by Jennie Garth
We were, back then, just two immature girls who were ruled by hormones, and forced to be way too close to each other for way too many hours a day. In short, we were like oil and water—or gasoline and a match, depending on what day it was.
And yet somehow, we survived to tell the tale. We both get a kick out of it now, looking back at our young selves, those silly girls. Isn’t that something? Brenda and Kelly actually did grow up, and Shannen and I did, and now I count her as one of my dearest, closest friends.
After Shan left the show, the producers brought in an actress named Tiffani Thiessen to play the new bad girl, Valerie Malone. I was so over the drama that we’d been steeped in for so long that I greeted our newcomer with the iciest, bitchiest, most off-putting demeanor possible. It took me a few months to I realize that I was unconsciously perpetuating the “rule of three” dynamic, and I realized that I just didn’t want that anymore. So I went to Tiffani, apologized to her, and began again. After that, we became really close friends, too, and both Tiffani and Tori even honored me by being bridesmaids in my wedding.
It’s funny, come to think of it: I have three girls myself, but the “rule of three” just doesn’t apply in our house, thank God. Maybe it’s because they’re spread out in age, but my girls are with one another the way my sisters and I were: They’re closer than close. And they love one another madly, fiercely, and protectively. Oh, they get into the usual pissy moods like all girls do, but sisterly love is the abiding vibe in our home.
Nowadays, I’d say that three is a pretty great number—lucky, even.
BEAUTIFUL BOYS
I can’t write about my 90210 years without talking about the boys. Collectively, they were just about as beautiful as you can get, and once the show took off, posters of them went up on the bedroom walls of teenage girls across the land. They were mobbed by girls and women who wanted to get close to their sunny, beachy awesomeness. And who could blame them?
I adored each one of them. And still do.
There’s Jason, he of the megawatt, crinkly-eyed smile. I remember he had this mullet, this kind of comedian hairdo, and it just cracked me up. He’s incredibly talented, that one, and he has this ability to make everything look so easy. He sets people at ease right away. He’s also pretty salty, and I remember my mom telling me to keep an eye on the guy with the potty mouth. He also smoked cigarettes back then. We’d often be hanging out outside the set in Van Nuys, having a smoke, killing time, and someone would make him laugh, which happened often. He’d throw his head back and laugh in this beautifully disarming, delightful way that made everyone laugh right along with him. And he was such a guy, such a dude: Just give him a cigarette and a beer and he was good. He was sexy before I even knew what that was.
Then there was Ian, who had come to LA from the New York theater world. That’s what struck me the most about him: that he was enthusiastic and wise and ambitious as all hell. I remember that we had to kiss in one of the earlier episodes, like right after we had met, and he asked me if we could go to the garage of this house we were shooting at “to rehearse.” I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “Sure,” and went along. It was the most awkward situation yet . . . one little practice peck and I said, “Okay! I’m good!” Of course, I know now that you don’t have to “rehearse” those kisses . . . I told you he was ambitious!
Ian is, in a word, gung ho. I don’t think he’s met a challenge that hasn’t excited him, including, just last year, appearing with the Chippendales in Las Vegas. Shannen and I flew out to catch his once-in-a-lifetime performance, and I was bowled over by how damn buff and hot the man is—and he’s pushing fifty! We had a blast, and it felt great to be around him again. I miss all that Ian energy. And that sly, sly smile.
I do have one Ian story—one that he actually loves to tell. I was dating this guy and Ian was dating some lovely young woman, and the four of us wound up in a hot tub together back at Ian’s place. Someone was stroking Ian’s arm and he assumed it was me, since I was sitting next to him, but after a few minutes, this hand comes up out of the water and rests on his shoulder and starts massaging his neck. He looks over at me, and at the same instant we both realize it’s not my hand; it’s the hand of my date! I will never, ever forget the look on Ian’s face at that moment. Or how much fun he’s had telling that story all these years.
And sweet Brian, the youngest and by far hippest of the group. I swear, that one started out just a boy and ended up a true hunk of a man! I watched him transform from peach-fuzz-faced, wide-eyed, and innocent, to this strong, silent, tattooed gentleman with piercing eyes and the charms and manners of a saint. Brian went through a number of phases over the course of our years working together. The one that stands out for me was when he was producing music and really starting to find his own identity amid all the commotion. The other guys would tease him about his hip-hop flair, but Brian knew what was up far more than any of us, and I always respected him for standing his ground and being true to himself in the face of their nonsense.
And then there was Luke, the mystery man who joined us for that breakout summer season as a guest star and who was so alluring and magnetic that he became a regular cast member. Whereas Jason was so personable and charming, Luke was broody and elusive. He never said a lot. He wasn’t friendly. He always seemed to have a toothpick in his mouth, a ball cap pulled down low. He totally had that James Dean thing going on, you know? I never saw him reading poetry, but I imagined he would. He was the recluse. The unattainable one.
Luke’s quietness appealed to me. His unfussy confidence really drew me in. We were comrades in our appreciation of silence. We connected almost instantly in a pretty deep way, but I think we both knew that our friendship needed to be just the way it was: accepted and not tampered with.
