Superficial

by Andy Cohen

  SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2014—MIAMI

  The alarm at eight forty-five for my Miami Book Fair International event was just rude. I was hoarse and more sick of myself than I have ever been in my entire life, but there was a theater full of people waiting for me to blather on about myself and sign my books. And Daddy needs to make a living, so he got out of bed and bucked it up like a big boy. The people were nice. A boy asked me to marry him, a lady asked for a hug, I got a ton of presents for Wacha, and I can’t remember what else happened except that I signed about three hundred books for customers and another two hundred for stock after the speech and it went by like a breeze (I didn’t even mind that no one upon no one knows how to use their cameras and that people wait in line for over an hour but don’t care to have their camera ready when they get to the front of the line) and I was with Hickey at the pool by noon, where I felt like a king. The vibe was magical—chill-out jams but not too many people. We got a bottle of rosé and Jon Jay came and joined us for an hour before he left for Europe for Manny Machado’s wedding (the baseball life). Left for the Palm at three-thirty and I had completely hit a wall—all the talking and smiling for pictures and being patient and hospitable to perfectly nice people completely slammed down on my last gay nerve. Now I wanted to not only rip the skin off myself, but then burn it, and then throw the remains of myself back into the fire. And initially the crowd was so lovely and warm and Jewy, my people. There were five yentas in the front row with excellent face work; a bunch of husbands; Marqueeta, who I used to work for when I interned at KMOV when I was seventeen; and a whole lot of personality which made the Q and A a total blast. A woman in a white dress kept asking two-part questions and talking over people who had not had a chance to ask anything, which was triggering me. The rule at these Palm events is to only take pics with groups, because it’s a happy-hour type environment. The lady in the white dress stopped me as I was going back to take pictures with everybody to ask if I could take a selfie with her so she didn’t have to wait in line. I said it was against the rules but yes, let’s do it! She was the one squeaky wheel in the room, so it seemed like a good way to appease her. People brought so many gifts for Wacha it was unbelievable. Lots of chewy dreidels and a cute Chewbacca chew. (Star Wars dog toys? How rich is George Lucas?)

  I was close to done and deeply in love with everyone until the white dress lady appeared again and announced that on top of a picture with her friends, she wanted another one alone with me. I told her we would not be doing that because it was against the rules and she and I had already taken a selfie. She wanted another, she declared. When her friends stepped away, she said ONE MORE I WANT ANOTHER. At which point all the sleep I haven’t gotten in the past week and all the cameras in my face and the endless thirst for selfies all came to a head in my brain and I basically lost it. I grabbed her and said, “I am gonna give you a big hug instead, and that is what you’re going to get,” and I proceeded to grab her and squeeze her so hard that I thought her head might pop off her body. I mean, I was violently squeezing her. She emerged from the stranglehug a little stunned, a little out of breath, and a lot confused about what had just happened. Upon regaining my composure, I realized that I had just tried to kill a woman with a hug and quickly tried to make up for it by carrying on about how much I loved her gorgeous dress. I was manic, as hyper as she was. She took the compliment and I moved on. I continued with the photos and left to go to the Gilt event, where I did five interviews for local magazines (there are a lot of press outlets in Miami, it turns out) and had great reunions with Miami Housewives Adriana, Marysol, Alexia (who wore a jumpsuit for me and proudly announced she had no camel toe—upon inspection she was correct), and Lea. I introduced them before the Q and A and said I knew the first question was going to be when is Real Housewives of Miami coming back and I said, “Never say never,” but I could see from the women’s faces that they didn’t believe me and then I kind of didn’t believe me, but I was getting nostalgic for them. I was Phil Donahue-ing around the room when someone asked me to pick my Real Housewives all-stars, one from each city, to be in a dream cast. I chose Teresa, NeNe, Vicki, Vanderpump, and Bethenny and then I realized I was going to have to choose one of the Miami women standing in front of me. Adriana, I announced. You would’ve thought I’d just given her a yacht, and I couldn’t even turn to look at Lea; I just immediately moved to the next question.

