Familiar surroundings did not, of course, make life calm or settled. I suppose it was a sign of experience that I didn’t expect anything other than more challenges and continued work. I hoped and prayed not everything coming at me would be of a seismic, life-changing level, or if it was, it would be the result of good opportunities, though as I found myself filling out school applications for Sami and arranging interviews, as well as drawing up plans to remodel my house, I realized that life was always changing, no matter what, and I’d just better get used to it. Indeed, the lessons I’d learned had enabled me to deal with and even look forward to what’s around the corner.
PART ELEVEN
The Real
Girl Next Door
1
BURSTING WITH PRIDE, I had tears in my eyes as I watched Sami march into the school office for an interview. Until I applied to get her into private school for kindergarten, I thought the stories I heard from other parents were exaggerated. I couldn’t picture myself coaching my daughter on how to speak to an admissions administrator or fretting about what those people would think of me as they looked over her applications. My mom would’ve laughed at me. I was wrong.
As her interview neared, I practiced writing, reading, and spelling with her and worked both of us into a state where she didn’t want to go and I thought, well, if she doesn’t go, she might as well kiss her future good-bye.
Then I came to my senses. I realized nearly all the anxiety I had about her getting into this school stemmed from my fears about being judged. I was worried about what the administrators were going to think of me and her dad and how that was going to affect her. I’d worked extremely hard to protect my children from the craziness in the media surrounding Charlie and me. But watching Sami go off to be interviewed, I realized I couldn’t shield them forever. Kids talked at school. They echoed their parents’ conversations at home. The day would come soon enough when they’d learn how to google us. I wasn’t ready for that yet. And when that day does arrive, I’m going to have to be their pillar of strength, just as they’ve been mine. It won’t be easy for them.
Anyway, Sami got in, as did Lola later, and both times I wished I’d been able to call my mom and tell her the good news. I was able to share it with Charlie. That was also good news. Against all odds, we’d rebuilt a friendship. It seemed both improbable and impossible following the bitterness of our custody fight. But it was nice. I’ll let you in on a secret. Nearly six years after we’d split, I still had moments where I was sad that we weren’t a family unit. It wasn’t because I still loved Charlie and wanted to be with him. No, it was about being a parent and belonging to that particular statistic. It made a part of me feel like a failure.
The part of me that wanted a sane, calm, healthy, loving, two-parent home for my children had failed. I’m simply being honest here. I had two children with Charlie, and I felt sad for them that their mom and dad didn’t live together.
If that wasn’t bad enough, I hated our inability to have any relationship for the sake of the girls. I sound like a broken record, but it’s true. I believe it’s acceptable for exes to agree to disagree and still have a relationship, and though things were hostile, something in Charlie changed and the ice began to thaw with us.
I know I’m not perfect and made mistakes during the worst of our times, and I accepted responsibility. It was so much more peaceful when he got to that place where we were able to once again have a civil conversation, and then dinner, and then be at birthday parties together.
The change happened right before Brooke gave birth to his sons. I don’t know what changed in him. I can’t speak for him. Whatever happened, I was relieved we could talk cordially again and spend time together. I felt as if a giant weight had been lifted.
After Charlie’s boys were born, my dad and I went to see them in the hospital. I arrived straight from Dancing with the Stars. Although I’d changed into sweats, I was still in full hair and makeup, with lots of glitter and long lashes. I was also still filming my reality show and told the crew traveling with me that I had to make a quick stop at the hospital and they needed to turn the cameras off. Charlie took my dad and me up to the nursery, where we visited with Brooke and looked at the babies while a couple nurses stared at us with the perplexed looks of committed tabloid readers who couldn’t believe the four of us were together.
“You’re Denise?” one of them finally asked. I nodded. “And you have the other two children?”
I said yes.
“There are actually three moms,” Charlie said.
When he walked us out, I said, “I can’t even imagine what those nurses are going to say on their break.” Whatever they said would be an improvement from the past few years.
Pleased, I left with lots of cute photos to show the girls, who were excited to see their new brothers. Charlie and I worked back into a nice friendship. We still had ups and downs, disagreements and periods of silence, but we worked through them on our own, and for the next two years were able to have dinners at my house with the girls, Sunday barbecues at his house with all the kids, plus birthdays and school functions. The negativity disappeared like dark clouds blown across the sky by a warm breeze that makes you want to open the windows and play outside. It was great for us and even better for the kids.
2
CUT TO CHRISTMAS 2009. I was at home when the phone rang. It was a collect call from Charlie, which I thought was odd. But he explained that he was calling from jail—and I looked across the room at Sami and Lola, reminding myself to be careful of what I said.
Charlie asked to speak with the girls; he wanted to wish them merry Christmas. Occupied with their new American Girl dolls, Sami and Lola asked if they could talk to him later. “No, you need to talk now,” I said. “Daddy is in Colorado and will be skiing later. He won’t have his phone on the big mountain.”