So what was I to do with all of these luscious men around me? Of course we flirted with one another—constantly! Every day on set was a flirt-fest, but it was all pretty harmless, because we all usually had romantic partners off-set. But we were young, we were holed up together, and when we weren’t working, what were we to do? Flirt. Flirt like there was no tomorrow.
KELLY AND DYLAN FOREVER
Now that I’ve described the manscape of the 90210 set, I’m sure you want every sordid, sizzling detail of what really went on behind the scenes of 90210, especially between Kelly and Dylan, meaning me and Luke.
Let’s see: Where to begin?
One very hot, sunny day we were on location at the beach. We’d been shooting a scene out on the water, one that involved Jet Skis. Think of it as the 90210 version of us galloping bareback on horses down a deserted beach at sunset. You get the picture. I was wearing a PG-13, yet supercute bikini; Luke was wearing board shorts. And of course, just to make it hotter, we were both wearing big, bulky life jackets. Nineties sexy!
So, we were out there, buzzing around in the surf off Santa Monica. When the scene wrapped and we were breaking for lunch, I hopped on the back of a Jet Ski driven by a bodyguard while Luke took off on his own. I can’t quite remember what happened next, but I think there was a fishing line cast off the pier, and the guy driving my Jet Ski didn’t see it until it nearly sliced us both in two. Just before that could happen, he yelled, “Jump!” and so I did. Before I could catch my breath, it hit me. Or something hit me. Hard. I remember a loud thunk, and then under the water I went. I was out cold.
Next thing I knew, I was on the sand, a cluster of people around me. There was a paramedic on one side of me, gently placing a neck stabilizer around my shoulders, and another one, a cute one, leaning over me.
“What’s your name?” he said.
I guess whatever I said came out all garbled. I wasn’t quite awake yet, apparently.
So he asked another question: “Who is the current president?”
At that point, Luke chimed in: “Well, she wouldn’t know the answer to that one even on the best of days.”
“Fuck you, Luke!” I couldn’t believe that was what came out of my mouth.
But it did.
The cute paramedic called out, “She’s all right, everybody.”
But just to be safe, they whisked me off to the hospital, with Luke hovering nervously over me. Before I was even able to strip and get into one of those white gowns that showcases your bare ass, Luke blurted out, “I ran over you with the Jet Ski. I’m sorry.”
You heard right, people: Luke Perry ran me over with a Jet Ski. Knocked me out cold while I was dog-paddling in the freezing-cold Pacific Ocean.
“Why did you jump in the water?” He was looking at me with his best Dylan McKay puppy-dog eyes. I hated when he did that.
I was too cold and too blurry-headed at that moment to tell him that I had leaped off that moving Jet Ski in order to save my life, but I did tell him later, and to this day, he still thinks that’s a load of bullshit.
I had a wicked headache that night, and since then my memory hasn’t been that great— Hold on just one dang minute. Luke Perry. Jet Ski. Shitty memory. It’s all coming together. . . .
Actually, to be fair, I also sent Luke to the ER one time, too.
The product that we went through by the caseload on the set of 90210 was Binaca breath spray. Remember that stuff? It came in a little skinny palm-size aerosol can. With just one discreet spritz . . . your mouth was on fire!
We used it all the time, because in every episode there were at least one or two makeout sessions, and since we all lived on top of one another, using that stuff was the least we could do.
So one scorching afternoon, when it was about three hundred degrees out, Luke and I had a love scene to film on a makeshift soundstage out behind our ghetto studio in Van Nuys. We were all so hot and crabby, and Luke was poking at me, busting me about something, anything, just trying to get me to laugh, but what he was doing was really pissing me off. Just as they were setting up the shot, he mouthed off and . . .
Spritzzzzz! I shot him with my Binaca. And nailed him right in the eye.
It was an accident! I swear; it was an involuntary reaction to his badgering me, which, if you asked him, he’d tell you was one of his favorite things to do. He was having a ball, just pushing away at my buttons, and so I responded by pushing my own button. My hand just shot up, I pumped the Binaca, and Luke shut up. And so did his eye. Man, that thing proceeded to swell up to the size of a baseball (I am not kidding you), but instead of him being whisked off to the hospital the way I had been, he had to finish our scene.
I remember the camera guys kind of looked at him and cringed and then they turned his body so the blob that used to be his right eye was hidden from view. So I “made love” to the left side of his face, and even though it took some time, we got the shot and wrapped for the day.
Once the crew had broken down their equipment, they took Luke to the hospital, just to make sure he wasn’t going to be permanently blinded. To this day he can still be such a baby about that incident, and I don’t know why. It’s not like it caused any permanent damage, like severe memory loss or anything! But despite how much pain we’ve caused each other, or maybe because of it, we’re still friends.
