Bruce Wagner - I’m Losing You

Jeremy Stein — that is the ONLY and LAST time, Diary, I will EVER write his name — took me to a party at CARRIE FISHER’S. {He is the one who said we met at the Fox lot event but I did not remember. Now, I know why.} I could not BELIEVE who was there. I kept running to the bathroom to write down names so I wouldn’t forget {they must have thought I was doing drugs, just like my “date”!}: RICHARD DREYFUSS, CANDICE BERGEN, BETTE MIDLER, STEVEN SPIELBERG, ROSEANNE, NICOLE KIDMAN {TO DIE FOR {{CIRCA 1995}} }. She was SANS Tom because of his MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE {CIRCA 1996} publicity chores. {Did you know, dearest Diary, that this lucky twosome will be soon be working with MR. STANLEY KUBRICK in what VARIETY calls a “tale of obsessive love and sexual jealousy”? Can’t wait!!!} Nicole is a very gorgeous, funny lady and TALL TALL TALL–I think TOM is the one she must mean when she says “THROW ANOTHER SHRIMP ON THE BARBIE!!!” Interesting to note MIMI ROGERS is no slouch in the height department either. {I have seen pictures of TOM’s mother — she and MIMI look like twins!! how VERY Freud-like.} HARRISON FORD and TOM HANKS were there and BARBRA STREISAND {!!!}, SEAN CONNERY, JENNIFER ANISTON, SALLY FIELD, MERYL STREEP and WARREN {his name is MUD in my book!!} with ANNETTE {I was thinking of adding her to the PANTHEON but her power, sadly, has been usurped by marriage. Gosh and golly though, is she classy — the epitome of Town and Country , of whose cover she recently graced}, MIKE NICHOLS, SEAN PENN and BOB DYLAN — all in one house at the same time, and THOSE were the ones I RECOGNIZED!!

The PERSON WHOSE NAME I WILL NOT AGAIN MENTION was kissing me in front of everyone and pawing my chest and I kind of pushed him because it was so embarrassing and CARRIE {a brilliant elf, in ARMANI black} made a joke about testosterone levels at his expense, I don’t remember exactly what, but it was a rebuke, as should have been under the circumstances. The TO-BE NAMELESS PERSON laughed, as did the others, and from then on ignored me. Around half an hour later he grabbed my arm while I cordially chatted with the talented and underused RITA WILSON (NEE HANKS), forced me to a corner and said, “you fucking {C-WORD}”—so hideous. SALLY FIELD and RITA saw all, and MIRA SORVINO and KATE CAPSHAW too. I was SO SICK I went to the bathroom and cried but could only retch. I could see through the window to the front of the house — the valets were bringing THE NAMELESS PERSON’s car. He left!!! His action greeted with a mixture of shame and relief. I walked down the hill crying and there was ED BEGLEY JR. and ROBERT DOWNEY JR. and newlywed DON HENLEY of EAGLES fame. I sensed ROBERT wanted to say something kind {I waited on him once at Sweets; I don’t think he remembered} but was such a mess I just kept walking, afraid as I drew nearer the gate wouldn’t open and I’d be stuck there, ogled at as the party-crashing whore of all time. {At this point, I was crashing in reverse.} Luck would have it that a car came in off the street and it was ALBERT BROOKS {who I LOVE — he caught me in his headlamps and looked at me funny} and I kept walking, trying not to burst into tears. I went down Coldwater all the way to the “pink palace,” and continued down RODEO DRIVE until I reached the Japanese-owned Regency Beverly Wilshire {site of PRETTY WOMAN {{CIRCA 1990}} }. I saw limos up the street — PLANET HOLLYWOOD. I went to see Jabba but they said she wasn’t working there anymore. I took a cab home and had the best bubble bath then cried myself to sleep.

You’ll Never Eat Me During Lunch …

Grosseck and Snow killed my movie. Pargita is directing Jodie’s film; they start shooting in less than three months. I’m not speaking to either and trash them everywhere I can, any chance I get. If a director isn’t found in two weeks, the jig is up. We’ll lose Harvey, and Holly too. Saul is desperate, even suggesting I direct (don’t laugh, E, it’s too heartbreaking). Saul thinks we should ditch the Usual Indie Suspects and go for Milos or Phil Kaufman. (Script’s out to Larry Clark.) Saw Jodie at Zev Turtletaub’s, who may put up some money. Told her I was going to sue the shit out of her director and hoped court appearances wouldn’t interfere with their schedule. Jodie played dumb — one thing she’s never been accused of — and I can’t blame her. It ain’t her problem::::::::::Bless his heart, Dr. Donny R gave me Demerol pills left over from his cancer-dead mom. As you already know, I’m mixing them with coke. And I thank you for your concern, Princess E, but please do not call 911—yet. The Dark Prince of ICM told me a hilarious story, which I herewith include to earn my advance (gotta zing for my supper, right?). He represents a screenwriter with AIDS. The writer sells a script to a Big Director. It’s not quite a go, but you know not bad, a script in active development, boxed blurb in the trades bla bla bla. Sells it for three hundred-something. Anyhow, the guy’s had AIDS for like twelve years, asymptomatic. He’s in the closet about it. Finally he gets CMV, one of the Big Three opportunistic infections. Maybe there’s four. Or five , what the fuck do I know. CMV attacks the retina, right? (I’ve learned more over the years about all this than I care to know.) Eventually you go blind but not before they stick a thingee in your chest, so when you’re at home you can infuse yourself with this cell-killing shit that sort of holds back the tide till you drop dead. Sorry, E. I know you already know all this but Vidra doesn’t. Or maybe she does, for all I know she’s Queen of fucking AmFar. Am I slurring words yet? Anyway, the screenwriter decides to come out of the closet, minimally. Tells his mother he’s Positive — she lives in Akron or something. Mom completely wigs. She calls the director. “Please!”—she’s crying—“you have to make my son’s movie, he’s dying of AIDS!” So the director calls the writer, who (of course) says, “Rumors of my death have been greatly::::::::::

Maps to the Stars

Dearest diary, I must speak my peace, at least to you. Here, then, is how I was fired.

It was a Monday night {the busiest, with the most celebs} and CAT BASQUIAT was there with an older woman. CAT has been in a number of times {once with ROBERT DOWNEY JR.} and is always very gracious and open, much like the many profiles of him infer. CAT and his older lady friend sat in a back booth in my section. {I thought maybe she was his agent or manager} and were very into themselves. He left the table and when she gave me her VISA, I noted the name on the card to be PHYLLISS WOLFE — who I immediately connected with the article in THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER as producer of TEOREMA. Naturally, I said something — perhaps that was inappropriate, perhaps not, but in this town I hardly think so. She seemed pleased to be “recognized.” I told her I’d auditioned for the role of the Stranger and even went so far as to rent the movie upon which their project was based. She was friendly but I wisely took my leave before the inevitable Awkward Moment. By the time I returned with the credit card slip they were arguing, with unexpected VIOLENCE. CAT slammed his fist on the table and Ms. Wolfe seemed badly shaken. I felt a kinship to her and was actually worried he might strike out, and though he isn’t that kind of person at all, one cannot tell — THAT was my crime. I very LIGHTLY said, almost joking, like a schoolmarm, “Alright, let’s settle down,” and that was when Ms. Wolfe glowered at me {if looks could kill} and MR. BASQUIAT said quite cockily to “go clear a table.” Which I did, and gladly. It was so clear they’d transferred their problems onto me as a classic scapegoat. People are majorly crazy!!