Back in L.A., Charlie also focused on the remodeling we were doing on a new house we had bought just before I left. Yes, the house. We’d envisioned a home that would be ours, one where we could raise a family, and following weeks of searching, we found one we thought was perfect. It was close to the studio where Charlie worked on Two and a Half Men and was beautiful, with plenty of rooms and a yard for the brood of children and animals we envisioned. It was, in fact, the old Al Jolson estate in Encino. But it should be called the divorce house. I’m not joking. We bought it from Katey Sagal (divorced there), who purchased it from Kirstie Alley (divorced there), and we found out three other couples before her also split while living there. And guess what? We also got divorced living in that damn house! So if you’re married and in the market for a home in Encino, California, I would pass on the Al Jolson estate.
After having a blast on the movie with Dean Cain, I headed back to L.A. and did an almost immediate turnaround for the Bahamas. Five months had passed since I had given birth, and my body had bounced back into shape. Though I didn’t have a huge amount of time to work out, filming and caring for the baby kept me busy, and apparently burned calories. I wasn’t at my pre-baby weight, but I felt good physically, and I was confident about the shoot.
Well, I had no choice actually. If we waited any longer, it would be hurricane season and I’d already committed to the shoot, so my body was what it was. So off I went.
4
TOO BAD CHARLIE had started the second season of Two and a Half Men. Otherwise he could’ve come along. In his stead, I had a mini-entourage that included Sam, my mom, my dad (yes, my dad), my hairdresser (Campbell), and my makeup artist (Lutz). Both were dear friends—and both had girlfriends, which made the thought of them seeing me naked kind of awkward. They treated me like I was their little sister. Again, awkward. But I told myself to get used to it and focus on having fun.
And fun was my goal. I was thrilled about being able to take my parents and let them have nice vacation. On the way to the Bahamas, we barely made our connecting flight in Miami, then once on the plane, we hit a series of delays, including a heavy thunder and lightning storm that delayed takeoff, a problem with the ground crew, and then Sam had a meltdown. Ours was the last flight of the day, and I prayed we’d take off because I didn’t want to try to find some place for all of us to sleep.
Fortunately, there was a break in the weather and we got to the Bahamas. Unfortunately, my bags did not. Everybody else got his or her luggage except me. My mom joked that I was going to be naked the whole trip anyway and didn’t need my clothes. At least I had a toothbrush in my carry-on, and in the morning she and I bought me a bathing suit, underwear, and a sarong in the hotel gift shop.
Later that morning, I remembered an incident from my childhood that made this whole episode ironic. When my sister and I were kids, we found an issue of my dad’s Playboy—he had a subscription—and Michelle and I cried to him, thinking he and my mom were getting divorced. He explained that he only had the magazine for the articles. We believed him and felt relieved. He laughed when I reminded him of that. I know it might be weird to bring my parents, especially my dad, on a shoot for Playboy, but they weren’t at the actual shoot. They were poolside, baby!
Even though Lutz, Campbell, and I wanted to have fun in the sun, we were there to work. My mornings were spent with Lutz and Campbell coming to my room for breakfast and getting me ready. Then I kissed the baby good-bye, left her with my parents, and took a boat to a remote island where we shot hundreds of photos. It was well after sundown by the time we got back to the hotel. You would think having done Wild Things would make posing for Playboy easier. Actually it was a little harder. It was bright sunlight out in the wide open for anyone on a boat to see me. Also I was posing by myself, nobody else to kind of be there, too. On the boat that first morning, I thought, what the hell am I doing? It was typical me. To have a flash of that thought, in a situation where I felt vulnerable. I also had to get that thought out of my head so I could do a good job.
I knew there was no turning back. Nor did I ever really have second thoughts. I’d made a commitment and I was going to suck it up and do whatever was necessary to do a great job. That’s me in a nutshell—a girl who keeps her word, stays focused, and tries hard.
