I confess.
No not about the time, I ran naked in the rain, singing a tune from “Singing in the Rain” and pretending I was secretly Debbie Reynolds only not wearing a yellow rain jacket and dancing so horribly — Andre the Giant would win if given a chance between me and him on “Dancing with the Stars”.
I will confess… a tiny, itsy-bitsy, little secret —
Yes! Yes! YES! I did read “The Great Gatspy” — Once. Way back in high school for one of those “required” reading thingy’s one had to do in order to graduate. I remember nothing about the book now and sadly, I didn’t graduate from High School. Not because reading, “The Great Gatsby” had some negative influence on me and my life, or showing me ways to waste away my hours and days by drinking and partying. (Although I did do a lot of that back in the day.) Most likely my lack of graduation was due to the many hours I spent day dreaming about pooka shells, Pet Rocks, and hours surfing at the beach down the block from Santa Monica High where I attended first period on most days and little else for the rest of the day.
I know… silly me… I should have been reading all those required books — I can not blame F. Scott Fitzgerald for me not clutching a high school diploma all those years ago — as he was living the high life in a world of riches I did not know. Nor can I blame Leo Tolstoy for creating characters I loved and would think of in my head all hours of the when I wasn’t busy surfing, for my lack of graduating. I have no stories on what it is like to be extremely filthy rich and young (although I would really like to have one of those stories) sadly, I do not.
I do however, have a story of a very young Leonardo DiCaprio who used to carry my bags filled with naked pictures to my rented table at San Diego Comic Con back in the mid 80’s when he and his father used to go every year and the San Diego Comic Con was known as a gathering of comic fans and not the giant event it has now become where hundreds of thousands of superhero clad attendee’s flock to each year in June. Leo’s father was a Superfan, comic geek, and part time comic collector who would bring his son “Leo” as folks would call him then. A young lad of around 12, Leo, would help me unwrap the many bundles of prints Dave Stevens had drawn of me and carefully place them on the table — careful not to bend the corners and to remind me, as each package was being unwrapped, “bent corners, bring the price down”. I would thank him for that timely reminder and he would then hand me a couple of Post Notes — explaining that I would need these as his father had explained to him — “every gal here, needs at least two Post Notes”.
I would ask him why, and Leo would shrug and say, “don’t know,” but apparently, it was needed and off he would go. Later, Leo came back clutching another stack of unwrapped Dave Steven’s Prints, eyes wide, as he laid the package down — his face covered in a slight sweat.
“You okay?” I asked the obviously nervous lad.
“Yeah.” He said, his eyes darting this way and that and in a hushed tone he confided, “I found out why you need to have Post Notes.” He said, as if it were some state secret.
“To cover my boobies.” I say. “Since I have two boobies — two–Post Notes! See? I can do math!” I remember laughing, as I watched my young friend process what I had just said following the gaze of his eyes dropping to the two Post Notes hiding some of Dave’s finest work ever drawn. A Limited Edition print of my “fluffy” breasts, entitled, “Scorcher”. (Dave would always refer to my breasts as “fluff” and I would always say, “as long as you did the fluffing” cause, any one familiar with Dave Steven’s and his “Good Girl” Art knows — there are few who fluffed better than Dave.)
Leo blushed, and I would tell him… “One day, you will make some girl very happy.”
He blushed some more and all future carrying of my pictures and print bags were always done with such speed and quickness — I felt I was looking at the son of Flash — instead, of the child who would later grow up into a filthy rich, hot looking, movie star and man — currently headlining in the flick loosely based on F. Scott’s “The Great Gatsby” I had to read as a teenager.
There you have it…
My Confession.
Did I ever tell you about the time I sang, albeit horribly… in the rain? Ha.
