Love Life (30 page)

Soon, I would get my sea legs and begin to hone the skills all young men need to hunt for love (and sex) in the great big world. And over time I developed a fairly competent facility. But those first two sexual experiences had two consequences that would both help and harm me as the years unfolded.

When I became a famous teenager, I was already familiar with what it was like to be sought out for the purpose of romance, sex or fantasy. And for those of you who have not been a teen idol, let me assure you that 90 percent of the female fans have almost zero interest in your songs, movies, TV shows, what have you. It is almost exclusively
about finding a receptacle for their exploding female sexuality. You are not particularly special, you just happen to be standing in the right place at their right time. When Justin Bieber accepts an MTV Video Music Award (or whatever) and begs to be “taken seriously as an artist,” it is likely because he suspects Biebermania has very little to do with Bieber the artist. And from my experience, he would be correct.

I had learned from the pup tent and the condom birthday gift to sit back and enjoy it. And while it was a great run from my teens into my twenties and I enjoyed every minute of my time as a young, famous actor, it was too overwhelming, too intense, too
fun
for me to learn anything about what real love was or to notice that I was mostly immune to, and incapable of, intimacy. I was too young to know that I was squandering/being robbed of the very years when most young men are developing their empathy, vulnerability, honesty and compassion to share with their partner. I had those qualities as an actor because to excel, I had to, but personally I did not, because I didn’t have to, and frankly, it would have been wasted in the world I found myself in.

Sure, I had relationships, and a number of them were deep and important to me. But even so, I was never really in with both feet. The temptations and situations that present themselves daily to a teen movie star proved too irresistible for me to experience the daily lessons that your first serious relationships should teach you. Jealousy, boredom, commitment, honesty, vulnerability and all the other oftentimes-uncomfortable feelings that come with truly being present for your romantic partner, I was able to disassociate from. If I felt any sort of malaise, instead of learning that all feelings (even bad ones) pass if given time, I made myself feel better by sampling the sexual circus that was always waiting just outside my door. My growing affinity for alcohol only made it easier. It quieted any conscience I might’ve had
about bailing on a relationship under the cover of darkness for the Next Big Thing.

Somewhere, sometime in the mideighties, someone invited me to see the Hot New Act at the Universal Amphitheatre. The show was the talk of LA, sold out and
the
place to be. The new artist was unlike anything anyone had seen before: provocative, in-your-face sexual and suddenly inescapable on the radio. She was cute and she was young and she was single, and so I sat front-row to check out Madonna.

Although my tastes in those days ran more to Springsteen, the Stones and Tom Petty, her wedding gown/virgin shtick had the desired effect. One of the things I love about life is seeing an artist coming into their moment; this was Madonna’s. That night she was a revelation.

“Madonna would like to see you backstage,” a security guard said as the house lights came up.

“Sure!” I answered, although I was surprised she knew I was at the show. In those days, despite starring in movies, I was always shocked that anyone made a fuss over me.

I was taken to her dressing room. I expected it to be packed with the LA scenesters, but it was just me, some folks from her tour and a rep from the record company.

Madonna entered wearing a white cotton robe.

“Hiiii! Nice to meet you. So glad you came!”

She had flawless skin and eyes that imparted secrets from the moment you saw them.

We talked about her show; she asked what movie I was working on and so I told her a little about
St. Elmo’s Fire
, which I had just finished.

“I play the bad boy,” I said.

Madonna just smiled. She seemed to like that.

It was a crazy time in my life, and she was also just exploding. We kept in touch and ran into each other once or twice, but there was never any time where there weren’t people around us, so it never really went anywhere.

We made a date to meet up in New York City. She was doing a concert and I was shooting the
Rolling Stone
cover for
St. Elmo’s
. I was under no illusion that with our insane lives there would ever be room for much of a relationship, but at least some fun was clearly in the offing.

After my photo shoot I went to meet her at the Palladium, a giant dance club that was filled with rabid “boy-toy” doppelgänger fans of both sexes. It was a madhouse. I could feel our fledgling “date” going awry from the beginning. As I tried to enter the club, someone noticed me, word spread and things got unruly. There was a lot of grabbing and pawing. (This kind of thing never happens today, because most fans need both hands to hold their iPhones while they film you.) Club security grabbed me and bum-rushed me inside.

“Madonna’s waiting for you. Follow me.”

We headed to the VIP area. I saw Madonna holding court behind the velvet rope, with a great-looking dude sitting next to her, chatting her up. She looked up, saw me, smiled and waved me over. She motioned to have Mr. Good-Looking removed. Midrap he was yanked away, making room for me. I was impressed with her brazen matter-of-factness, as well as her command of logistics.

We talked for a while but the music was pounding. The DJ was playing “Holiday” and “Material Girl” at levels that could’ve split the atom. From our perch above the dance floor we could see it packed, wall to wall, with people hot and sweating and going berserk to the music of their new icon.

Madonna and I were discussing where we would sneak off to at
the end of the evening when she suddenly jumped up and said, “Let’s dance!”

“Out
there
?” I asked. After my chaotic entrance to the club I couldn’t fathom what would happen to us on the dance floor, while they played her music.

“Yes, ‘out there’!” she said teasingly, and the question was clear: Was I man enough to do it? But it seemed way over the top.

“I’ll wait here,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” she replied as she waded beyond the velvet rope into the fray.

“You’re crazy!” I said, half meaning it.

“No. I’m not,” she said, stopping and looking directly into my eyes. “I’m just not going to let success fuck up my fun.” She turned and disappeared into her fans.