Once on the island, I saw the largest piece of clothing they had for me consisted of a few strands of seaweed. It was a shocking reminder that I wasn’t going to be wearing much of anything. But seaweed? It wasn’t even real clothing. Oh, well. It wasn’t the time to dwell on feeling insecure about taking off my clothes. With a job to do, I channeled a bunch of positive energy and threw on my seaweed. I said to myself, “Okay, as long as you’re doing this, make it great.”
I declined the pitcher of margaritas they had waiting. It was too hot to drink and I thought, getting tipsy, this could go all bad. I wanted to keep my wits about me. Quite frankly, Lutz and Campbell needed a drink more than I did. They could barely look at me without blushing, though after a few hours and various setups, all of us got more comfortable. Indeed, soon Lutz was rubbing oil on my breasts and ice cubes on my nipples. Playboy liked hard nipples (sorry, maybe TMI), and Campbell, in a stroke of creative genius, braided some bamboo leaves in my hair, which looked fantastic. His best styling tool for my hair? The salt water. Honest to God, it was amazing.
I lost my inhibition in the middle of day two when a boat went by with a bunch of people. Initially, I covered myself up, and then I thought, girl, there is going to be more than a boatload of people looking at you topless! I dropped the cover-up and said, “Let’s keep going.” By the end, I felt good about the photo shoot. Oh, and my luggage finally showed up!
Back home, Playboy sent me the proof sheet so I could approve those I liked. Who better to help pick the best shots than my husband? Charlie and I edited the pictures together. Although my most private area was contractually off-limits, I actually approved one black-and-white photo that showed my hoo hah. It was my favorite shot of the bunch. To me, the whole shoot looked editorial, stylized, sexy, and natural, and I loved that it was black-and-white, which Playboy ran only rarely.
Sooner rather than later, the world was going to see me naked. With the vajayjay shot, I didn’t think there was anything more I could possibly expose about myself. I was wrong.
5
ABOUT A MONTH later, I noticed Charlie staring at me, his piercing dark eyes fastened on me with an unusual intensity. It was early October, and the two of us were in the kitchen, talking about the progress on the work being done on the new house. I stopped making lunch and asked why he was looking at me like that. I didn’t understand. He’d recently seen two thousand photos of me butt naked. What had he missed?
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” he said, so sure I barely noticed he was asking me a question.
“What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant.” I meant that, too. As far as I knew, I wasn’t pregnant. We had definitely talked about a sibling, but I certainly didn’t think I would get pregnant so quick after having Sam.
“Yes, you are,” he said.
“No, I’m not. I’d know if I was. Why are you saying that?”
“Because you just put pickles on your sandwich. I’ve only seen you eat pickles one time—when you were pregnant with Sam.”
He had a point, but I laughed it off. Charlie was full of superstitions, intuitive predications and declarations, and far-fetched theories. However, at a birthday party for a friend’s child the following weekend, I was overcome with a sudden wave of dizziness, a feeling that was more strange than faint, like a full-body reboot. I looked across the room at Charlie and thought, damn, he might be right.
On the way home, I had Charlie stop at the pharmacy and get me a pregnancy test. I told him to pick up five. “Just in case,” I said. He came back with one. He knew we didn’t need any more. Indeed, a short time later, we were staring at the results. I hadn’t even missed my period. “I knew it,” he said. “It was the
pickles.”
I was surprised at how easily I got pregnant again. I know: if you don’t use birth control, chances are you’ll get pregnant. But at the time, quite a few of my girlfriends were trying for their second baby and having a difficult time getting pregnant. Charlie and I weren’t trying, but we weren’t not trying. Ideally, we wanted our babies close in age. Charlie’s siblings are all close, and my sister and I are only eighteen months apart. I was grateful it happened easily.
Charlie was excited about baby number two. Both of us were. I was nervous again about throwing up, but I employed the same mind-over-nausea tactics I did the first time around. Charlie and I seemed to have hit a groove. I felt that we were very connected. Our recent rough patch was behind us, and I chalked it up to the bumps that every marriage hits. We worked through it. Those types of challenges would only make us stronger, I thought. And closer. I was in it for the long haul.
