Real Girl Next Door

by Denise Richards

  But then Charlie threw that infamous dinner party. As a result, I spent nearly twelve hours telling interviewers it wasn’t my place to discuss my ex and then redirecting the conversation back to my show. Later, when I met up with the girls at the hotel, I told Sami and Lola that their dad had been called back to work earlier than expected. I know I lied to them, and how I was able to keep a lid on everything I have no idea. But given their ages, I felt it was the best strategy. After more interviews the next day, we headed back home. I stayed in the car while my nanny brought the girls outside. I felt terrible for not being able to say good-bye to the Eloise Suite with them, but photographers and media vans were camped outside the hotel and it would’ve been a mess if we’d walked out together.

  Despite the way that trip ended, I didn’t let it affect my relationship with Charlie. In Charlie’s eyes at the time, I could do no wrong. He treated me like a champ. For all the assistance I’d provided that drama-filled night in New York, he referred to me as his MVP. From such a big sports fan as him, I knew that was a serious compliment. He also said that I was finally getting the respect I deserved. After everything we’d been through, that compliment meant a lot.

  For the next few months, I was involved with my busy home life. My days were packed with school activities and playdates for the girls, going on auditions, building my Web presence, and starting a remodel on my house. Not everything worked. I even let a friend talk me into going on a blind date with a chiropractor. He sent me a text offering to come over and give me an “adjustment” in exchange for a glass of wine. When I didn’t respond, he sent me a picture of himself shirtless, holding a beer. That was supposed to impress me? Sorry. The blind date never happened—and neither will any other blind dates!

  Shortly after the holidays, Charlie called to invite the girls and me to go with him to Las Vegas. I politely declined, which earned me a call from his friend. “I’ll leave my phone on at night in case something happens,” I said with a knowing laugh. He said, “Okay, D.R.”

  Nothing happened that needed my attention. But everything else happened, according to reports. Charlie met a girl who was later introduced to the world as one of his “goddesses,” and his weekend ended up on the news. As the star of TV’s top-rated sitcom, Charlie’s behavior was irresistible to the media. They raised the same red flags that I worried about in private. I did my best to make sure the girls remained unaware of the reports. While I could turn off the TVs at certain hours, making sure they didn’t hear Access Hollywood or Entertainment Tonight, I couldn’t control what kids said to them at school, and with so much attention on Charlie, kids heard their parents talking at home and brought that back to the playground.

  Unfortunately, between the lies I was telling the girls, their dad’s erratic behavior, and bits and pieces they heard on the news or at school, I needed to have a difficult conversation with them. I’d always planned to speak to them about addiction, but I’d hoped to put it off till they were older. I also had to figure out what the hell to say.

  Well, I wasn’t going to shut the door on Charlie or wait till the girls were teenagers to tell them the truth. I couldn’t. They were destined to find out sooner rather than later.

  I followed my gut, and in mid-January 2011, my heart told me it was time to start explaining things. After researching the subject, I bought a book written to help children understand their parents’ addiction. I picked what I thought was a good time and sat Sami and Lola down on the sofa in our family room and began to read the book. Halfway through, I started to tear up. Lola closed the book and said, “Mom, you don’t have to read this.”

  I apologized for being upset and dried my eyes. “Yes, I do,” I said. “This is hard for Mommy to explain, but I want to read it to you.” I started again, made it through the entire story, and looked at the girls sitting quietly next to me. Sami was leaning against me on one side and Lola had her hand on my left on the other. Any doubts I had about whether they understood the book were eased when Lola looked up at me and said, “Now how do we help Daddy?”

  Good question. “I don’t know,” I said. “But when Daddy gets help, we will support him.”

  She thought for a minute. “How will Daddy get help?”

  Plenty of people were asking the same thing. “Me and some of Daddy’s friends are trying to figure that out,” I said.

