Category: luke

Letterman Show was brilliant. Mum’s furious. I did the striptease. Dave’s idea, sort of. Well, okay, mostly not. Someone got some video of Bryan and Gwen in the Trentmobile. I okayed it. So now we’re an item.

Papa was going to fly in and didn’t. Too busy with the Cat. I should be happy about that because it gets him out of my face and I don’t have to run interference between him and Mum. Mum went back to bed after he called. I had to do that AIDS fundraiser at the Hilton, so I went without her, which was a good thing. Randi was there, too. And Whitley. He got that Tom Clancy project with Joaquin that I was going for. I’m okay with that; Kenny’s not. Right now I’m watching fireworks from the hotel window and wondering about that girl, Brigitta. Where did she come from? She almost doesn’t seem real.

Mum insisted I go out last night so I could be seen in Manhattan. Bryan has to stay out of sight in LA while I’m here. Todd came with me. Mum stayed in the hotel room.

Went clubbing with Randi, who’s here for SNL.  Drank too much. I’m such an idiot. Randi was sitting in my lap and my head was spinning and a bunch of photographers were there. Kenny always says any press is good press.

Spent the morning in bed with an ice pack wondering if someone set a detonator inside my head. Mum’s drinking coffee with vodka while I type this. I hate myself.

Letterman’s tomorrow, so I’d better pull myself together. Can’t stand TV. Forgot Great Expectations, so am filling time by reading Genesis out of the hotel Bible. Mum used to like stuff like this. Garden of Eden is cool.

I met a girl. Well, I almost got killed by a cougar and then I met a girl. Long story short: Out communing with Nature. Nature includes big, big cat. Golden eyes. Huge teeth. Thought I was dead. Wonder Woman comes flying in, whapping the cat with her coat. Cat wouldn’t budge, even when we both threw rocks and branches. Thought I was even more dead and so was the girl. Then, the cat just leaves.

The girl—Brigitta is her name—she was unbelievable. I don’t even know where she came from; she was like a dryad. I mean, it was like something out of Imlandria. She’s gorgeous: long honey-blond hair, green eyes. Nothing like the Hollywood girls. I grabbed her and held her. Hope she didn’t think I was crazy. We were both shaking so bad.

Wow. I nearly died. And she nearly died. And that cougar was so—well, he was terrifying, but also absolutely breathtaking. I didn’t think places like this existed anymore.

Mum was furious that I’d gone out without telling her because we had to get over to John’s to fly out, which is where I am now. At 30,000 feet. She thinks I’m not ready for Letterman. God, what’s to get ready? She thinks this is the show where I’m supposed to prove I’m a “serious actor.” Uh huh. Why do I have to prove it? Didn’t I prove it at Cannes?

Frankly, they only invited me because Brad Pitt cancelled; I’m done with all my Rocket press. Dave better not ask me about Mum; that seems to be the hot celebrity news right now—Trent and his mentally ill mother.

Mum wants me to talk about deep emotional insights I gained from the role; it’s not her business or anyone else’s.

Maybe I’ll do a striptease.

That’d piss her off.

Mum freaked when she found out I went into town; I had bought a coffee and she saw the cup in the trash. She thinks I need to hide out here like a monk or something. “Rest, Michael,” she says. “Decompress.”

And I can’t tell her we’re here because of her—because she needs to decompress.

Okay. I am decompressing. Whatever the hell that is. I tried out “Luke” as a first name yesterday. I like it. Nobody wants anything out of Luke. He can do what he wants.

I’m supposed to be reading lines for Lamplighter and getting ready for Letterman and working on my abs. Papa’s really unhappy about my abs. Kenny told him I’m getting flabby. Like hell! I’m benching 250 pounds. I’d like to see either of them bench half that.

I have seven scripts sitting here that I’m supposed to read. Kenny has this outer space thing he’s dying for me to take, but it’ll force me to be two places at once if Lamplighter goes into sequels. And I can’t see doing the outer space thing. Reminds me of Laser Boy. He says to think like this is all temporary and could go away next week, so I have to work harder. Yeah, I know, and all I do is work. He’s afraid Whitley’s more popular than me. Do I care?

I’m not reading lines and I’m not working out and there’s nothing to “get ready” for Letterman. I’m reading Great Expectations. Next I’m going to read Crime and Punishment followed by Macbeth. I might even read the Bible. I am so sick of scripts.

Mum spent another day in bed, so I went into town to check things out. Nobody to tell me not to. Small. Really small: post office, some kind of bookstore, a coffee shop, three taverns, gas station, grocery store. Also an arcade. Weird not having Todd along, but it’s not like I’d need a bodyguard in a place like this, even if I was recognized. Which I wasn’t.

So I was playing Space Invaders and this girl jumped in there and landed on me. Dumped a bunch of books and crap. She had an Enquirer. God. She threw it away, which was funny. Like I’d caught her with porn or something. She had no idea who I was. Then her friend came in and said something like, “My God! Trent Yves!”

It was nice in a way. I was almost afraid I’d disappeared when nobody recognized me. I don’t think they watch movies or TV here; I think they just have bear wrestling and log rolling contests. Yeah, yeah. This is what I wanted. Anonymity. Or at least anonymity for Mum. The girl with the Enquirer was cuter than her friend.

Everything sucks.

I don’t think this “hiding out” thing is going to work. I have to be in too many places, and if I’m gone, there’s no one to look after Mum. The movers are done and Kenny’s gone back to LA to torture all his other teen idols. (What’s a manager for?)  Todd’s sticking around until tomorrow and then I’m on my own, but I don’t think I need a bodyguard out in the middle of nowheresville.

We turned Bryan loose today as “Trent.” He wants to hang out with Gwen at the ranch and I said that would be all right. Good decision? Who knows? It could sink both me and Gwen. But if it means it’ll look like I’m “taken,” I’ll go along with it. Why not? I don’t want girls wanting stuff from me­—Gwen, Randi, anybody.

Papa called last night. Mum talked to him and now she’s been in bed all day. Screw him; I don’t know what his problem is. He’s back in Illinois and no one seems to have figured it out yet. Everyone thinks he’s still in France, which is all right with me. I could kill Kenny for that circus at the airport. “A tearful Trent bids a fond farewell to his asshole father.” I don’t know why I went along with it. Kenny thought it would be good for people to see him go to France—might even generate some American interest in Le Petit Chose. Yeah, right. Americans are so interested in French literature! It was a stupid idea from the beginning.

Papa’s been pissed about Le Petit Chose since it tanked. Everyone thought I did it for him, and maybe I did. François got the rights for a remake of Au Revoir Les Enfants and wants me to do it, but I’m not interested. I’m too old for the part anyway. It’s not like I can play 12-year-olds now. Finally.

I have to fly out to NY for Letterman over the 4^th.  Mum’s friend John’s letting us use his plane and pilot. No time even for fireworks.

I have a headache that won’t quit; I’m bored out of my mind and there’s nothing to do and no one for miles. Makes me want to drink. Not! But I don’t want to be in Malibu, having people chased out of my yard.