  I raced out of there to pick up Hickey to take him to the Palace, an experience I was so excited to share with him. If anyone could enjoy margaritas with sidewalk performances from fierce drag queens it is John Hickey. We got there kind of late—eight-thirty—but the place was still thumping and I was happy to see Tiffany Fantasia as the MC. The performances weren’t great at first and I was worried it was going to be a bust, but then I went to the bathroom and the manager brought me into the drag queens’ dressing room for the private loo, where I got to see the queens in various stages of dress. Lots of smells in there, and I took selfies with them all and maybe offended Tiffany Fantasia by telling her she looked like “NeNe Leakes Beyond Thunderdome.” I don’t think she liked it, but when she took the “stage”—which is what they call the sidewalk—she gave us exactly what we were looking for, running around the street and beach across from us and finally doing a drop to the floor just as the song dropped—she had us on our feet roaring. Tiffany joined us at our table later and we went deep. She has three jobs, including being an Uber driver by day. I love it! I want to keep Ubering in Miami until I get Tiffany Fantasia. She was making her final announcement of the night and closed with “Don’t be a dry ho, be a greasy bitch. Good night, everybody!” I asked her if that was her sign-off and she said yes, that’s her little tag line. As we sat at the table the incident with the lady in the white dress flashed through my mind and I decided that I was completely insane.

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 2014—MIAMI—ST. LOUIS

  Got a text from Anderson this morning saying the verdict in the Ferguson case was coming in tonight and he was heading to St. Louis. The white suburbanites are in a total panic, expecting riots in Clayton, which is where the courthouse is and right where my parents live. Mom doesn’t seem worried. We will see! Of course this is happening the day I get home, after all these weeks of waiting. I had a great Delano breakfast and three hours by the pool being fed grapes. A waitress who came up to us with frozen mint coladas announced, “Mint is my signature! Expect a lot of it today!” Mint is her signature! I couldn’t stay long enough to get the full suite of poolside mint snacks because I had to go to St Louis. Went into the bookstore at the airport and they haven’t had my book in stock since it came out and were getting some tomorrow, which made me insane. I wanted to hug the dude to death like I did the lady with the white dress. I’m getting some nasty tweets about the book. One lady is furious at me for being ageist toward flight attendants (I told her to burn my book because if she couldn’t handle my flight attendant jokes she was going to be in for an upsetting 350 pages) and gays are pissed about this Kevin Spacey thing. Went straight to Left Bank Books from the airport and signed 950 copies, then home for flank steak and to watch the verdict. The prosecuting attorney’s speech was a total joke; the policeman got off and there was rioting in Ferguson for much of the night, stoked by Don Lemon and his gas mask. All very upsetting.

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2014

  Clayton is all boarded up and people are scared of their own shadows. It is so insular here—I am ashamed of my suburban privilege. Country-club people are locking themselves inside and everything seems to be closed, but I spent the day at Nelly’s school downtown, which was full of students—it was life affirming to see those kids out and wanting to learn. I met each student and signed a book. I’m not sure it was the crowd for The Andy Cohen Diaries, but they all had a lot of questions about the business so hopefully they’ll take something away from the book besides how gay I am.

  The voices in my parents’ apartment are so loud, and my mom is sick, with a hacking cou
gh. It’s exhausting and not restful. We got in a huge fight because I was trying to nap from five to six and came out and gave them a warning that their voices were too loud and I couldn’t close my eyes. We were ripping each other apart in the living room—I told my mom I was going to get a hotel, then she was ripping my dad for not eating the food she had made him and for the “lumberjack shirt” he planned to wear to my event. It was a brutal three-way voice fight. Mom is very anxious for me to sit on her hot seat toilet. Just begging. “PLEASE GET ON THE HOT SEAT!!!!! Jeremy LOVES IT.” She wants to give me one for my new bathroom. I told her I was not sitting on the hot seat. So that hit where it counts. When I got to the event at the Chaminade campus—a thousand sold-out seats!—the first audience question was about what a wonderful relationship I have with my family. I told them all we had been ripping each other’s skin off an hour before. Took about eight hundred pictures after with a professional photographer and it went really fast. Got a lot of gifts including some great Andy Cohen Diaries cookies. I’ll call the lady who made them tomorrow and order fifty of them for Mom’s party. Raced to the Four Seasons for dinner with Anderson and his CNN crew, people who he’s been around the world with several times over. Anderson clearly loves these guys so much—three producers and his whiz tech guy who gets them live shots from everywhere. We had a lot of laughs at dinner and I stayed late with Anderson and we texted a selfie to our friend Cher in Malibu.

