When I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, I found that half of the residents were aspiring actors, directors, writers, models, dancers, or singers. Most of my friends and acquaintances had been in something, and some had been in several things.
I've had hookups with several celebrities, or at least people who are listed in the Internet Movie Database, but I've only dated one.
No real names because he's still closeted, and I don't want to get sued -- how crazy is it that in 2015, you can be sued for slander for "accusing" someone of being gay.
But I can tell you that he's a couple of years older than me, tall and slim, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was most famous at the time for an adventure TV series which I watched at Indiana University in the early 1980s, but since then he's starred in a cop show and appeared in some soap operas. Shouldn't be hard to figure out.
The Meeting:
We met at the post office at Christmastime in 1986, a few days after my fight and sort-of-breakup with my boyfriend Raul. He was standing in line in front of me, carrying a large package. I said "that's one enormous package. And the box you're mailing is pretty big, too." He laughed. (In the 1980s, "package" was slang for the visible bulge that sex organs make in tight pants.)
I told him I worked for Joe Weider's Muscle and Fitness, and asked if he would be available for the June centerfold. He laughed again.
I gave him my telephone number, and said I was getting ready to leave for two weeks in Rock Island, but maybe we could get together afterwards.
You know dating in West Hollywood -- if you're not available right that moment, forget it. There are lots of other guys around. So I figured I would never hear from him again.
But when I called my roommate Alan on Christmas Day, he told me that the Celebrity had left a message.
We talked later, and made a date for January 10th, 1987.
The First Date:
I wore a thin silk shirt to show off my pecs, which was a mistake -- the Celebrity planned an "impress your date" dinner at Geoffrey's, on the beach at Malibu. The temperature was in the 50s, with a wind whipping through me, and we dined al fresco. And the Celebrity insisted that I have the chilled peach soup. I turned down the invitation to "see his place," went home, and crawled under an electric blanket.
OK, the first date was a bust. I figured I would never hear from him again.
But he called the next day, and invited me to play tennis.
The Second Date:
I have played tennis maybe six times in my life. I am terrible at it! But how could I make any worse of an impression?
We played on a public court in Beverly Hills, with half of the Hollywood glitterati watching me stumble and trip, and bat the ball into the stratosphere, and land hard on my knee, requiring a trip to the emergency room.
OK, the second date was a bust. This was it for my celebrity romance!
But he called later and invited me to dinner at his house.
The Third Date:
The Celebrity lived in a rather modest house in the Hollywood Hills: only two bedrooms, a small swimming pool that was really more of a hot tub, no tennis court (thank goodness!). He had two dogs, a Scottish Terrier and a Swedish Valhund, who sometimes took him to dog shows.
In West Hollywood, the third date meant that you were together, a couple. But we hadn't even gotten to the bedroom yet. And what if celebrities had their own rules? I didn't know what to expect.
Dinner was chicken piccata, a green salad, and white wine. I hadn't told him that I didn't drink, and anxious not to make any more faux-pas, I drank it, and got a little buzzed.
Then we went into the living room, watched a movie on his new VHS player, and eventually made it to the bedroom.
This is Christopher Atkins, not my Celebrity Boyfriend, but it will give you an idea of his physique: lean, firm, not terribly muscular, average or perhaps a little small beneath-the-belt.
But very cute, and energetic, willing to keep going all night.
Neither of us said anything in the morning, but I assumed that we were now together.
The Relationship:
During the next two months, the Celebrity and I went out only twice more, once to see the opera Porgy and Bess at the Wiltern, and once for brunch at one of those top-floor restaurants where the spectacular views give you vertigo and the entrees start at $100. Otherwise we played tennis (again!), hung out in his pool, walked his dogs, and had Chinese or Thai food delivered while we watched movies on his VCR.
And cuddled and kissed. The Celebrity could cuddle for hours.
He came over for dinner with my roommate Alan and ex-boyfriend Raul once. I never met any of his friends.
In March I asked him about it. He said, "Tell you what. We'll host a party. 15 of my friends, and 15 of your friends. That way everybody will get to know each other all at once."
The Last Party
On March 30th, 1987, the Celebrity and I hosted a post-Oscar party. I invited Marcus, Alan, Tranh, Raul, and a few other guys, including Michael J. Fox and Tom Villard, to prove that I had famous friends, too (they didn't come). I don't remember any of the Celebrity's friends except Douglas Barr, but there were some heterosexual couples as well as gay men.
I thought I was being an excellent host, refilling drinks, pointing out the direction of the bathroom, answering questions like "how long have you two been together?" and "what are you guys planning for the summer?" As guests left, I told them "Thanks for coming!"
But maybe I was too cruisy. In West Hollywood, parties tend to be exclusively gay, so light-hearted cruising, pretending to be interested, is customary. Maybe that embarrassed the Celebrity. Or maybe he was jealous.
Or maybe he had been thinking of us as a "down-low" fling, not as a couple.
He was fine in bed that night, but the next day he didn't call, and when I called him, I got his answering machine. During the next week, three messages and a drop-in went unanswered, and when I finally got through to him, he was "really busy." Finally I moved on.
I just heard from him recently. He said "thanks for not outing me," told me that he remembered the breakup being mutual, and complained that he wasn't on my Sausage List.
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