Whoopi and I were hanging out at Oprah's party up in the hills, sitting on a couch in the sunroom. We were sipping Blundetto champagne, laughing and talking. Whoopi had her hand on my knee. I took a sip of champagne and said, "You know what, baby, let's see how long we can go without talking."
Whoopi exploded with an incredulous laugh. "WHAT?"
"No really, baby, let's see how long we can sit here and not talk."
"Why?"
"I dunno. Just to do it."
"But why?"
"Well, let's see if we can do it. I'll bet you can't sit here for ten minutes without saying a word."
"Oh come on."
"I'm serious."
"But we're at a party. We're supposed to be talking."
"Exactly."
Whoopi shook her head. Her bracelets clicked around her wrists. She kissed me on the cheek. "You are so crazy—you know that?"
"I'm trying."
She took a sip of her champagne. "All right."
I took a sip of my champagne. "Okay, ten minutes. We'll use my watch—"
"No, not ten minutes. That's too long."
"Okay, five."
"Done."
"All right—but we can drink champagne while we do it."
"Okay." Whoopi took another sip of her champagne. "But what are we betting?"
"Oh, right...umm... If I win, you have to go up to Aaron Spelling and kiss him on the lips and say, ‘Baby, I've got a Melrose Place that's just waiting for your big 90210.'"
"WHAT?"
"Yup, that's what you gotta do."
"Come on?"
"I'm serious."
Whoopi took another sip of champagne. She paused. "All right. I can do that." She nodded to herself and giggled. She took another sip of champagne. "But if I win, you gotta go over to Sylvester Stallone and say, 'Sly, you have the brains of a twinkie.'"
"ARE YOU KIDDING?"
"Nope. If I win, you gotta walk right up to him and say, 'Sly, you make cheesy movies and you got the brain of a twinkie.'"
"I have to say all that?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"'Cause you were complaining about him, like five minutes ago."
"But that's 'cause he started talkin' trash about Roseanne."
"So?"
"Yeah...all right." I raised my champagne glass. We clinked our champagne glasses. "Here, I'll count us in and we'll look at my watch."
"Okay."
"But you be ready to kiss Aaron Spelling."
"Fat chance."
"Yeah?"
"Yup."
"We'll see." I rolled up my sleeve and straightened my Rolex. "Ready?"
"Uh-huh."
I waited till the second hand reached the 12. "Okay... NOW."
I sat back on the couch, holding my champagne glass. Whoopi sat back against the couch. She exhaled softly.
A moment later, Heather Graham drifted into the room. Her lips glistened with red lipstick. She paused to adjust her mini-skirt. I took a long sip of my champagne and watched her. Heather smiled at us. "Hey, where'd you guys get the champagne? What I wouldn't give for some champagne right now."
I bolted out of my seat. "You can have mine." I handed her my champagne glass. "It's only about half-full. But mmm-hmm, it's delicious."
Whoopi jumped up from the couch. "AH-HAH—you talked."
I spun around. "Huh?"
Whoopi poked me in the chest. "You talked. You couldn't even wait thirty seconds."
"Oh." I shook my head. "No, no—that doesn't count. The bet was that I wouldn't talk to you."
"No, no—you said we couldn't TALK for five minutes."
"Right. We couldn't talk to each other."
"No, no—"
Heather looked from me to Whoopi. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"
Whoopi stepped in front of me. "Sister, what you see here is a man who can't keep his word. We had a bet that—"
I shook my head. "No, wait, wait—"
Whoopi pushed me away. "Check this out. We had a bet that we wouldn't talk for five minutes and if I won he’d go—"
"No, no, no. The bet was, we couldn't talk to each other."
"No, no..." Whoopi pushed me away again. She looked at Heather. "It's like this. He lost the bet and now he's trying to talk his way out of it."
Heather frowned. "What a pig."
"Oh, come on."
Whoopi nodded. "It's true. He can't keep his word."
I tried to grab her arm. "I always keep my word."
"Not this time."
"Oh come on..."
Heather turned to Whoopi. "What'd he bet?"
"Shoot, girl. You wanna know what he has to do?"
"Yeah." Heather smiled. Her lips were wet and shiny. "What's he gotta do?"
"Well..." Whoopi paused and downed the rest of her champagne. "He's gotta go up to Sly and say, 'Boy, you make cheesy movies 'cause you're dumb as a twinkie.'"
"No, no—it wasn't exactly that..."
Heather squinted at me. "You have to walk up to Sylvester Stallone and say that?"
I shook my head. "No, it's not like that."
Whoopi threw up her hands. "See what I'm talkin' 'bout, sister? He's just a boy—he's a scared boy. He can't keep his word."
