Tony stood at my dressing room door in that loincloth, fresh off theSpartacus set. Handsome? My clit stood at attention. Tony closed the door without a word. I slipped off the robe I was wearing over my little Eve outfit and peeled out of the costume. Tony was out of that loincloth before you could say Gladiator. We fell onto the bed in a hot embrace.
I suppose in the name of good taste I should just fade to black here. But, fuck good taste. Let's have some details.
Tony was one great lover. This gladiator had a weapon that was just what the doctor ordered, and he wasted no time in putting it to its proper use. We worked up a sweat as we fucked, and our body makeup ran and smeared the bedspread. One of the hair pieces I wore with the Eve costume ended up on the floor as we went at each other with total abandon. When we climaxed, we lay in each other's arms for a few moments. Then, professionals that we were, we got back into our costumes to go to work.
—Mamie Van Doren onTony Curtis, fromBedtime Stories
It's one thing to be mildly aware that '60s sex bomb Mamie Van Doren lives down the street, on the Balboa Peninsula, with her husband of 30 years. It's another entirely to run across her website (mamievandoren.com), the one ranting about impeaching “the Weenie.” Here, have a taste, with this end-of-the-year post on the administration's quaint little domestic spy ring: “Having had their dirty little secret dragged out into the light of day, Weenie and Cheenie and all the rest of the sorry bunch of scumbags are tap dancing and invoking executive presidential power, trying to bullshit the public into submission with FEAR. The more they talk, the more they prove a Carl Sandburg quote from Blackwood's Magazine in England: 'A great war always creates more scoundrels than it kills.' But it does your heart good to see the Venal Little Shit get caught.”
Now how—how?—could I have missed this right-thinking woman? Well, I figured she was one of those John Wayne-type Newport movie stars, and apparently she once was.
“I moved here in '67,” she told me when I rang her right up. (Our Ms. Mamie is wonderfully accessible.) “Moved into the Balboa Bay Club; I was the first resident there. I had a young son at the time, and I thought it would be an ideal spot for him. Had an antique shop and everything.
“So I was living at the Bay Club, and it was very Republican—at the time it was the Nixon administration. I was a moderate Republican, and of course there's no such thing anymore. Nixon would be considered too liberal today. But he was a friend of mine; I worked in CREEP [the Committee to Re-Elect the President]; I had a date with Henry Kissinger. It was cool—at the time, he was trying to promote peace, going to Paris. . . . The evening was very educational; he was sitting next to Mrs. Rockefeller and playing kneesies with me. The entertainment that evening . . .” She paused, hummed a few bars. “The anorexic girl?”
Karen Carpenter?
“Yes, the Carpenters were the entertainment.”
She told me more. “I was married to the vice president of Fluorin the '70s. I divorced him six months later. But I was really involved in the election of RonaldReagan. They were deciding who was gonna run; the only thing they didn't like about him was Nancy. I thought that was just how it was done, and didn't have a problem with it. I was very naive. But I know all about how the oil companies run the country.
“I went to Vietnam twice. I was a hawk when I went over, and a dove when I came back. I didn't see why all these kids were getting killed. After my divorce, I was still a Republican. But Reagan came in and didn't do anything when all these abortion clinics were getting bombed, and that really upset me. I grew up in the '50s, and it was hard for women. I worked in the studio system . . .
“I voted for Reagan; he was president of my screen actors club, and I thought he'd do a good job. I even voted for the other Bush. His bravery in World War II really got to me. But then I voted for Clinton—I liked everything about Clinton—and completely turned left. And now we've got this half-wit, spying on Americans, and I can't believe the American people are falling for it!”
We had a right nice little chat—she was the first to call Tom Daschle “a pussy,” but I seconded her—before she spent a few moments cackling about how great it is being married to a 15-years-younger husband, wished me luck with my career and said I sounded like a good mother to my son. Oh, my God, Mamie Van Doren is nice!She'll also be appearing at M Modern Gallery in Palm Springs on Jan. 14. Go and get a piece of her mind.
And hey, GOP? You could still have a slew of dirty-talking, hard-fucking beauties adorning your yacht parties, if you just wouldn't be such a fucking drag.
* * *
Two of my least-draggy local Republicans, fixer Mike Schroeder and his angel wife, Susan—Susan told me her New Year's resolution is to “be more evil,” to which the only proper response is a befuddled “How?”—along with Susan's sister Laura invited me out to dinner and OCPAC for The BoyFriend, directed by Julie Andrews.
Christ, it blew.
I was very surprised when it ended that such a light, Riviera-set “farce” was actually a poignant tragedy, our poor little rich girl abandoned by her feckless lover, who it turned out was a thief. (That's what you get for singing “I Could Be Happy With You” before you've actually spent five minutes with your bellhop lover, whose name you still don't know, and whom you haven't even Van Dorened yet!) Except, as it happened, there was still another act. That made me sad, because as I was out smoking and people were stampeding for the exits saying, and I quote, “Jesus, that was fucking torture,” it turned out I had to go back in for more.
Wouldn't have missed it for the world. You know how I love things I hate!
Mike looked like he wanted to shoot himself in the face, Susan tried unsuccessfully to mute her guffaws (actually, she probably wasn't trying at all), and we all made loud, catty remarks about the horse face, skinny legs (of which we saw far too much) and “French” accent of the second lead, Madame Dubonnet (Nice by way of Leningrad); the purported heterosexuality of all the men hoofing it on the stage (the game male lead is best-known for his role as Marcus, the sweet-eyed model lover of the short bald guy on Sex and the City); and Julie Andrews' heck of a job direction.
They should have put Mamie to the task; I bet she could come up with a light little (XXX) farce I'd actually like to see.
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