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2014—ST. LOUIS

  The looting and madness seems to be over and now there are tons of boarded-up buildings in Clayton. They took the art out of my parents’ building—none of it by van Gogh, from what I can tell—for fear of looters entering and stealing the lobby art. The empty walls are a reminder of suburban panic, and I feel bad for the black lobby attendants who have to stare at the naked walls and be reminded of how scared the tenants are of their people. I don’t want to be dramatic, but it feels to me like South Africa. Had a great lunch at my Aunt Judy’s. She will make me any kind of food and make it better, like mac and cheese with crème instead of milk. Back in the day they had a real-life ice-cream parlor in their house and a deep fryer in their kitchen. Today it was fresh turkey sandwiches, but I saw the grilled cheese she was making for Lucy and I wanted one. Then another. And we had slice-and-bake cookies. Went by Em’s after Judy’s. She is obsessed with her Keurig. Came home and was actually able to nap for an hour so maybe the scorched-earth tactic yesterday worked. We went to 5 Star Burgers and I felt so gross from lunch that I ate a kale salad. Kari picked me up and we went to see Jake’s Leg, and dancing to a Grateful Dead cover band was the perfect antidote to weeks of signing books. Before bed I realized my Christmas party is in a couple weeks and I haven’t booked bartenders or invited anyone, so I quickly emailed invites to about eighty people on a bcc and didn’t keep a list of who I invited.

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2014, THANKSGIVING—ST. LOUIS

  Loved watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, not only because the Microsoft commercials were airing but because it was nice just being home and chilled out. Did absolutely nothing all day. Napped at two. Mom was begging me to get on the hot seat. (“It cleans your BUTT too! IF YOU NEED THAT KIND OF THING EVER.”) Went up to the Goldmans’ and saw the whole crew, including Nana, who is ninety-nine years old and never changes. She is the coolest grandma around. Em and Rob hosted a great Thanksgiving. I chatted with everyone; we played Balderdash and there were too many people for the game but it was still fun. Asleep by eleven.

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 2014

  Woke up and went with Dad to Ballpark Village for a KMOX radio hour with an audience. They had Tony La Russa call in and he immediately brought up what I said about him in my book and I turned it around to talk about how magical Tony is and how he knew David Freese was going to hit a double, and how he loves rescue dogs. So I got out of that one. I was terrified. They let me do the weather report and I loved it way too much. It’s going to get warm here this weekend, so I hyped the hell out of that. Bill DeWitt III came with his wife, Ira, and gave Dad and me a tour of the new Cardinals Hall of Fame. My bobblehead is in there, which is amazing, and half of Freese’s jersey from Game 6.

  Went home and got ready for the book party. Showed Blouse the guy at the Writers’ Bloc event standing up and asking about her on YouTube. It blew her mind. Bill DeWitt emailed and said they’re having dinner with Wayne Gretzky and his wife and would I come. I said to let me know where they wound up and I would meet them for a drink. The cookies arrived and they’re great looking, especially the Wacha ones. I miss the dog terribly. The party was lovely. I talked to everybody—full house. Jim Edmonds and Meghan King were the hits of the party. No one can believe she’s going to be a Housewife. All the kids were drooling over Edmonds, who asked me if he needs to tell my mom he’s not gay. (Oy, what did I say about him being gay in the book again?) I told him that was a compliment, and he said he knew that but most other normal people may not realize that. Then he said not normal, but straight. Blouse told him she was rooting for him, so she didn’t get the memo he’s retired. Lawd. DeWitt emailed me saying that Gretzky decided to go to the Blues game instead. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? That’s what he does! Party debrief with parents, then to dinner at Mike’s house which was a carb festival—tomato soup, crab dip, sandwiches, mac and cheese, more pasta, more cheese. I ate too much.