  4

  A FEW DAYS later I visited Charlie. I was concerned about his behavior, as were others in his life. I explained that I’d read a book to the girls to help them understand him better. I also said that I hoped he realized all of his children needed him to be healthy. “I’m not judging you, this is your life,” I said. “I’m just being honest. And right now I’m worried about you.”

  Thanking me, and reassuring me he was okay, he told me of his plan to move four women into his home. They’d be his girlfriends—his “porn family,” as he called it. I could see how a young guy in his twenties might fantasize about having several girlfriends living with him, but at forty-five years old and with five children? I had trouble comprehending this. My heart sank as he explained that it had taken him a while to find the right group of women, but he finally had the four picked out. He also wanted me to move into the neighborhood with him and his new family, saying he’d buy me a new place down the street. Although as quickly as he made that offer on the house, he took it away. Which was fine; I had no intention of moving there.

  I shook my head, trying to hide my sadness, not to mention my fear the girls might be losing him. “I can’t even begin to explain that to our daughters,” I said quietly. He said, “Tell them their dad marches to his own beat.”

  The next morning I was walking into the theater at Sami’s school to watch her sing in a class performance. My phone rang. Charlie was in the hospital. I barely made it through Sami’s performance without bawling. Between the pride I had for my daughter and the concern I had for her father, I was a mess. Things were starting to come to a head for me. I’d proven I can be strong and put on a brave face in almost any situation, but I was mad and upset that I had to do it over and over. Constantly lying to our kids, covering things up, making excuses, pretending things were okay when they were not. I started asking myself why I felt the need to navigate everything on my own. I kept asking myself, “Why does their dad have to live such an outrageous life?”

  Then I reminded myself, I can’t change Charlie. He is merely being himself. He never professed to be anyone else. I tried to be philosophical, as is the only option in such circumstances. You don’t have to ignore the roiling emotions that come with upsets and disappointments, but as I learned time and time again, you can’t crumble, either. For whatever reason, Charlie and I are on a journey together. We created two magnificent lives, and therefore we are going to be in each other’s lives forever. Instead of flying off the handle and making judgments on him, I keep moving forward. Quite frankly, I’ve learned my opinion doesn’t matter a lot of the time, so why make our relationship more volatile and chaotic?

  I don’t see any sense in stressing about things I can’t change or control. Charlie is on his own path, and this is the lifestyle he has chosen. That doesn’t mean I condone it, but I’ve learned to accept it. And despite the roller coaster of being up and down, one thing I know for sure: I’ll always be there for Charlie. From the time we split, I’ve been determined to have a relationship with him, and I’m not giving up. It’s about our kids and it’s important for them that I soldier on.

  We have had one of the worst divorces in Hollywood; that’s not something I’m proud of. If we can get to a place that’s peaceful, then anyone can. It’s not easy, and again, I think it’s okay to agree to disagree a lot. But when you do disagree, put aside your argument and let the kids know that they come first, and they are loved. Show up at birthday parties, school functions, lessons, recitals, games, and holiday dinners together. I’ve learned to suck it up. It ain’t about you anymore, it’s about the kids. That’s the mantra I live by.
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  It’s not easy. Believe me. Charlie has a sharp tongue, and when we disagree, I’m on the receiving end of some pretty colorful speeches. Sometimes it’s hard to let his insults roll off my back. But I do. In his defense, he often accuses me of being unreasonable when I turn into protective mother hen. He says I shelter the girls too much. Maybe I do. I don’t care. At times his lifestyle veers in colorful directions, and I don’t want the girls around it. I’m stubborn and not afraid to stand up to him no matter how angry he gets. As I’ve said, even when we aren’t on the best of terms, I have faith we’ll get back to a good place. We’ve done it before, and we’ll continue to find our way back again when necessary.

  At the end of February, I was at a table in the Beverly Hills Four Seasons Hotel, working on the above paragraph, when my phone was flooded with news that CBS and Warner Bros. had just suspended production of Two and a Half Men for the rest of the season. I wasn’t surprised. After several weeks of Charlie’s sharing his negative opinions on the show’s executive producer and the network on TV, in print, on the radio, and over the Internet, the network and the studio had had enough. Two weeks later, they fired him altogether.

