The
REAL GIRL
NEXT DOOR
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Copyright © 2011 by Denise Richards
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First Gallery Books hardcover edition April 2011
Photo credits: Insert p. 6, top left: © Lara Porzak; all other photos courtesy
of the author
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Richards, Denise
The real girl next door / Denise Richards.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4516-3321-4
ISBN-10: 1-4516-3321-1
1. Richards, Denise, 1971– 2. Actors—United States—Biography.
3. Television personalities—United States—Biography. I. Title.
PN2287.R475A3 2011
791.4302’8092—dc23
[B] 2011019745
ISBN 978-1-4516-3321-4
ISBN 978-1-4516-3323-8 (ebook)
This book is dedicated to my beautiful daughters, Sami and
Lola; my sister, Michelle (Nellie); my dad, Irv; and my late
mom, Joni, who continues to show me the way.
In loving memory, Joni Richards …
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
ONE: Home Is Where the Heart Is
TWO: Hollywood
THREE: Getting Naked
FOUR: Good Time Charlie
FIVE: Mommyhood
SIX: Plan B
SEVEN: Relationships
EIGHT: Loss
NINE: It’s Not That Complicated
TEN: Getting Work Done
ELEVEN: The Real Girl Next Door
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
25 Things You May Want to Know About Me Right Now
1. Where am I right now? At home, with my laptop on my kitchen table.
2. What am I wearing? Jeans, white tank top, and sparkly flip-flops.
3. Where are my daughters? I don’t know. Just kidding. They’re here, working on art projects.
4. Do I talk to Charlie? Yes.
5. What would be my dream job? A role in a movie with Quentin Tarantino directing.
6. What’s the best advice I’ve been given? My mom always told me that I’m a lot stronger than I think.
7. What’s my favorite thing about myself? My patience.
8. What’s my least favorite thing about myself? I’m a little stubborn.
9. What’s my weirdest physical quality? I have flat feet.
10. What do I see when I look in the mirror that other people don’t see? I think people see everything—and many have seen everything.
11. What’s been my best idea? To see the world, starting when I was eighteen.
12. What’s been my worst idea? Too many.
13. What would I change in other people? Their judgment.
14. What would I change about myself? To be less trusting.
15. When was the last time I cried? When one of my girls asked if her Nana—my mom—could see her from heaven.
16. How would I describe my senior high school yearbook photo? Totally ‘80s. My hair said it all.
17. My favorite cheesy song is … Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.”
18. What’s the one album I can’t live without? Guns N’ Roses’s Appetite for Destruction.
19. Boxers or briefs on men? None.
20. What did I sleep in last night? A thong and a tank top.
21. If I’m upset … I’m very vocal.
22. Favorite place to travel? Anywhere tropical. I love the beach.
23. Question I’d ask Oprah? If I can have a personal tour of her Montecito home.
24. Every day I try to … live in the moment.
25. Tomorrow I will … try to get closer to where I need to be.
INTRODUCTION
IF LIFE WERE a dance, what kind would yours be? Ballet? Modern? Country line? The twist? Salsa? Paso doble? A waltz? This came up recently in a conversation with a friend, and as much as I wish mine were a graceful ballet, I’m never going to be that perfect or practiced, and frankly, I don’t care. If my life is more of an improvised two-step, with the emphasis on improvisation, so be it. That’s my style—and one I think many people would recognize as their own.
You’d know what I’m talking about if you’d been with me lately. Over the past two months, I’ve made six trips to New York from my home in Los Angeles. That’s a trip about every ten days. If nothing else, I’m adept at packing and unpacking, zipping through airport security, and running life from the two-inch screen of my iPhone and BlackBerry—yes, I have both. But like any other single working mother of two, my life is packed with so much more.
In the midst of all that travel, I dealt with school projects, packed lunches, and scheduled playdates; I rescued a dog, made valentines for school parties, set up my dad on one of his first dates since my mom passed away three years ago, auditioned for a couple TV pilots, guest-hosted two TV shows, signed an endorsement deal with a perfume company, nursed myself through a bout of bronchitis, made umpteen dinners, had several meetings with my contractor and designer about my home, which I’m remodeling, had meetings for other branding opportunities, launched a monthly pet adoption for Best Friends on Access Hollywood, turned forty, planned my daughter’s seventh birthday party, and watched as my ex-husband, the father of my two little girls, imploded in a public spectacle that left me horrified, worried, and sad.
In The Real Girl Next Door, I talk about how I manage this and more. The cheat sheet is this: I do it just like you, day by day, hour by hour, and if necessary, minute by minute. It sounds like crisis management, but it’s not. Taking life day by day and living in the moment are the clichés of self-improvement, but the approach really does let you handle more than you think is possible, especially when you feel as if the ceiling is caving in. I don’t have a road map full of answers; rather, I am going to take you down the road I traveled as I grew up, glammed up, and ultimately grew into myself. As you’ll find out, I don’t think you find the answers in life as much as you figure out the questions to ask and muster the courage to move ahead during difficult and confusing times, confident that you can handle new challenges.