Now this was probably a stupid thing to say, mostly because Charlie hates to ski, but the girls believed me and got on the phone. They had a nice conversation with their father. That’s all that mattered in that moment. When I got back on, I asked if he needed any help getting out of jail. I was relieved when he said he’d made arrangements. I was already wondering how the hell I was going to get to Colorado on Christmas Day. If he’d needed help, though, I would’ve figured it out.
The rest of the day was surreal. I couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie spending the holiday in jail. The phone rang nonstop. Later, Charlie called to let me know he was out. I heard from him again when he got home. I appreciated his checking in. I think he felt similarly about being able to count on me. By this time, I’d given up trying to make sense of our relationship. I was simply glad we were in an even better place, and it stayed that way through New Year’s and into the fall.
At the end of October, I had to go to New York to do press for Blue Mountain State, a Spike TV series that had written me into a significant story arc. The girls, who’d grown up hearing me talk about my trips to New York, had never been there. I decided to take them and turn it into a special trip. I had been in the city for Fashion Week the month before, and designer Betsey Johnson had told me I should take the girls to the Eloise Suite at the Plaza Hotel. She’d actually decorated it herself. No more needed to be said. I splurged and booked the suite for us. Sami and Lola flipped out when I showed them the pictures online.
When I told Charlie we were going, he asked if he could come. He had a break from Two and a Half Men. Since we were in a stable place and I thought he was healthy at the time, I thought that I could make a nice trip even nicer for the girls. He arranged for a private jet while I canceled our commercial flight. When I told the girls their dad was also coming on the trip, they were excited. It was the first time the four of us had gone on a vacation together, ever. My publicist, Jill, nearly had a heart attack when I told her. She foresaw all the calls asking whether we were getting back together. “Don’t worry about the rumors,” I said. “We aren’t getting back together. This is all for the girls.
I think it will be a nice time.”
It started out that way. After arriving in New York, we checked into the Plaza. I stayed in the parents’ suite connected to my girls’ room, and Charlie stayed across the hall. That first night, the four of us were tired and hung out in the pink Eloise room, had room service, and went to bed. The girls said goodnight to Charlie and walked him to his room. The next day we took the girls on a shopping spree to FAO Schwarz and the American Girl store. We also had a delicious pizza dinner at my favorite pizza restaurant, Serafina.
There, we realized this wasn’t just our first trip together; it was also the first time the four of us had gone out to dinner together. Until then, we’d always eaten at one of our homes. We had a lovely time, though, then hurried across town to see Mary Poppins on Broadway.
The next day we went to the Museum of Natural History, which was another hit with the girls, and then back to the hotel. Charlie had dinner plans with some friends. He invited me to join them. Although my first instinct was to say no, we’d brought our nanny to watch the girls while I did my press, which meant I didn’t have to worry about a babysitter. I accepted. I thought it was cool that we could go out together as friends. It showed the progress we’d made.
Charlie went to the restaurant ahead of me while I settled the girls in their room, ordered up dinner, and got myself dressed up. Once I got to the restaurant, I was ushered into a private room in the back. Charlie was at the table with three other guys, including his friend who’d traveled with us, and four attractive women who’d put themselves together for a fancy Saturday night. “By walking in here, you just confused everyone at this table, including me,” Charlie joked as I sat next to him.
Soon the woman on the other side of Charlie introduced herself as Christina and asked if she could take a picture with me. “My boyfriend likes you,” she said. “I’m also a fan.” I thought nothing of her request as we posed together. Afterward, though, I sensed a slight awkwardness among the women at the table. I started making conversation with everyone. The man next to me said he was married with children. I assumed the woman next to him was his wife, but he corrected me, quickly adding that he wasn’t going to stay long. He didn’t, either.
I wondered what the hell was going on at this dinner. Then it dawned on me. I asked one of the ladies when they met the other men at the table. “Tonight,” she said. Without having to ask any more questions, I knew the women were prostitutes. I looked around the table, assessing each person, as well as my place there. Okay, I thought, it’s a little odd—maybe more than a little—that my ex-husband would invite me to a dinner like this. But it was, I told myself, one dinner and it was not worth making an issue out of it.
When Charlie got up from the table to go to the bathroom, Christina took his seat. Before he left, he told her, “Don’t blind-side Denise with what you do for a living.” She replied, “I’m pretty sure she knows what we do.” To be honest, though I’m a fairly nonjudgmental person, I would’ve preferred a dinner where I wasn’t the only nonhooker among the women at the table. I also think when you’re the father of five it might be wise to shut down that sort of behavior. But since neither of those were the case, I will say dinner got interesting at that point.
I was genuinely curious how these women came to be at this dinner when Charlie and I were supposed to be on a trip with our daughters. Charlie had shared certain stories with me during our marriage, but I had no idea how the details worked. Before I could even ask a question, Christina said she’d learned about the job just a few hours before dinner. She’d been shopping in Bergdorf’s when her cell phone rang. It was her “pimp” from L.A. He asked if she could go to dinner with a client who was in New York. “Once he mentioned it was Charlie Sheen, I said sure, I can make it,” she explained.