The next time I saw her was twenty years later at a premiere in London: we both had our kids with us and they were about the same age. We were both happily married. We laughed about how long it had been. There was no need to even acknowledge how much had happened to both of us since those days of “Like a Virgin” and
St. Elmo’s Fire
. She was still an icon, a trendsetter, and I admired that she had lived many chapters, writ large, and was better for it. Many had come and gone, blatantly co-opting her style, but she was still there, as interesting as ever.

Sometimes what I love most about life is its unpredictability and how, over time, the truth is revealed. “Like a Virgin” was not a “one-off” from a one-hit-wonder bimbo. Our Palladium sure thing was not meant to be (and it’s a much more interesting story for it) and I never would’ve thought that I would look back on that night for the reason that I do.

“I won’t let success fuck up my fun” seems profound to me now.
It makes me reflect on what the definition of “fun” is. I know it has been different things to me in different phases of my life. Back in Dayton, Ohio, it was children’s theater and throwing snowballs at the city bus. In midseventies Malibu, it was going on auditions and attempting to get girls. In the eighties Brat Pack days it was making movies and
getting
girls. In the nineties it was attempting to find my authentic self and finding the right woman to love me and give me amazing babies. The new century brought a resurgent career and the adventure of raising a family. Today I’m finding that fun is to be found in embracing that I am once again in transition. Both boys are almost out of the house, and I have finished a long run on
Parks and Recreation
. I have no idea what the future holds professionally. I will develop my own TV show; I have some interesting ideas, but you never know what will work.

But I do know this. I have a great life partner in Sheryl, and whatever happens as I move forward, it will be fun. And as Madonna said, “I won’t let success fuck up my fun,” because I put less and less value on success. It’s the process that counts. It’s the people I get to connect with, most of whom will never be famous or want to be. It’s the
intention
that gives the action value, not the results. Most actors (and many people) start out to please others. The trick is to truly value satisfying yourself. Working from that place, being in fellowships without an agenda, brings a satisfied excitement; that, today, is fun.

A while back, Diana Nyad, a sixty-four-year-old woman, after two decades of trying, swam from Cuba to America. At her same age, my mother lost her battle with breast cancer. Life is unpredictable and has very different plans for all of us. There will be heroism and tragedy; each new day has the promise of both. Learning to live in (and accept) that dichotomy provides the adrenaline to always move ahead and be grateful for what we have. It can power us all to great
things if we recognize it. It can be the source of our greatest possibility, to know and to feel with every level of our own consciousness that we are alive. That this, right here, right now, is our life. It is not our parents’ or our children’s, not our husbands’ or our wives’. It is not made more or less valuable by our job or how much we have in the bank. Our life is ours. It is the only one we will ever have. And we should love it.

Sheryl: I love you. Thank you for loving me for so long, for accepting me and raising me up, flaws and all.

Matthew and Johnowen, the gifts of my life, for being the beautiful, smart, loving and hilarious young men you are. You make me so proud and I love you both beyond all measure.

Dad: Thank you for your love, lessons and inspiration.

My brothers Chad, Micah and Justin: Thank you for having my back, making me laugh and for giving me such amazing nieces and nephews.

To: Lucas, Jacob, Emmett, Luna, Mabel, Fiona and Jackson. It will be a blessing to watch you carry the torch. You make me a very proud uncle.

To Brian and Jodi: Your love and support are never taken for granted. Thank you.

To Kim and to Marcia: Thank you for being in my life, and for loving your two amazing men. They are lucky to have you.

Tom Barrack: Thanks for your love, friendship, wisdom and all of the adventures, past and future!

Maria Shriver: You and the family mean the world to Sheryl and me. Thanks for being there for us.

Betty Wyman: For so many years of guidance. I’m not here without you.

Olaf and Eva Hermes: You have been so important to my family and have changed our lives. We love you.

Caroline Smith: Thank you for my future.

Carol Andrade: For your love and devotion, and for taking such good care of us for so many years.

Jen Harris: For your loyalty, work ethic and kindness. For multi-tasking my life and typing up my chicken-scratch writing for this book.

Carmen Bautista: For loving my boys, your support of Sheryl and always laughing at my jokes.

Miguel Perez: My warrior on the road. I’m literally not going anywhere without you.

To Lupe, Socorro and JP: Thanks for keeping me fed, happy and caffeinated.

Marc Gurvitz, Richard Weitz, Adam Venit, Alan Nierob, Jon Liebman, Jonathan West, Michele Schweitzer, Esther Chang, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh, Brian DePersia, Mari Cardoos Layne, Craig Szabo, Cathy DeLuca, Mark Morrow, Maribeth Annaguey, Chris Jacobs and Larry Stein: I couldn’t ask for more; you lead me with passion, smarts and loyalty. Thank you.

Jan Miller: For the advice, friendship and beautiful hospitality.

To Lisa Crowell: My “photo sleuth.” You saved me!

Jonathan Karp: You were one of the first to see what I could do, and it meant more than you know. It’s been an honor to attempt to live up to your vision.

Everyone at Simon & Schuster: I deeply appreciate your confidence and hard work on behalf of this book: Richard Rhorer, Nicholas Greene, Anne Tate Pearce, Cary Goldstein, Elina Vaysbeyn, Jackie Seow, Lance Fitzgerald, Joy O’Meara, Lisa Erwin and Irene Kheradi.

To all my friends and colleagues both current and throughout the years: Some of you are mentioned in these pages and some are not, but you
all
have inspired me.

To my fans and friends throughout the world: I never forget that without your support, it all stops. I never take your interest for granted. Thank you.

To my friends in recovery: Thank you for helping the promises come true.