In November, we moved into our new home and settled in as much as possible despite the chaos of unpacking and workmen still finishing the remodel. I guest-starred on Charlie’s show. I had also done an episode when I was pregnant with Sam and they’d covered my belly. This time my character came back with a baby. The producers hired twins for the part, but Charlie and I thought it would be cute if we put Sam in the role and had that memory of her. But I’ll never forget being in the makeup room, not wanting anyone to know I was pregnant again, yet getting terribly sick to my stomach from the smell of incense burning nearby. It took extraordinary willpower to not barf while getting my hair and makeup done. The payoff was the episode: it was funny, and I loved working with Charlie.
Shortly after, our marriage changed drastically. It came out of the blue, and it was more than a rough patch. These issues are so personal that I don’t want to divulge exactly what changes, and if you’ve ever been through a similar situation, you know the details don’t matter. The fact is, our marriage was crumbling, and fast.
I was an emotional wreck, careering up and down and in every other direction. Some days I was sad, confused, angry, shocked, and full of despair; and other days I ignored the situation, marching forward in a daze of denial. They were days of denial, too. My Playboy issue came out and I promoted it on The Tonight Show and The Ellen DeGeneres Show, smiling and joking to keep from revealing that my personal life was in shambles. But the façade was hard to maintain. Charlie and I pulled out of a scheduled Redbook magazine cover shoot after having an argument at the last minute. We couldn’t blame it on my pregnancy since no one knew it yet. I don’t remember what our publicist told the magazine. We ended up rescheduling, and it turned out to be one of my favorite pictures the two of us took. It also turned out to be the last photo shoot we did together.
We kept the pregnancy quiet until I got through my first trimester, though there was a scare along the way. At nine weeks, I encountered some bleeding, not a lot but enough to concern my doctor, who had me meet him at his office on a Sunday. He gave me some medication to help stop the bleeding. I was worried we’d lose the baby. I blamed myself. I wondered if the stress of my marriage had caused the problem. Since I hadn’t had any problems with my first pregnancy, I figured it had to be the stress. I tried to relax and take it easy for a few weeks, but my personal life did not make either one a simple task.
At my next ultrasound appointment, I was terrified I wouldn’t see a heartbeat. I was a basket case as I lay on the examining table, pulled up my shirt, and felt the chill of the gel spread on my tummy. Thankfully, a moment later, I bravely turned my head toward the ultrasound screen and saw the tiny heart beating normally. “Everything looks perfect,” my doctor said. I thought, wow, I’m blessed with a fighter; this baby is strong. Little did I know how much strength she’d give me in months to come.
Toward the end of December the situation at home worsened, which was hard to believe, and I left late at night, taking Sam, and we moved back into our old house. I guess it was a cooling-off period for us. After four days I went back home.
In January, Charlie and I attended the Golden Globes together. He was nominated again. I wore a beautiful dress and stood by my husband’s side, smiling and supporting him as if everything were picture-perfect. We looked like a solid couple. Unfortunately, Charlie didn’t win that night, and we left early; it was not a good night for us.
The Screen Actors Guild Awards, in February, was another hard evening, but for different reasons. I was now five months pregnant and not feeling like myself. Charlie and I were late getting out the door when I put on a beautiful burgundy gown that a stylist had found for me and had altered for my growing belly. It didn’t fit. I turned to a friend who was helping me get ready and gritted my teeth. I threw open my closet door. “What do I have in here that will fit—and that’s appropriate?” I said.
I didn’t want to go, but I feared the press would speculate we were having problems if I wasn’t with Charlie. In hindsight, we simply could have said I wasn’t feeling well if anyone asked. But I wasn’t thinking like my normal self. I had hormones raging through my body, and I was trying to figure out what to do about my marriage. My frustration came to a head over that dress. I was close to tears but didn’t want to ruin my makeup. Talk about your silly problems, right?
