs. I was with her once at my son Robert’s first birthday, in March of 1988, at a kids’ gym in Santa Monica. When she walked in, I looked past her and saw a brand-new white convertible Ferrari. “What is that parked out front?!” I said. “Oh my God!”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “That just means O.J. slept with God-knows-who this time. That’s my ‘I’m sorry’ present.”
“Wow!” I said, focusing on the Ferrari and not the heartache behind it.
T here was no more joy in the fun foursome we had once had.
When couples start going through these funky things, it really causes a lot of separation issues. All of us went off into our own corners. We had all tried to do the same things we had always done, but it just wasn’t the same. Around this time, the end of 1989, Nicole had started to think about a real separation from O.J.
At the same time, I was still feeling one of the most destructive of emotions with Robert Kardashian: boredom.
One day I told Robert, “I think we should be separated.”
“What?!” he said. I believe this came as a shock to him.
“You know and I know that things have been different between us,” I said. “I’m not feeling the same way I used to feel. I’m confused, and I think a separation could be great for us. You love to go to Palm Springs . . .”
He had been going to Palm Springs often and staying at his parents’ house. He loved to go down there.
“Why don’t you just take a minute,” I said. “Let’s take a breath. Give me a break. I just need to figure out why I am having these feelings. I don’t think it is fair to you for me to feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” he asked.
“Just different,” I said, trying to hold in my emotions and not hurt him with the whole truth.
I was really asking him to buy some time, for permission to breathe. I knew Robert was used to controlling me—in a nice way, but he was always the boss of everything—because he was twelve years older than I was. We
“What?”
I asked.
“She’s not going,” he repeated. “Let’s just go.”
“Well, let me go in and see how she’s doing,” I said. “Maybe she needs some soup or something.”
I turned and started toward the bedroom, but O.J. stopped me in my tracks.
“Oh, no, no, no, no!” he said. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
He was so adamant. At that time, I couldn’t figure out why. O.J. and I had been friends forever, and Robert had known him even longer. Now, suddenly, he was acting very private. It wouldn’t dawn on me until several years later that Nicole had been threatened or abused by him. In hindsight, I should have gone into that room to find out what was going on. But you don’t imagine in a million years that your friend is in danger or trouble. Not like that. Not back then.
It was 1988, and that was one of the first signs, a sign I should have noticed.
Six years later, Nicole would be dead.
Later, she told me that she and O.J. had had a terrible fight. But she didn’t say that he had hit her. I guess she wasn’t ready or willing to tell me that. Not yet. Apparently, they had been arguing a lot at that point, which was why she had wanted to go on that long walk with me in Central Park. Every time she tried to leave O.J., he wouldn’t let her go. That same year, on New Year’s Eve, she had the pictures taken with the bruises on her neck and face, pictures that would be circulated far and wide. But we wouldn’t know anything about it then, and we wouldn’t see them until it was too late.
About a month after that trip to New York, O.J. beat the shit out of Nicole, and she finally had the nerve to call the police. The problem was that most of the policemen who patrolled O.J.’s neighborhood were O.J.’s friends.
It was a strange dynamic: even though Nicole and I were extraordinarily close, she was ashamed or embarrassed to tell me what was really going on. Thinking back on it now, I realize that there were so many signs. I was with her once at my son Robert’s first birthday, in March of 1988, at a kids’ gym in Santa Monica. When she walked in, I looked past her and saw a brand-new white convertible Ferrari. “What is that parked out front?!” I said. “Oh my God!”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “That just means O.J. slept with God-knows-who this time. That’s my ‘I’m sorry’ present.”
“Wow!” I said, focusing on the Ferrari and not the heartache behind it.
T here was no more joy in the fun foursome we had once had.
When couples start going through these funky things, it really causes a lot of separation issues. All of us went off into our own corners. We had all tried to do the same things we had always done, but it just wasn’t the same. Around this time, the end of 1989, Nicole had started to think about a real separation from O.J.
At the same time, I was still feeling one of the most destructive of emotions with Robert Kardashian: boredom.
One day I told Robert, “I think we should be separated.”
“What?!” he said. I believe this came as a shock to him.
“You know and I know that things have been different between us,” I said. “I’m not feeling the same way I used to feel. I’m confused, and I think a separation could be great for us. You love to go to Palm Springs . . .”
He had been going to Palm Springs often and staying at his parents’ house. He loved to go down there.
“Why don’t you just take a minute,” I said. “Let’s take a breath. Give me a break. I just need to figure out why I am having these feelings. I don’t think it is fair to you for me to feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” he asked.
“Just different,” I said, trying to hold in my emotions and not hurt him with the whole truth.
I was really asking him to buy some time, for permission to breathe. I knew Robert was used to controlling me—in a nice way, but he was always the boss of everything—because he was twelve years older than I was. We
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