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 2014

  I sat on the hot seat! I didn’t realize it’s hot all the time; I thought it had to be warmed up or something. I have to admit it is lovely. My mom was very pleased. Laid around like a bum until Elaine Bly picked me up for my signing at the Ladue Barnes and Noble. They allowed people to bring their own books, which seemed counterproductive, but what can you do? I met a man who drove from Little Rock and had a tattoo of my face on his arm, along with the date that he called in to WWHL. Mom showed up and I had him stay around so I could show her the tattoo. With him, she acted like it was normal but when he walked away she gave me an exasperated look. “He can’t GET THAT OFF! He’s STUCK WITH IT.” Em had a similar reaction. Dad was in the front of the store posing for pictures. “Your FATHER is a MEDIA WHORE!” Mom kept saying all day and night. A heavy lady in what looked like a wedding dress had driven all the way from Appleton, Wisconsin. She had a big bag of gifts including a flask that was engraved with the date of our meeting, only they had gotten the date wrong and crossed it out and engraved another date above it. Loved it. Signed four hundred books. Went to Josh’s, where he had all the Allens for Emerson’s birthday. Sophie was going to see some Stephen King musical at the Fox and I don’t even know what that means. Went to Scape with the family and everyone was shining their iPhone flashlights in each other’s eyes while they looked at the menus. Jeremy wants to know when the Ferguson police chief is going to resign. I wonder too. Met Jim Edmonds and Meghan and RJ and all the Kings at BARcelona. Unclear how this RHOC experiment will go. Jim wanted to take her to a firing range on the show but I said no, I had seen it too many times.

  SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2014—ST. LOUIS—NYC

  Surfin bartended on my show before I left and said he is getting recognized! He was on Thirty-Fourth Street the other day and someone said, “Are you Andy’s doorman?” Reunion with Wacha was a big hug and licks. He smells more like a dog when I’ve been away from him. He looks like he’s lost some weight too—so the diet is working. When I’ve been away from him I’m always struck by how delicious it is to have another warm living being following me, looking at me for direction. We took a glorious nap before the show. When I’ve been gone he gets closer to me. Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2014

  “The View is kind of a boring show now; you were good, though.” That was Evelyn’s review when I got through cohosting. And she’s probably right. But it did go a lot better than my last time there. I started the day at CBS This Morning, which I loved. Charlie Rose asked me on air what my ambition was and I said I was goin
g after 11:00 p.m. on PBS and that all I needed was a black background, and he said that I need much more than that. It was all cheerful, but as the day went on I started to think I offended him. I emailed him thanking him for the great interview and he didn’t respond, so I guess I have my answer. At The View, Brian Balthazar said we’re giving you an earbud and it’s just to tell you guys when to bail out of conversations. Then backstage Rosie said do not take one, you don’t need one. Don’t take it. She went on a rant about these earbuds, saying that we all just need to focus on each other. She came up to me a couple minutes later and said to stick a finger in my ear and try to talk to her at the same time, that’s what it’s like with an earbud. I said I’m actually used to wearing one and can have two conversations at once. The first Hot Topic was Ray Rice, and I really didn’t have an opinion. I’d called Liza to get one and she said he is the face of domestic violence, like it or not, and what kind of message is the NFL sending? So I said that. But I had that weird surreal feeling I’ve had before where my mind says, “I am on The View and what would it be like if I just stood up and walked out while we were on the air?” It’s that career-ending death wish, but then it passes. After those two appearances the book went from number 60 on Amazon to back in the twenties, so that worked. Anderson and I were FaceTiming at 2:40 p.m. Guess where we both were? On our beds. It turns out he had his appendix out, so that was a pretty good excuse. I was comatose from the morning. While we were talking someone with a 212–343 number called me and I declined it. A couple minutes later Anderson got a call from the same number. We were racking our brains trying to think who would be calling both of us. I thought it was maybe Mark or Kelly from their house phone. Five minutes later he called me back—it was Richie from Seize sur Vingt calling to invite him to a party, and he said he was inviting me too. Mystery solved. We ain’t going to that party. Finally called Wendy Williams’s husband, Kevin, to clear the air and resolve his issue with me so we can do this fucking show!