  Nothing he said subsequently on talk shows, the radio, and even in an interview streamed live on the Internet from his backyard surprised me. I’ve been asked how I am handling this all lately, but the reality is I’ve been handling this on and off for seven years. The truth is: This is not the man that I married; this is the man that I divorced. What did surprise me was how very public Charlie wanted his thoughts to be. It breaks my heart. He’s an amazing actor, with the capacity to be an amazing person and father. It hurts to see him like this.

  I believed, and continue to believe, he’ll get through this. If he doesn’t, then, sadly, perhaps tragically, he doesn’t. It’s up to him. Either way, I’m resigned to many long talks with my girls. Whatever Charlie’s differences and conflicts, though, I will always be here for him.

  He’s bashed me on his Torpedo of Truth World Tour. I know what you’re thinking. I know. What can I say that I haven’t already said? That’s life with Charlie. It’s up and down. Being around someone with an addiction as deep as Charlie’s is painful to see and hurtful to experience in person. I guess I have thick skin and a big, understanding heart. I also know at the end of the day he is the father of my daughters and I need to maintain a relationship, only in the healthiest sense, for them.

  As I look back, Charlie’s past should probably have been a giant red flag when we met. Maybe I was naïve or so in love I looked at him, and us, through rose-colored glasses. Whatever it was, I made a choice and it took me on this wild and crazy journey of ours. Not only did Charlie give me the best gifts anyone could ever give, my daughters, he’s also proven to be the best teacher I’ve ever had, and for that, I thank him. I’ve learned a lifetime of lessons from him, and I’m still learning. That doesn’t mean I’m always clear on what I’ve learned. I’m not. It takes time to see the good come to light out of the bad. But eventually things make sense.

  I wish I could tie everything up in a neat little bow. I can’t. At the moment I’m writing this sentence, we aren’t in the best place. But I’m counting on that to change. While he’s splattering the world with tiger blood, I will ride out this tumultuous wave, hoping for the calm to be restored. When it’s peaceful, well, I will cherish those moments without knowing or worrying how long the peace will last. I navigate this as best as I can. I make mistakes. I learn. I try my best.

  As always, I’m rooting for him. It means the best for us.

  5

  AT THE NADIR of Charlie’s implosion, I turned forty. I celebrated with an amazing dinner party with my closest friends in Los Angeles, but I spent my actual birthday in New York following a taping of The View. I’d guest-hosted on the show’s “Third Annual Mutt Show.” Not only did I survive Barbara’s queries about Charlie, I left the studio with Chocolate Chip, a two-year-old terrier mix we later named Coco. What a whirlwind she experienced, going from a year in a shelter to a night at the Ritz-Carlton, where she celebrated my birthday with me. What a story she heard me tell her that night.

  It’s funny. You think about milestones like a fortieth birthday, read about them in magazines, discuss them with friends, worry about their significance, plan elaborate celebrations to distract yourself from fears about aging, and then, as in my case, you find yourself on the big day after having dinner with friends in New York alone in a hotel room with a strange terrier, realizing these events we build into mountains are only as important as we make them. I don’t want to diminish the significance of the day itself. Turning forty was a big deal. But how I felt about turning forty was much more important than the actual day itself, and I’ll tell you what. I felt pretty good.

  I don’t look at forty and say, “Oh my God, I’m getting old.” No, I think of it more in terms of someone whose mother died at fifty-three. And my mom’s dad died at fifty-three. I struggled with those kinds of fears, not whether my face is going to sag or my boobs will hit my knees. My job is to make sure I’m around to see my kids grow up.

