Thursday, October 06, 2005
Up Close and Personal
I scored the greatest coup in the history of the American media yesterday (if one discounts the importance of Woodward and Bernstein, that is). It all started off innocently enough, with my searching for La Mer face cream when I ran into Kelly Preston. We made the requisite small talk about anti-aging cream and corpulent husbands, and she began to follow me home as I exited the boutique.
Worried for my life and my wallet, knowing that the Travolta family fortune was seriously damaged in the wake of Battlefield Earth, I started to walk away when I noticed a short figure in the distance being gawked at by numerous passersby.
Had she done the same thing to him? I wondered. Was his face battered and bruised after having been attacked for his pocket change?
"Oh, poor Tommy," she said mournfully. "After the big announcement, people just won't leave him alone."
I stared blankly while actively refusing to make eye contact with her, and she gasped. "For L. Ron's sake, you haven't heard? Tommy is having a baby with Kate!"
I looked again at the tiny figure wearing a leather jacket, and, even from a distance, I could see his teeth and marveled at my good fortune.
Kelly and I walked towards him, her arm linked in mine (I later learned that she had been stuffing Scientology pamphlets in my purse and stealing my gum), and I could see the overlaugh in person. He has a mouth made for gay pornography.
"Ahahaha! Yeah, that's right! Uh-huh! Uh-huh! I knocked my woman up!"
His overt heterosexuality was somewhat offputting. He noticed Kelly, waved and extricated himself from the crowd.
"Hey, Kelly. Digging the Balenciaga bag!" He kissed her cheek before eyeing me suspiciously.
I introduced myself politely, adding, "I loved you in..."
"Born on the 4th of July? Jerry McGuire? Risky Business? Minority Report? All of the above?"
I nodded.
"Are you a reporter?"
"Um...sort of?"
"Are you requesting an interview?"
I didn't have time to answer before he said, "All right, Kell, Mallory and I are going to go sit down for an interview--I'm sure she has a lot to ask me about the baby and the engagement. I'll see you around!" He signaled to his driver that he was ready to be picked up. The driver, a handsome man reminiscent of Bradley Cooper, opened the door for us to get in, and let his hand linger on Tom's shoulder for a second too long. When he saw me watching him, he clapped his hand on the driver's shoulder and laughed. "You don't have to push me in, I won't fall!"
He didn't wear a seat belt ("I'm a rebel, and a certified action star", he claimed, showing me the business card proclaiming Tom Cruise: Certified Action Star to prove it), and opened a bottle of water emblazoned with the image of L. Ron Hubbard, taking a large swig of it before offering me some; I declined.
"I tell you, Mallory, it's a crazy world we live in. Can you believe that I had to pretend to have sex with that wench and I didn't get an Oscar for it?"
I laughed awkwardly.
Tom ran his hands through his hair and said, "You know, fatherhood is just crazy. The baby isn't even born yet and I can already tell-" (here, he paused to cackle)-"it's going to be tough."
"Don't you already have two children?" I wondered aloud.
He glared at me. I had the distinct impression that he was going to throw me out of the car, an event that would likely be followed by a photo op wherein he claimed to save my life, but was distracted by something on the street.
"Look! Look over there! It's Jake Gyllenhaal! Do I look okay? I feel so bloated. Should I go say hi? What if he makes fun of how big my pores are? They are really big. I'll just wait, you know? I'll send him a gift basket later on. So what were you asking?"
"Tell me about Katie."
"Kate," he said coldly. "Kate. She goes by Kate. She's great though, you know? She's so special. Just a gorgeous, talented woman. Are you familiar with her work?"
I nodded. "I loved her in...that episode of Dawson's Creek where she was proud of her jailbird dad."
"I liked that one, too! When she and Van der Beek kissed at the end? It was so romantic. He had such great eyes, there was so much emotion in them, you could tell he is a really passionate person."