Well, with my friend’s help and reassurance, I finally pulled a black Dolce & Gabbana dress out of my closet. It was stretchy and the only thing I could get on that would remotely look good for an awards show. I apologized to my friend for being unusually self-conscious. But it takes a lot of effort to put a look together for these events, and after getting into the outfit, I felt underdressed, not to mention I thought I looked like a sausage squeezed into that thing.
I did not relish the idea of walking the red carpet in front of a thousand reporters and photographers. Ah, well, the event wasn’t about me; it was about Charlie, who was nominated. My job was to suck it up, smile, and support my husband, which I gamely did.
The photos of us on the red carpet that night were the last pictures taken of us at a public event together. A short time later, Charlie and I split up. Those photos of us ran everywhere.
PART SIX
Plan B
1
THERE’S LIFE AS we imagine, fantasize, and hope it will turn out, and then there’s real life, which is a constant exercise in dealing with unforeseen problems, fixing mistakes, regrouping, putting pieces back together, and turning to Plan B. Real life is made up of Plan Bs. Ask any parent who’s planned an outing or a vacation only to have a child throw up and run a 103-degree fever an hour before you’re scheduled to leave. That’s when you go to Plan B. The same is true when you break off a relationship, stare into the mirror that first Saturday night alone, and ask yourself, “Now what?” Or you might be one of those office workers who share in a multimillion-dollar lottery superprize and don’t need to work anymore. That’s also a Plan B. I’m not advocating giving up dreams and fantasies. No, far from it. But it helps to recognize that the best-intentioned plans don’t always work out the way you want. Life rarely works out the way we want, and that’s when we turn to Plan B. A rainstorm in the middle of a family camping trip requires us to check into a nearby motel. That’s Plan B. I remember the motels from my childhood as much as, if not more than, the camping trips they washed out. Those Plan Bs are what provide the fun, adventure, learning, growth, and wisdom. All of us have our own variations, or our stories, and if you’re anything like me, you have your own example of trying to forestall the obvious need to turn to a Plan B. In my case, I didn’t want to think of my marriage as over.
Although deep down I realized the finality, I spent days and nights wondering how Charlie and I had reached this point. Blame wasn’t part of the equation. I loved him. He was the father of my children. It made me incredibly sad to think of where we were in our relationship, and I wished we could turn the clock back. I held on to hope that it wasn’t over. I walked on eggshells, avoiding my husband, wishing the problems would magically disappear and we would go back to
those bliss-filled days when we were newlyweds.
But we didn’t, and I started to not feel like myself. Dark clouds filled the sky. I felt confused, angry, and hopeless. I’m normally a social person. I love having friends over to the house. I love to entertain. It doesn’t have to be formal. My favorite times are when a girlfriend will drop by for coffee and we’ll spend a few hours catching up. But I found myself declining invitations, avoiding calls, and closing myself off at home. I had a convenient excuse: I was busy with Sam, now nearly one, and I was almost six months pregnant.
When things aren’t right in a relationship (or at work), it can change you in ways you don’t necessarily like, but don’t have the wherewithal to fix, and that was happening to me. I started to not like myself. I felt my spark disappearing. I was losing my zest for life. I wasn’t me. I couldn’t do anything about it until I was ready to confront the truth.
But I didn’t want anyone to know Charlie and I had serious problems at home. I barely acknowledged it myself. That would’ve meant admitting the truth, and then I would’ve had to do something about it. Better to sail along in denial. As I said earlier, only my parents knew, and they were extremely concerned and worried. But out of respect they tried to not cross the line too much. When they did, I got defensive and pushed them away.
It was difficult, but as I told them, I had to work this out for myself. Charlie wasn’t a boyfriend. He was my husband, my partner, the father of my children, and deciding to leave my marriage didn’t just affect me. It affected him, our families, and our babies. I had a running debate in my head. Sometimes I shared my thoughts with my mom. Most of the time I kept my thoughts to myself. I knew one thing for sure: before making any move, I wanted to be absolutely sure I had explored every option and wasn’t making a rash decision.
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