  On the major plus side—and I hate that this sounds cliché—but I feel as if, at forty, I’ve arrived at a new beginning. Emotionally and physically, I feel better now than I did in my twenties. I’m more optimistic, too—and I was a positive-looking person then. The reason? I know who I am, and I’m comfortable with that. I’m in a good place. The stuff I worried about in my twenties and thirties rolls off my back. If someone had asked me ten or fifteen years ago where I saw myself at this age, I would’ve said happily married, with four children, and making a movie every year. My mom wouldn’t have been gone, either. But I’m not disappointed or defeated by where I am at; in fact, I’m philosophical about it. I have a good sense of what matters, what really matters. I feel capable, smarter, and wiser, and pleasantly eager to find out what’s next.

  I’d love to get remarried. But I could have a serious someone with me for a long, long time without walking down the aisle again. He just needs to be the right person. He also has to know something: I won’t ever get divorced again. Ever. If we were to split, he’d have to get a house next door or on the same block. I’d also like to have more children. Definitely. But who the hell can say if that will happen? All I know for sure is that I’m not putting my life on hold.

  I can feel my mom’s approval. She was clearly taken too soon, but the part of me that thinks in a spiritual sense believes that we all arrive with a purpose, and I think she fulfilled hers. I sense it in me every day. Maybe that’s part of a purpose all of us share. We’re supposed to pass on the best part of us. According to my mom, I was always a nurturer, as was she, whether it was with people or animals. We’re similar that way. Just walk into my house and you’ll know. You’ll see the kids, all their stuff, and you’ll be overrun by dogs. If you could only hear the yapping right now, predinner, and Lola and Sami running up to me to show me pictures they drew.

  I’ve been involved in animal rescue for quite some years. When my mom’s dog, Sheena, passed away, I called a friend who worked at the Best Friends Animal Society and said I wanted to adopt a dog nobody wanted. They showed me two, and I ended up with a Chihuahua mix that was blind in one eye. He lost the sight in his other eye soon after I brought him home. His name is Preston. And he’s a sweetie. There was another dog there—a black one who looked like a sausage with four squat legs. After I brought Preston home, I couldn’t stop thinking of that black dog, so I decided I’d foster him. Although he was full of energy at my house, they said he was depressed in the cage at adoption events when they took him back. As soon as I heard that, I made room for him in the household, too. Soon I heard about a dog with two legs that were deformed from abuse. He was about to be put down. We found a bed for him and named him Scooter. His operations cost four grand per leg, but I’ll tell you what, he’s the sweetest dog of the bunch. He was worth it. I think rescue dogs are the most grateful animals I’ve been around. They show you th
at gratefulness day in and day out.

  I’m often asked why I’m into rescuing pets. I don’t have a simple answer, but periodically at night as we’re all going to sleep, most of the dogs in their own bed, except my French bulldog, Hank, who often curls up on my bed, and a couple that bunk with the girls, I’ve come to understand, even if I can’t put it concisely into words, that I get as much, if not more, out of it than they do. Caring for them is about constantly reminding us about the responsibility we have to nurture and care for creatures other than ourselves. At the end of the day, we all just want to feel loved.

  It’s a good message, a good lesson.

  I have a group of close-knit girlfriends, and we meet once a month at someone’s home for dinner. We call ourselves the supper club. All of us are moms, and all of us are in the business. We spend the night talking about everything, and I mean everything, knowing that nothing we say leaves that room. It’s liberating to share private thoughts and discover you aren’t the only one who’s ever had them. We support one another, whether it’s tweeting about someone’s TV series or movie, or just getting up from the table and giving someone a hug. The cornerstone of faith is knowing that if you fall, you can count on someone to pick you up, and I have that with family and friends.

  If anyone reading this book is going through a tough time, I hope I’ve given you reason to believe that there is light at the end of the dark tunnel. There is. Whether you’ve gotten divorced, lost a loved one, or are struggling to find a job and make ends meet, whatever the challenge is, know that you can fight the fight and get to a better place if you follow what’s really important. I won’t tell you what’s important. We all know. It’s already inside us. And as for how you go about it, remember that you can’t change other people. We can only change how we respond to situations and people and ultimately who we want to be.