Heather frowned. "God, I hate men. They're so weak. I like guys with strong you-know-whats."
Whoopi laughed. "I hear what you're saying."
I took back my glass of champagne from Heather. I gulped down the little bit that was left. "I've got guts."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"No you don't."
I looked from Whoopi to Heather. "So what are you beautiful ladies telling me—I gotta go tell Sly he's an idiot?"
They both nodded, "Yup."
"Jesus." I kicked the toe of my shoe against the floor. "He'll twist me into little pretzel bits."
Whoopi waved her hand in the air. "Then you should pray to the Lord for some good luck."
"God..." I put my hand to my head. "I'm a condemned man." I stared at the floor.
Heather put her arm around me. "Oh, don't be sad. I'll go and visit you in the hospital."
"You will?"
"Sure." She looked at Whoopi for a moment. "We both will—won't we?"
Whoopi nodded. "Yup."
I looked at Heather. She had beautiful, sparkling eyes. "Really?"
"Yes. I'll come and see you. I'll read to you. I'll give you sponge baths."
My hands began to tremble. "Wait, wait, I'm starting to have palpitations. Could you repeat that last bit?"
Heather laughed. She poked my arm. "Oh, stop. You're gonna be fine."
"I know, I know. It's just that the sponge bath thing—my God..."
Whoopi threw up her hands. "The boy is just so helpless."
Heather smiled. I raised my empty champagne glass. "Let's get more champagne. Then we'll go talk to Sly."
"All right."
We started to walk out to the back veranda. We passed David Lane and Drew Barrymore. They were deep in private conversation. Whoopi grabbed my arm. "By the way, sailor boy, you're talking to Sly by yourself. Don't you mention my name."
"Come on..."
"I'm serious."
I nodded my head. "All right."
We stepped out onto the veranda and crossed over to the bar. My friend Joe Guerriero was leaning against the bar, sipping a glass of wine. He saw me and grinned. "Stevie—hey...let me tell you something...it's all about timing, babe."
I nodded. "I hear that, Joe-Joe."
Joe picked up his glass of wine and drifted away. Heather looked at me. "Who the hell was that?"
"I think I did an audition with him once."
"Oh..."
I turned to the bartender. "Three champagnes, please—two for these lovely ladies, of course." Whoopi rolled her eyes. The bartender poured us each a champagne. I tipped him a $10 bill. Then we walked down the back steps to the courtyard.
Heather took my arm. "You know, you've got a lot of guts."
I squeezed her shoulder. "Baby, I've got lots of things."
She laughed. "You are such a cheeseball, you know that?"
"But you love me."
"Come on? I don't even know you."
"Really?"
"Of course. I just met you."
"All right, then. I'm gonna give you two days." I held up two fingers.
"Two days for what?"
I took a sip of my champagne. "In two days you're gonna be begging everyone you know for my phone number."
"Oh... right. Of course I will."
Whoopi tapped us on the shoulder. "Look, there's Sly."
I looked. Sly was standing near the swimming pool, talking with Bruce Willis, James Coburn, and James Caan. He was wearing a black suit, black pants, white shirt. Instead of a tie, he had a bolo cinched around his neck.
"Oh, jeez..."
"Come on, don't back down on us now. This is gonna be funny."
"Who's gonna be laughing?"
Heather squeezed my arm. She smiled and looked into my eyes. "Come on. Be my big strong man."
"Oh, jeez." I gulped down my champagne. "This is like..."
"Here, give me your champagne glass."
I gulped down the last of my champagne. Then I handed my glass to Whoopi. I glanced at Sly. "All right. See you on the other side."
Whoopi pushed me. "Oh, you'll be fine. Stop it."
"All right."
Whoopi patted me on the back. I set off for Sly and his friends.
I rounded the swimming pool and walked up to Sly and his gang. They were standing in a narrow circle, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey. James Caan was saying, "Yeah, but Randy Newman speaks to the common man. That Reilly guy—he's more of a hippie. I can't dig his stuff. I wouldn't want my kids hearing that crap."
"Damn right," said James Coburn.
"Yeah," said Bruce Willis.
I stepped up to Sly. His back was toward me. All I could see was the enormous, tight girth of his broad sport coat. I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, Sly—if you have a second..."
He turned around and faced me. He clenched his jaw and stared at me. "Yeah?"
"I was hoping you'd have a moment. I'm supposed to pass a message to you."
"Make it quick."
"Well, if you have a second, maybe we could step over there..."
"No. What's the message?"
"Well, there's no need to interrupt your whole conversation. We could talk over there."
