Chimerical found this DD in this 9-5-05 DAILY MAIL
excerpt from Claire Fordham's self-deprecating book
"Plus One: A Year In The Life Of A Hollywood Nobody":
http://community.idealistshaven.com/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=56373
Daily Mail (UK)
Copyright 2005 Associated Newspapers Company
LIFEstyle
September 5, 2005
A HOLLYWOOD HANGER-ON
The red carpet secrets of ...
WHEN 50ish single mother-of-two CLAIRE FORDHAM sold her London
home and moved to Hollywood to live with her sister -- singer
Julia Fordham -- it wasn't long before she was mingling with
George Clooney and Michelle Pfeiffer. Here she lifts the lid
on life as a complete nobody in Tinseltown . . .
-----------
SO THERE I was. A slightly overweight 50-year-old single mother
with sagging boobs, staring straight into David Duchovny's eyes.
He gently took me by the hand and pulled me towards the bedroom
of his sprawling Los Angeles home.
Blu****ng furiously, all I could think was: 'This is fantastic!'
Dave (that's what his friends call him!) had strolled up to my
friends and I as we were discussing how many people we'd slept
with that we wish we hadn't.
He took my hand and said: 'I've never regretted sleeping
with anyone, but there are many women I haven't slept with
who I wish I had.'
The former X-Files actor was only joking, alas -- but it still
made me go weak at the knees.
But then, since I've moved in with my sister, the singer-songwriter
Julia Fordham, it's the kind of surreal moment I've become used to.
I've been propelled from an unassuming life of middleclass English
suburbia in Barnes, south-west London, right to the heart of
Hollywood society.
I've stood close enough to Jennifer Aniston, Gwyneth Paltrow,
Charlize Theron and Nicole Kidman to notice that they wear
makeup all over their bodies and not just on their faces
(I'm afraid they really are annoyingly perfect, however).
I've let Jodie Foster's children spray me with a high pressure
hose at a children's party and I've entertained Joni Mitchell in
my garden. I've felt envious, but there was no doubt that we led
totally different lives.
BUT don't be fooled. When I walk up the red carpet, photographers
clamour momentarily as they think: 'Who is she?' Once they realise
I'm an absolute nobody, their cameras fall to their sides and they
peer over my shoulder in the hope someone famous is behind me.
But I'm not complaining. Until seven years ago, I'd enjoyed
a successful career as a freelance journalist, re****ting and
producing the news for ITN and the BBC.
I loved my job, but with my children -- Max, now 26, and Mia,
now 24 -- growing up, I found myself dreading empty nest syndrome.
I'd married their father, a childhood sweetheart, when I was just
19 and we'd divorced nine years later -- but I was terrified of
ending up a lonely old lady.
So when, just after Christmas 1998, Julia -- who has sold more
than two million copies of her six albums -- suggested I move to
LA and live with her, I jumped at the chance. I could be her
personal assistant, she said, and keep her company on tour.
In return, she would put a roof over my head.
We had always been close. Seven years younger than me, she had
moved to LA ten years ago. I'd never [? gap in transcript ?]
My days consisted of Waitrose trips and the school run; hers were
full of exciting parties and designer clothes. My children loved
the idea of visiting me in Hollywood, so the following June,
I sold most of my worldly possessions, keeping only my clothes,
photo albums and Delia Smith cookbooks.
Before I knew it, I found myself ensconced in Julia's beautiful
beach cottage and my life as a Hollywood nobody began.
Straight away, I experienced a few communication problems
with the Americans. Whenever I asked for a cappuccino,
I got a cup of tea, made with lukewarm water.
They just couldn't understand my perfectly normal English accent.
There's also the issue of bi***uality, which is very fa****onable
here. Some women are so bored with waiting for suitable men
that they take up with each other.
Within days of us meeting, my new neighbour Suzanne told me of
her night of passion with another woman. When I expressed my
surprise that she was a lesbian, she replied: 'Honey, I'm not.
I'm just lonely.' I quickly got work as a runner on a film set
and started freelancing for TV channels back in the UK to make
ends meet.
I felt as if I were living in a gossip magazine. The first actor
I saw was Richard Thomas, John Boy in The Waltons, but I knew I'd
arrived when I found myself sitting next to Kurt Russell in our
local Thai restaurant.
Within weeks, I got my first 'Plus One' invitation -- to meet
Sir Paul McCartney. I dressed in what would become the outfit
I'd wear to all such events -- a black trouser suit and a white
Gap T-****rt.
Later, I found myself invited to the house of Carrie Fisher
(Princess Leia in Star Wars) for her daughter's birthday party.
The front door was opened by Carrie's mother, Hollywood legend
Debbie Reynolds, holding a plate of fried chicken.
Beaming, she said: 'Hello, I'm Grandma.' Dressed in casual
trousers and a plain top, she bustled around clearing away plates.
As Singin' In The Rain is one of my favourite films, to have one
of its stars serve me food and then clear my plate away was an
utterly surreal moment.
DURING my first Christmas there, we received an invitation to a
party at Meg Ryan's Bel Air mansion. Not knowing what to buy
Meg by way of a Christmas present, I took a candle and a bottle
of wine. She probably read my card and thought: 'Claire who?'
Julia also introduced me to Sting and Trudi Styler backstage
after one of his concerts. I managed to splutter a hello before
stumbling on my high heels and spilling my glass of Dom Perignon
perilously close to his Versace jacket. But he wasn't fazed at all.
I liked the way he was with his children. His teenage son gave him
a big hug and congratulated him on the show. Sting ruffled his
hair and told him to tie up his shoelaces before he tripped over.
It didn't take long for me to realise that conversations with the
stars are unlikely to get past the very superficial. Even now,
after I've been in Hollywood for nearly seven years, they usually
involve Julia saying 'Meet my sister, Claire' at which I gush:
'Hi, great performance etc etc.' Typically, they smile,
say 'You're too kind', then we stand there awkwardly.
But on one occasion, I plonked myself down next to Michelle
Pfeiffer. She asked me why I'd moved to LA and the conversation
was going well until I told her I loved her and George Clooney
in The Peacemaker.
'Erm, that was Nicole Kidman. I worked with George in
One Fine Day,' she said.
But I persisted, telling her she definitely was in The Peacemaker.
She just laughed and raised her eyebrows, while Julia stared
at me in abject horror.
My most memorable moment came in 2003 when I finally got to meet
George Clooney -- who truly is gorgeous in the flesh -- at a
screening. He was surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women,
but Julia grabbed me and thrust me in front of him, saying:
'My sister Claire and I really enjoyed your film.'
George looked over at me, smiled and said: 'Hello, Claire.'
I was too star-struck to speak.
After seven years, I find meeting stars as exciting as ever.
I'm still at the bottom of the pecking order on the red carpet,
but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that with my book, and the
screenplay I'm writing, it won't be too long before I start
climbing a few notches.
CLAIRE FORDHAM'S book Plus One -- A Year In The Life Of A Hollywood
Nobody is available via http://www.clairefordham.com
or from
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0758209185/
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