He signalled to his driver to turn up the air conditioning. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, before grinning impishly and saying, "But, yeah, she's so special. A really special woman. And we're having a baby! Nic was probably like, "Oh my god, I can't believe it.' I wish I could have seen the look on that frigid bitch's face. I'm having a baby and she's banging Steve Bing!" He overlaughed and sighed. "Ah, things work out the way they're supposed to. But yeah, Kate's great. She's so special. We're really happy. We moved pretty quickly--obviously, I didn't wait until she had a ring to put a bun in the oven-" he grinned and poked me in the ribs, which I took as a command to laugh; I did, a high, brittle laugh containing not an ounce of amusement--"but we're so happy. I'm so lucky to have such a special woman in my life. Getting engaged at the Eiffel Tower was so awesome. So many tourists were taking our pictures and I was just so pleased that they recognized how special our bond is. You know the diamond commercial where the guy says, 'I love this woman'? I totally did that! She dug it, she turned red and her eyes got so big, and I held her real tight--real tight--and I shouted to the tourists, 'She said yes! Uh huh! Uh huh!"
I smiled. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a photo. "See, this is us. Hollywood's golden couple. My hand is right by her uterus, where my--pardon the term--seed was implanted in her egg. It was a time consuming process, she insisted on doing it in her room--"
I couldn't help but squeal, "You guys did it?!" I was embarrassed that I couldn't hide my shock. It seemed so wrong. I envisioned test tubes, petri dishes and a copy of Playgirl being involved.
"HECK YES, WE DID IT!" He pumped his fist and held his hand out as though he wanted a high five. I left him hanging.
I was nearly mollified by his display of heterosexuality, but there was something that didn't seem right. "Her room?" I repeated.
Tom didn't make eye contact with me and busied himself with elaborately folding his gum wrapper. "Yes, her room. You know, we wanted to wait for marriage except sometimes, you know, you just can't help your urges and we needed to give in to carnal desires to make love with one another, by which I mean have sexual intercourse. Of the heterosexual variety. Are you following me? I mean hot, man on woman loving."
I was disturbed.
"Yeah," he said, reclining with his arms behind his head. "It's hard being so virile, but, you know, that's how it is sometimes."
"How has Nicole handled the maelstrom of press you and Kate have been getting?"
He glared, but not at me. Staring out the window, he clenched his fists angrily and said, "You just watch, soon she'll be giving an interview to Barbara Walters saying how sad she is that I moved on after breaking her heart during the divorce and woe is me, and blah blah blah, she'll try to be sad but her Botoxed, ugly face won't be able to show it. As if being with me was so awful, when she was still married to me she wore overalls and her hair was a curly rat's and now her sorry ass is the best dressed woman in the world? Fuck that noise, she'd have never heard of Gucci and YSL without me! I was the one who bought her her first pair of Harry Winston earrings and this is how she thanks me? Like I didn't turn the other cheek every time I heard the stories about her and Ewan McGregor, and then all of a sudden it's a problem when Ewan turns his attention towards ME? That's BULLSHIT." He glanced at me, and overlaughed. "Nic and I are great friends, you know? I'll always care about her, I'll always love her. She's great! She's a great mother, and such a great woman, I'm so lucky that I have her in my life."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before flashing me a smile. "Oh, man, Mallory, this was awesome, but I'm going to have to cut it short, I have somewhere to be."
Covered in spittle from his last outburst (the man had obviously never learned the adage "Say it, not spray it"), I nodded weakly in agreement.
"Where do you need to be dropped off?"
"Um, here's fine. Here's good! Thanks for the interview, it was very enlightening."
He claspsed my hand gruffly as I started to slide out of the car. "Please remember that if you need help with anything, to let Scientology lead the way. For a mere $465 a month, you can be privy to ancient texts, dating all the way back to 1968, about thetans, negative energy and Xenu. Please call me if you're interested."
I smiled and got out of the car when I heard him say, "Oh, and Mallory? I have six lawyers, all Harvard educated, on retainer. Just so you know." He winked coldly, rubbed the shoulder of his driver and was on his way.
(Due to a pending lawsuit and a threatening, Scientologist goon sent to my door, I will not be able to share with you stories from the set of Minority Report, what really went on with Penelope Cruz and how much money Katie Holmes makes)
Mallory at 10/06/2005 06:49:00 PM