I think our friendship was initially forged around what happened to us when the popularity of the show exploded. One time Luke and I had an appearance, just the two of us, at the San Diego Zoo. We weren’t there five minutes when our appearance became the main attraction, and I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we actually did feel like we were on display like the animals. The fans who came out to see us grew into a huge and rowdy crowd pretty quickly. Our trip to the zoo had become a zoo. At this point in our careers, we just weren’t very aware of our fame, because we spent all of our days sequestered on set out in happening Van Nuys. We were working all the time and had, very literally, been hidden away from the clamor and rigmarole surrounding 90210, so we were pretty oblivious. Now here we were at the zoo, and Luke was all excited, because the promoters of the event had promised us a private tour of the animal exhibits after we’d signed a bunch of autographs. We were walked out onto a little makeshift platform, and before you know it, there were a hundred people, then five hundred, then a thousand, then two thousand. I am not exaggerating! The San Diego Zoo is enormous, and the crowd swelled so quickly that the promoters grabbed us both and led us through the animal enclosures to safety. There we were, running through the aviaries and the lion’s run and past the elephant enclosure, and all Luke wanted to do was stop and look around—he wanted that private tour!
I don’t know what it is about him, but he is one of my all-time favorite people, one of my best, most cherished friends. I can count on him for anything. Back in the day, that meant getting to sneak the odd puff off his cigarette, or swear like a truck driver because I didn’t have to be all helpless and soft around him. I could just be myself. It was, and still is, like that for us.
He was the one man, besides my dad, who could see through my girlie-girl routine and call a spade a spade with me. He, better than anyone, knows that I’m no dumb blonde.
We see each other pretty regularly, and not too long ago I ran into him in the pediatrician’s office where both of our kids are treated. I was so surprised to find him there that I kind of ran over toward him, my arms outstretched to hug him—and I promptly tripped over the scale and knocked my head on the wall. I don’t know why, but he does that to me.
This is what I love about Luke: Even though he brings out the total dork in me, I know that he’ll always have my back. If I were ever to fall, I’m certain he would catch me—unless, of course, he was the one who pushed me over the edge.
So there’s the dirt on us. There’s the big reveal about Kelly and Dylan. We are friends, and sometimes we had to make out at work. We are forever, Luke and I.
Actually all of us are: Ian, Brian, Jason, Gab, Tori, and Shannen. We are friends and family. Forever.
HOUSEKEEPING
I was nineteen when I bought my first house, a rickety little blue number on a hillside in Sherman Oaks. I experienced a lot of firsts there, including my first earthquake. I was in bed when it hit, which meant I was perched on a mattress that was on top of one of those flimsy metal frames that come with a new mattress. Well, that bed kind of bounced across the floor—with me in it. The first thing that went through my mind, after my brain registered “earthquake,” was that AC/DC song, “You Shook Me All Night Long,” and I remember looking around in fascination as art fell off the walls and things flew off of shelves and everything around me just rattled and rolled. It was wild. I have to say, there is something pretty theme-park-ride thrilling about your first California quake, especially when there is no serious damage that follows the ride.
I loved that little house, but sometimes I’d get a little spooked being there by myself, especially at night. It was built right on the street, which, when I first bought it, wasn’t a problem at all, since I was just like every other teenager in LA, scrambling around behind the scenes trying to make something happen. But once 90210 started gaining that crazy momentum, I found my little house to be just a bit too exposed, and pretty much wide-open to any creep or stalker who wanted to walk right up to my windows and check me out. And yes, this did happen to me, but it was usually a carful of loud teenage girls—driven by one of their mothers—who was usually more excited than her kids to catch a glimpse of me.
I remember one night, though, when I could have sworn I heard someone lurking around the bushes outside, and so I called my neighbors, a lovely older couple who seemed supersolid and settled—and extremely safe. Well, the man, Don, came right over—with a giant shotgun draped over his arm. He looked around, gave me the all-clear, and then left. I was really glad he didn’t have to use that gun.
At about this time, I was advised to get a housekeeper, because apparently this was what you did in Hollywood when you were a full-time working actress. I guessed it didn’t matter that I didn’t have much that needed cleaning, since I would come home from work and fill the time before going to bed cleaning or baking. But I kept hearing ho
w having someone to help out at home would make my life easier, so I interviewed several people and ended up hiring a lovely young woman named Evangelina. She spoke next to no English and I spoke no Spanish, but somehow we figured out that she was going to work for me, and on her first day, she came, she cleaned, she conquered. I watched in awe as she moved around like a ninja, making my already tidy place spotless. When she was finished, I paid her and thanked her profusely—in English, while she nodded and thanked me in Spanish. We both stood there, nodding and thanking each other, and we did this for as long as we could until it just got really quiet. Evangelina wasn’t leaving, and I didn’t understand why. Finally, after standing there staring at each other for about five minutes, she said, “Okay. I be back.” Then she turned and walked out the door.
Sure enough, the next week, on the same day, at the same time, she came back. When I got home that day, I noticed that she’d subtly arranged things so that it felt more like someone actually lived there, as opposed to being the crash pad of a lonely teenage girl who was off working fifteen hours a day. When I walked through the door, I was struck by how thrilled I was to see her radiant smile, and I realized that I was feeling kind of sad about saying good-bye to her. Again, we thanked each other. Again, we stood there, by my front door, in awkward silence. Then she nodded, smiled, and said, “Okay. I be back.”