sand dunes and the ocean, and the company was never less than invigorating. Bianca Jagger without Mick, Yves Saint Laurent opening clams in the kitchen, the fashion designer Halston dishing the divas, and, of course, the neighbors: Edward Albee, Bobby De Niro,and Paul Simon. For reasons I never understood, Dick Cavett insisted on playing Frisbee sans clothing. Maybe he was working up an appetite.
It was there I learned that even the famous can be impressed by the somewhat more famous, as certain people never ceased mentioning that they were there that memorable weekend Liz or Liza or John Lennon visited. The first time we go we encounter Bianca. Farrah never warms up to her. She ran with a more cultured, artistic group than we knew in LA. Farrah felt threatened by her, though she had no reason to be and my behavior was as proper as an English butler’s. Maybe it was because Bianca was always topless, and Farrah knew she and I were once lovers. Bianca and I remained friends and I still think of her that way even though we haven’t spoken in ten years.
Later that year Farrah does another made-for-TV movie,
The Red-Light Sting
, in San Francisco with Beau Bridges. I visit her on set and even manage to squeeze in a quick trip to see my son Patrick, who’s living in Carmel and attending the Stevenson School.
The Red-Light Sting
is a fourteen-day shoot for which Farrah has an A-list payday. Though the movie itself is forgettable, it’s important to her in that she’s finally starting to know what it feels like to have money and a career without someone taking a cut. The three decades Farrah and I are together; I honor her need to remain in control of her own finances. We maintain separate bank accounts, and of course I’m traditional in that I payfor whatever she’ll allow me to—dinner, travel, presents—but when it comes to her income, I respect her privacy and her independence. Though Farrah and I would argue about a lot during the turbulent years of our relationship, one subject we rarely had words over was money. It is said that statistically the two biggest issues that destroy marriages are money and kids. Perhaps God gave us a break on the former because he knew the latter would be so sad.
The 1983 holidays are a welcome respite, though I miss Tatum and continue to worry about Griffin. Farrah and I fly to Hawaii to see him at Habilitate, and while he seems to be trying hard to turn his life around, it’s as if he’s been severed from his own soul, and like the headless horseman, he’s trying to find the top of him and put it back on.
I immerse myself in loving my girl and working with her to further develop her craft. Inspiration strikes from a surprising source. Farrah has a subscription to
Texas Monthly
. One morning over coffee, I’m scanning the latest issue and there’s a piece on Candy Barr, the famous stripper who had an affair with the notorious Mickey Cohen and performed in Jack Ruby’s Dallas nightclub. She shot her second husband, a crime for which she served three years in prison. I’d always been intrigued by her story. A star in burlesque, when she was sixteen years old, she appeared in the most famous stag film of all time,
Smart Alec
, aka
Smart Aleck
. It’s a memorable performance for those of us men who saw it in our youth. It ranks right up there with Rita Hayworthin
Gilda
. Years later, history would remember Candy Barr as an unlikely feminist. I point out the article to Farrah and suggest that this would be a perfect vehicle for her. There are some striking similarities between the two of them, both having had to overcome implacable misconceptions. Farrah’s excited by the idea and we go to San Antonio to meet Candy. She’s a tougher broad than I thought she would be and Farrah is fascinated by her. In fact, when we return home, Farrah insists that we watch
Smart Alec
together. She’s never asked to watch a porn movie before and I must admit I’m excited. We were both
It was there I learned that even the famous can be impressed by the somewhat more famous, as certain people never ceased mentioning that they were there that memorable weekend Liz or Liza or John Lennon visited. The first time we go we encounter Bianca. Farrah never warms up to her. She ran with a more cultured, artistic group than we knew in LA. Farrah felt threatened by her, though she had no reason to be and my behavior was as proper as an English butler’s. Maybe it was because Bianca was always topless, and Farrah knew she and I were once lovers. Bianca and I remained friends and I still think of her that way even though we haven’t spoken in ten years.
Later that year Farrah does another made-for-TV movie,
The Red-Light Sting
, in San Francisco with Beau Bridges. I visit her on set and even manage to squeeze in a quick trip to see my son Patrick, who’s living in Carmel and attending the Stevenson School.
The Red-Light Sting
is a fourteen-day shoot for which Farrah has an A-list payday. Though the movie itself is forgettable, it’s important to her in that she’s finally starting to know what it feels like to have money and a career without someone taking a cut. The three decades Farrah and I are together; I honor her need to remain in control of her own finances. We maintain separate bank accounts, and of course I’m traditional in that I payfor whatever she’ll allow me to—dinner, travel, presents—but when it comes to her income, I respect her privacy and her independence. Though Farrah and I would argue about a lot during the turbulent years of our relationship, one subject we rarely had words over was money. It is said that statistically the two biggest issues that destroy marriages are money and kids. Perhaps God gave us a break on the former because he knew the latter would be so sad.
The 1983 holidays are a welcome respite, though I miss Tatum and continue to worry about Griffin. Farrah and I fly to Hawaii to see him at Habilitate, and while he seems to be trying hard to turn his life around, it’s as if he’s been severed from his own soul, and like the headless horseman, he’s trying to find the top of him and put it back on.
I immerse myself in loving my girl and working with her to further develop her craft. Inspiration strikes from a surprising source. Farrah has a subscription to
Texas Monthly
. One morning over coffee, I’m scanning the latest issue and there’s a piece on Candy Barr, the famous stripper who had an affair with the notorious Mickey Cohen and performed in Jack Ruby’s Dallas nightclub. She shot her second husband, a crime for which she served three years in prison. I’d always been intrigued by her story. A star in burlesque, when she was sixteen years old, she appeared in the most famous stag film of all time,
Smart Alec
, aka
Smart Aleck
. It’s a memorable performance for those of us men who saw it in our youth. It ranks right up there with Rita Hayworthin
Gilda
. Years later, history would remember Candy Barr as an unlikely feminist. I point out the article to Farrah and suggest that this would be a perfect vehicle for her. There are some striking similarities between the two of them, both having had to overcome implacable misconceptions. Farrah’s excited by the idea and we go to San Antonio to meet Candy. She’s a tougher broad than I thought she would be and Farrah is fascinated by her. In fact, when we return home, Farrah insists that we watch
Smart Alec
together. She’s never asked to watch a porn movie before and I must admit I’m excited. We were both
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