Yaye and I were chatting the other day about the joys of spring and gardening when somehow the conversation twisted back to what we were doing when we were 22 years old. You see, there was a time when Yaye and I had separated onto opposite paths. During this time, me, saucy Tallulah, got involved with a man who would quickly become my husband of 17 years (holy ****!). She shared, I shared and we both decided that this should go on the blog.
I always hung out with musicians, as I used to play in bands way back when. I understood musicians; I felt an affinity with them. Then, after much heartbreak with “rock star” boyfriends, I felt it was my duty to change my manly choice direction. Yes, I decided that it would be a good thing to get involved with someone in the film industry. (OUCH! I just smacked myself in the forehead). This involvement would be very difficult for me, as film people are very different than musicians, and it’s hard for me to relate but I digress. My only saving grace…I have NEVER been involved with an actor.
Party, summer 1989, right turn Lookout Moutain, from Laurel Canyon…up, up, up to a stilt house overlooking the lights of Hollywood. Mr. Tallu, myself and two neighbors (Martha and Jorge) converge upon the soiree hosted by a producer friend. Many beautiful women wearing perfect little black dresses and lovely strappy shoes. I am wearing a 1940’s floral light green/peach rayon housecoat, and a 1950s girdle like bullet bustier, which I dyed green to match the housecoat which didn’t close very well. Shoes…scuffed up cowboy boots. Everyone there…very Hollywood, I felt uncomfortable, so what the F*ck, I’d have a good time anyway.
Scene 1:
Martha and Tallulah standing on back patio, looking around trying to figure out what to do. Two Frenchmen approach with bottle of champagne.
“Ahhh two beautiful ladies, Non? “
I said, “Oui, we’ve got the Je n’sais pas, Non?
“Ha, ha, ha….Let us share in some champagne…we’ll get the glasses you stay right here with this bottle of the finest Dom Perignon.” The Frenchmen scuffle off to the kitchen, in corner of eye we see them point and ask producer friend for glasses.
Martha and I devilishly grin, as we scurry to the back of the house down rickety steps that led to the stilts, and shared swigs of the fine champagne until it was all gone.
Scene 2:
Bellied up to the buffet/bar table. I am standing next to Judd Nelson, to the side slightly behind poor Mr. Nelson was Martha. I turned my head to his direction, but looked through him to Martha.
“Oh my god, Martha! Is that Woody Allen?” I exclaimed, knowing full well Woody was NOT at this party. Silence fell for a few seconds, while everyone was trying so hard to be nonchalant at the sametime working hard to get a glimpse of the great filmmaker. What pure fun to watch the awkward moment…oops Frenchmen spots us, we get out of situation fast.
Scene 3:
Timothy Leary sits on the couch in the living room surrounded by psychedelic posse. Friend of Mr. Tallu says: “Tallu, I’ll give you $20 bucks if you sit on Timothy Leary’s lap and tell him you’ve just taken LSD what should you do”
Hmmm, had a bottle of Champagne, one shot of high grade tah-killya, and 2 glasses of wine…I’m up for anything.
I slither my way to Mr. Leary, he’s wanting me to sit on his lap without my prompting, I do, place my arms around his neck and whisper: “Mr. Leary, 30 minutes I go I took a hit of acid, what should I do”
He smiles and says “Darling, Why NOT?”
I thank him, he tells me to stay a while, I tell him, I’ve just got to walk, it’s hitting. Go find Mr. Tallu’s friend, he’s laughing so hard he can’t contain himself, I place the $20 dollar bill in my left cup of the bullet bustier.
Scene 4:
It’s late, the party’s hopping, I’m leaning up against the railing next to the black bottomed pool, I believe Martha and Jorge were having a little fun down by the stilts. A famous Japanese photographer walks up. (I don’t know who he is, but everyone told me later that night at Pink’s Hot Dog Stand – he was REAL FAMOUS – whatever)
Photographer: “So what do you do?”
Tallulah: “I’m a nurse”
Photographer: “Oh?”
Tallulah: “Don’t tell anyone”
Photographer is intruiged…
Tallulah: 
“I’m Warren Beatty’s proctologist’s nurse”
Photographer mortified.