On my thirtieth birthday, a dear friend who’d already gone through her thirties sent me a gorgeous flower arrangement with a note that said, “The best is yet to come.” I’ll never forget that card. She was right. The best did come. I got married to a man who I thought was my everlasting soul mate and became a mother to two beautiful daughters. But then the bottom dropped out of that fantasy. Dolly Parton once said, “If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain,” and let me tell you, there were times it felt like torrential downpours. I went through a difficult and humiliating divorce, moved out of my home, saw my public image tarnished and my career suffer, and then on top of everything, m
y mom was diagnosed with cancer and passed away. For three years, I was at rock bottom. Everything pretty much sucked.
As I went through the worst times of my life, I also experienced the best—being a new mom. Since then, I’ve accepted that you never know what’s going to happen. I like that about life—not knowing what’s around the corner. Of course, I always hope for the best, but even during the worst of times, I’ve found some good comes out of it.
Indeed, as my friend predicted in her birthday card, the best has come—in terms of self-confidence, motherhood, friendships, life lessons, and wisdom. I’ve learned to expect the unexpected and relish the days when the biggest emergency is when the kids are late for school. I know better than to get too comfortable, complacent, or upset. Nothing about being a mom is routine. But nothing about life is routine. When I look back at how I got to where I am today from my childhood in Downers Grove, Illinois, I don’t see anything I’d describe as routine, normal, or predictable. It’s been a wild ride.
In The Real Girl Next Door, I’ve written the book I wish that I’d had on my nightstand the past eight years. It’s full of stories that I would’ve wanted to hear from a friend, the kind that could reassure me I’d get through my problems, too. As you’ll see, I’ve tried to share not just what I’ve been through, but more important, how I’ve gotten through it all. Although most people reading this will already be familiar with the headlines, they won’t know how I felt as everything happened, and in some cases, how I survived.
Not that my life is any more special or harder than anyone else’s. No, I think the reality is that my experiences are similar to yours, spanning the gamut of good times, magical times, hard times, terrible times, and times when I rekindled hope after it seemed permanently gone. While there’s no one way to live your life, all of us go through similar rites of passage, and I’ve always been someone who’s interested in the ways each of us deal. I don’t care about the what happened as much as I do the what have I learned and what’s next.
I’m pragmatic in that way. I’m a great person to have around in a crisis. As you’ll find out, I don’t pass judgment and don’t hold grudges. Clear-eyed and calm, I move forward. I don’t always know where I’m going. Nor is what I want to accomplish always easy. But I’ve learned that if I’m open and honest with myself and others; if I ask enough people for advice; if I’m not afraid to face the truth; and if I put aside any fear of failure—I’ll be able to figure things out, and usually end up where I need to be, which isn’t always where I intended to go.
Hopefully, you’re nodding your head. But you’ll see as much when I explain how a shy, midwestern girl from a middle-class family who thought she’d be married forever and pop out a houseful of babies ended up a single mom whose trips to the grocery store are chronicled by paparazzi and splattered across the Internet. Some of that I would gladly trade, but for the most part, I like where I ended up and hope I’m pointed in the right direction for the future.
That’s the goal here—to like yourself and be ready to face the day. I work at that all the time. Even as I think I have a grip on my agenda of kids, family, career, friendships, love, and feeling good inside and out, the deck gets shuffled. I don’t need Freud to analyze why I’ve taken on such a huge project by myself in remodeling my home. A lot of my friends were surprised, and even my dad thought it was a big endeavor for a single working woman with two daughters. But that’s who I am. When I make a decision, no matter how big or small, I stick to it and just do it. If I run into challenges along the way, I figure it out. I’ve learned to not live by the “what ifs” and not always worry about the outcome. I think that’s a good quality and maybe sometimes not so good. I always follow my heart and my gut. I have an ex-boyfriend who thought perhaps I should think things through more when making decisions. He thought I was nuts tackling such a big project with my home (I mean, I gutted the damn thing), but he’ll see when it’s done that I was able to do it on my own. What was I gonna do? Wait until husband number two arrives to help me? Nope. I don’t know when that will be and I want my house done! Home improvement. Self-improvement. What’s the difference? If you overheard me on the phone, you wouldn’t be able to tell if I was talking about the house or me. The questions are the same: What’s good? What should I keep? What should I lose? What do I need to fix? Is it even fixable?
When my mother was nearing the final stages of her battle with cancer, she knew the challenges I was going through, and she also saw how frightened I was about losing her. But she reassured me that I was much stronger than I knew, and in looking back, it turned out she was right. What did she see that I didn’t? What did she know that I had to find out? I’ve come to realize it was my honesty. I called this book The Real Girl Next Door for a reason. I’m real, as in a real person, as in real honest, as in just plain real. I don’t carry around a lot of clutter—at least I try not to. If I love someone, the person knows it. If I’m feeling passionate, it’s going to be some time in the bedroom. If I have a problem, people will know about it. The only things about me that are fake are my boobs, but I’m real about that, too. I live to be that way.
