She Who Shall Not Be Named

During my stint at the magazine, we were dying to get She Who Shall Not Be Named (SWSNBN) on the cover. Her show was in full swing and she was the local darling. We had been in negotiations with her manager, for quite some time and finally nabbed our chance. We booked a photo shoot with her and flew to Hollywood to do it. The crew consisted of me, Mike the editor, the photographer Brett and two assistants whom we had hired in L.A.

The morning of the shoot, we arrived at the front gate of her home. I girded my loins and rang the intercom buzzer. I was a nervous wreck. A voice from the speaker basically told us to go away. Well, that was not possible without having all of us lose our jobs. I rang the buzzer again. Her husband/security guard, Sluggo, answered. I repeated who we were and why we were there. The gate opened and I stepped onto her property. The other guys stayed in the car. 

The wall around her huge yard contained a big white house surrounded with petunia gardens. In those gardens was a flock of pink-plastic flamingoes. I thought I spied a bullet hole or two in them. By the garage was a tall stack of brand new tires. White trash with cash. She was also the owner of a rottweiler who snarled hungrily at me from behind his chain link fence.

Sluggo came out to ask again what we were doing there. I told him who we were and that we had arranged a photo shoot with “SWSNBN’s” manager to include her in our Interior Design Guide and put her on the cover. He harrumphed and said he’d be right back.

He came back a couple of minutes later and told me to follow him when he led me to a back entrance into her security monitor room. There she was—chowing down on her breakfast muffin. “What are you guys doing here?” she asked in her infamous nasal snarl. I told her what I had told Sluggo, adding that she could do anything she wanted with the story, write it, edit it, just add her name to it, whatever. We were just happy to have her be a part of it. “I just think you’re trying to take advantage of me,” she whined. “That’s not the case at all, I said, standing my ground. By now, the ground was a puddle of pee. “Go back outside,” she said, “I need to think about it. I went back out to face the rottweiler.

She finally agreed to do the shoot but we had to do it outside. We weren’t allowed in the house. I told the guys in the car that it was a go and we started to set up a backdrop by the tires in the driveway. Her assistant came out asking about wardrobe. I told her that we wanted her to wear one of her flannel shirts from the show and that her manager would have one at the house. Well she didn’t. “So you didn’t bring anything?” she asked with a look of dread in her eyes. “No,” I said, “but there a plenty of shops around here. We can buy her whatever she wants.” “No. Just a minute,” she said nervously and closed the door behind her.

“I’m not going to go through my fucking closet!!!” Her bellowing shook the walls of Los Angeles county. The guys and I shook in mortal fear. Luckily, she found something—then the makeup artist came out. “She will only let me use these,” she said showing us a little zipper bag with some blush, mascara and a lipstick. “Do your best,” I told her and she went off to face the beast.

When she was damned good and ready, “SWSNBN” came out into the driveway. She asked what we wanted to do and I showed her some kitschy hand-crafted Utah props for her to pose with.  I cracked a couple of Utah mormon jokes in hopes of lightening her up. She cracked a smile and said “Let’s do this.” She scowled for the better part of the shoot and finally managed a smile or two near the finish. We didn’t get a lot but we got something. She said “Thanks guys, I gotta get back to my baby.” Then she turned and walked away.

We headed to the airport in hopes of catching an earlier flight home. We were wound tighter than clock springs. We boarded the plane, desperately in need of cocktails but, as luck would have it, we didn’t have enough cash. Perhaps sensing our desperation, the flight attendant gave us a dollar and our G&Ts.

So that was my day in the lion’s den. Not something I would ever want to do again. The only saving grace of the shoot was that “SWSNBN” had a poppyseed in her teeth the whole time. Those sharp, nasty, gnashy teeth.