She told me she also had a madam in New York, had done porn, but wanted to get out of the business, and prostitution paid the bills. I was worried about having taken a photo with her, since who knew where that might end up, but I relaxed when she said her father didn’t know what she did for a living. Neither did her boyfriend, though I wondered if she even had one. If so, I’m pretty sure he knows what she does for a living by now and, um, same with her dad. I actually found myself in the very peculiar situation of giving this girl advice on her boyfriend and what she did for a living. And for a moment I thought, how in the hell did I end up here tonight? Well, I did, so I was making the best of it. It was one damn dinner. Even after Charlie returned from the bathroom, the evening began to have a colorful vibe, and like the guy who’d been next to me, I wanted to make an early exit.
They were just starting to have an eventful evening and I didn’t want to be a buzzkill. I told Charlie that I needed to go back to the hotel. I had hair and makeup at 4:30 a.m., Howard Stern, and then an entire day of interviews. So I was going to head back while I could still get some sleep.
On the way back to the hotel, I was irked with my ex for including me in a dinner like that, never mind that we were on a trip with our daughters. I was also a little pissed at myself for having said yes and gotten myself into that situation. I had to take some responsibility. I should’ve asked more questions.
For the record, the picture that Christina, aka “Capri,” took of us ended up on TMZ. Perhaps next time I should ask to see a résumé.
Once in the suite, I found the girls were wide-awake and watching TV. They were still on L.A. time. After I quieted them down, I climbed into bed myself; I had to get up early for my press. About an hour later, though, I was awakened by various sounds outside my door, including walkie-talkies, which is never a good sign. I opened the door and saw hotel security men knocking on Charlie’s door. We had a brief conversation, the gist of which was the cops were on their way.
As soon as I heard that, I called my nanny in her room down the hall and asked her to come over to the Eloise Suite. I had a feeling I was going to need her to watch the girls. A few minutes later, the cops showed up. Several officers went into Charlie’s room, and a sergeant came into mine and asked me questions about the evening. He had trouble understanding the situation, and my nonchalance confused him further.
“Now let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re here with your kids and your ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“Your ex-husband is staying in the room across the hall while you’re in this room?”
“Yes.”
“With the kids?” “Yes.” “And you went to dinner with him and there were hookers there at the table?”
“Yes.”
“And now one of the hookers is in the room across the hall with your ex-husband?”
“Yes,” I said
“Where are the other hookers?”
“That I don’t know.”
He scratched his head. “Is there anyone in New York we can call on your ex-husband’s behalf?”
“You’re looking at her.”
“There’s no agent, manager, or lawyer?”
“Nope. They’re in L.A.”
After he explained what was going to happen, I quickly changed from my pajamas into jeans and a sweatshirt. Charlie was put into an ambulance, and I rode with the sergeant to the hospital, though I insisted I had to be back at 4:30 a.m. He didn’t seem used to people imposing their schedules on him, but I explained I had work. Indeed, after making sure Charlie was stable and settled, the nice policeman gave me a ride back to the hotel. My nanny was awake. The girls were sound asleep, but she hadn’t slept. Our eyes met and I shook my head. “I’m going to jump in the shower,” I said. “Order up the biggest pot of coffee they have and a huge breakfast for both of us.”
3
AT 5:00 A.M., my hair and makeup artist arrived. I told him about my night and asked if he thought any of it would make the news. He raised his eyebrows as if I was asking a question whose answer was so obvious. It wasn’t really the brightest thing to ask, but, hey. I explained that I hadn’t seen any paparazzi outside the hotel. He made the same face. �
��I know,” I said. “I guess it’s a question of when, not if.”
That changed everything. The plan had been for the girls to join me after I did Howard’s show. They wanted to watch me on the talk shows. I’d told them all about the studios, the sets, and the treats in the dressing rooms. But now I couldn’t risk them hearing about their dad in the interviews. Once news got out about Charlie landing in the hospital after a night with hookers, and me being present, too, it was, to put it mildly, going to turn into a media shit storm. Photographers would camp outside the hotel. They’d follow me. They’d yell questions. I’d been through the drill before.
Except this time it was complicated in that we were away from home. I couldn’t plant the girls in front of the TV until I got back later that night. I had to keep them occupied. If they knew what had happened, I would’ve pulled out of my interviews, but since they slept through the fracas I made a plan with the nanny to keep them occupied in the city while I did my job. I was proud of the show, grateful for the work, and eager to promote it. I couldn’t predict what I’d face, but I’d learned a few things over the years, including how to grit my teeth, face challenges, and get through uncomfortable situations.
My interview with Howard was easy except I literally did not go to bed and actually apologized to Howard for giving a crappy interview. I have no idea what I even said, I was so distracted and, with lack of sleep, running on fumes. It was early, and news from the night before hadn’t yet broken. But it was streaming across the Internet by the time I did all the other interviews. I couldn’t believe the irony. Here I’d arrived in New York with no strife in my life and looking forward to doing press when I didn’t have anything in my life that was off-limits. I was actually looking forward to talking about the great place I’d gotten myself to just a few months before my fortieth birthday, as well as the special trip I was on with my daughters.
Real Girl Next Door Page 20