"Look pal, speak your piece already."
Bruce Willis pointed at me. "Yeah. Whatever you gotta say to him, you can say to us."
Sly nodded. "Right."
"Well then...it goes like this...it seems I agreed to make the following observation and pass it along to you."
I paused. They were all staring at me. I glanced around quickly. Whoopi and Heather were watching from a nearby table.
"Okay, here goes. You see, Sly, you make cheesy movies and you have the brain of a twinkie."
I held my breath. Sly squinted at me.
"What did you say?"
"Well, I can repeat the message if you want—"
Sly pushed me hard in the chest. I stumbled backward. He pointed at me. "You got some kind of problem, pal? You wanna start something in front of my friends?"
I pointed at Sly. "Hey, soul brother, don't push me. It's just a joke."
"What the hell do you—"
Bruce Willis grabbed Sly's shoulder. "Let me kick his ass, Sly. You want me to kick his ass?"
Sly never took his eyes off me. "You wanna go right now, pal—right here?"
"Actually Sly, I don't know if that's such a good idea. I'm pretty much a bad-ass myself. I dunno if we need to start fighting, 'cause I'll get some shots in, I'll tell you that. But let's talk about it. If I say, 'You make cheesy movies,' I'm just—"
Suddenly James Caan stepped in front of me. He pointed his cigar at me. "You're friends with Burt, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
He shook his head. "Then why are you pissing off Sly?"
"It was a joke. I was supposed to walk up to Sly and tell him—"
"Who told you?"
"Who told me what?"
Sly grabbed the front of my sport jacket. "Who told you I make cheesy movies?"
"Well, no one—I mean, anyone who goes to the movies might say—"
Sly raised his fist. "I oughta pound you—"
James Caan grabbed Sly's arm. "Hey, Sly—easy. Take it easy."
"You hear what he said to me?"
James Caan pushed Sly away from me. "Look, Sly, back off. It's not worth it."
"Damn."
Sly shoved me again, then stepped back. He pointed at me. "You better watch it there, pal."
A crowd had begun to gather. James Coburn stumbled between us. He took a swig of his whiskey. "You know what, guys? There's only one way to settle this. I got gloves in the trunk. You guys're gonna put 'em on. You're gonna box." He took another swig of his whiskey. "It's the only way to settle this thing."
"Yeah," Bruce Willis said.
Just then, Oprah ran up to us. She was livid. "Hey—what the hell's going on here?" She glanced quickly from me to Sly to Bruce. "This is supposed to be a party. What the hell are you doing?"
Sly pointed at me. "He started it. He came over here and started making fun of me."
Oprah squinted at Sly. "What?"
"He did it. He started the whole thing."
"He did—did he?"
"Yeah."
"Well—so what?"
"He said I make cheesy movies."
"You do make cheesy movies."
"Yeah, but Oprah—I mean, I don't give a damn if you say that—"
Oprah glared at Sly. Her eyes narrowed. She pointed a finger in Sly's face. "Don't-you-ever-use-profanity-with-me. You hear me?"
Sly looked down at the ground. "No, no, I'm sorry. I just meant—"
"I know what you meant." She turned and stared at me. "So what's your problem?"
I put up my hands in a gesture of innocence. "Look, Oprah, baby, it's not what you—"
Oprah squinted at me. "What'd you call me?"
"Oprah—I mean, that’s your name, right?"
"You called me 'baby.'"
"I call everybody 'baby.'" I looked around, searching for agreement from the crowd.
Oprah pointed a finger in my face. "If you know what's good for you, you'll never call me 'baby' again. Is that clear?"
"Sure thing, b—" I had to stop myself. I nodded. "Sure. Anything you say."
Bruce Willis gestured at Oprah. "Hey, Oprah, if I can just say something. I mean, this guy came up to us and—"
Oprah pointed at Bruce Willis. "Don't open your mouth again."
"I'm just trying to explain—"
"I don't want to hear it." Oprah looked around at the assembled crowd. "All right, everybody. Let's go back to having a party. Just forget about this. Let's all have a good time." She put her hands on her hips. "And somebody find Steadman. Tell him I want a glass of wine. I'll be in my office." She walked off.
I glanced around at everyone. Heather and Whoopi were watching me. I glanced at Sly, then walked away.
I started to walk back to the bar. After a moment, Heather caught up with me. She grabbed my arm. "You were so brave. I couldn't believe it."
I nodded. "That's how you gotta be, baby. It's a tough world out there. You can't let—"
Heather grabbed my arm. "Let's go hang out with Whoopi. We'll get some drinks."
"Sure thing, baby."
We headed off to the bar.
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