When I was a Bond girl, I was prepped on what I said on TV and in interviews. It didn’t matter what question was asked, I was supposed to answer in a way that would have the broadest appeal and try to come off as an accessible girl next door. I was to downplay questions asked about my racy role in Wild Things and try to come up with an intelligent side of my character. Intelligent? I was a Bond girl running around in hot pants! But okay! Everyone was supposed to perceive me a certain way, and therefore like the film. It was like answering staged questions in a beauty pageant. And it never felt right.
Like it or not, I’m someone who tells the truth. I was raised that way. At times I’ve kept my mouth shut rather than letting loose. I do believe in always telling the truth, but I also believe there is a time and a place for when. Being truthful is healthy, and it allows you to live with a clean conscience. I’ve found the more I’m my authentic self, the better off I am when it comes time to make decisions. I never thought I’d get divorced, but once I made the decision, I knew it was the right one for my children and me. I’ve learned I’d much rather be honest and like myself and where I am in my life than worry about everyone else liking me.
All that said, do I always know what I’m doing? No. Do I think I sometimes know what I’m doing? Yes. However, as you’ll learn, though I take on too much and spread myself thin, I always put my children first. I have to remind myself that it’s okay to devote a little time for me. Right before all of my recent trips to New York, I’d finally gotten myself back into shape, physically and emotionally. Embracing single, working mommyhood, I’d figured out how to manage carpooling my daughters, helping with homework, overseeing a huge remodel of my house, deal with all our dogs and the animal rescue I’m involved with, revamp my website, stay up on Twitter, have a social life with my friends, expand my brand, go on the occasional date, and travel.
On my last trip to New York, in mid-February 2011, I got on the plane thinking, “Finally, I’ve got things under control. Life is calm.” I settled in with my decorating magazines and book and thought about my schedule. I was walking in the Red Heart fashion show and having dinner afterward with my friend Lisa Rinna and several other women. This is where I’m sure you moms (and dads!) can relate. I had a couple free days after the fashion show. I easily could have filled those days up instead of flying back home only to get back on the plane a couple days later. But I decided to head back home to be with my girls for those couple of days. My daughters were having Valentine’s Day parties at school and it was important for me to be there. After the parties, I stayed the weekend and headed back to New York. My fortieth birthday was the next day, and I was filling in for Sherri Shepherd on The View.
I was nervous about sitting with Barbara, Whoopi, Joy, and Elisabeth. Although it was agreed beforehand that they wouldn’t ask any questions about Charlie, I worried about other b
reaking celebrity news. I knew I had no control over anything that might happen, but I didn’t want to be in a position where I was asked to comment on someone else’s life, especially someone I might not know. Having previously been that person in the news, I knew how hurtful it was to hear the speculation and the half-truths about your personal life, and if the reports were true, it was even more painful. But for the first time in ages, I was in a good place; things were quiet and calm in the press with my personal life, and I was actually looking forward to being a cohost for The View.
Then I got off the plane at JFK International Airport and checked my phone. My voice mail was full and I had more than a hundred e-mails, text messages, and tweets. My community of Twitter followers keep me apprised of every bit of news, good and not so good, and when I saw what had happened, that Charlie had called in to the Dan Patrick radio show and unloaded some of his frustration about work, I said, “Oh, shit. I’m going on The View tomorrow.” I had no idea what Charlie was thinking when he decided to do such an explosive interview about his job, but that’s his business and has nothing to do with me. Or does it? We’d been in the kind of stable place I’d hoped to find. But his timing was impeccable as far as it concerned affecting my life and the girls. I wasn’t at home to shield the children, and the next morning I found myself in the hallway of a show whose lifeblood was controversy, celebrity, and news. I’d walked into the eye of the perfect storm. The show had made a promise to me that they would not ask me any questions about Charlie. Of course, I’d made the commitment to the show three weeks prior to the air date, and I of all people know what amount of shit can happen in three weeks. Even so, I hoped they’d stick to their agreement about not asking me any questions about him and that damn radio interview. But I felt like a deer caught in headlights. As it turned out, my fears weren’t unfounded.
Moments before we went live on the air, while I was getting touch-ups to my hair and makeup, there was a knock on my dressing room door. It was Barbara Walters and one of the show’s producers. They said they had to ask me a couple of questions about Charlie. Otherwise, they would look foolish. Personally I would’ve rather they looked foolish but I understood their issues of credibility. But we had an agreement. My publicist, who was also present, asked what I wanted to do. With the clock ticking, and Barbara, the producer, and my publicist staring at me, I had a choice. Part of me was pissed off at being put in the situation, but another part of me realized that this was like thousands of other moments in life. I could get up and leave. I could argue and insist they live up to the agreement we’d made. Or I could grit my teeth, adapt to the new situation, and see what happened.
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