So, I'd like to preface this story, that the reality of the situation did not become clear until some obvious tells were pointed out to me by other people who were either there, or heard the reciting of the tale after the fact. I am not bi sexual or gay, nor have ever been curious, let alone attracted sexually to Pee Wee, I was only and honestly enchanted by meeting and hanging out with the first movie star I ever noticed. (when I was 8)
My first opportunity to the hob of knobbing was at an annual event called the Super Ball. Well known and respected in the more eclectic Hollywood community, this once a year party was thrown by none other than Joel Hodgson. For those of you who aren't immediately stunned and amazed, Joel was once upon a time the host of a popular though somewhat odd tv show called Mystery Science Theater 3000, (or MST3k). Yes that's the one. With the two robots and the dude who heckled bad movies in a spacecraft orbiting the moon. Yea! He was the dude with the robots. Anyway, sure he was a class B celebrity, but he is a king among the C list, and a friend among the A list. After everybody enjoys a great party, especially one that's great every year. It was at this party, Super ball 8, that I met Paul, aka, Pee Wee Herman.
I was on the third or fourth lap of the party, located on a rented studio lot, half indoor half out. There was an open bar with 5 bartenders mixing up the baddest mai tais' you had ever hoped to sip on. Fortunately, my brother had driven that night, so I was well into the party cups when I bumped into a big grizzly dude, scrawny, but tall, big curly hair, an afro but to white for that, with thick rimed glassed. Somewhat stunned I knew his face and then his name while he mentioned something about relaxing I didn't slosh on his flower print Hawaiian T shirt. God damn if it wasn't Weird Al Yankovic.
My first real celebrity sighting! Stunned but trying to play it cool, Al and I talked about where he has been, and the absolute genius of his Lola re-make back in 84'. Chart stopper that was. Sipping on my potent mai tai, eyeing the candy at the party, trying not to sway when someone I know I knew but couldn't place rolled up behind Al, sporting a new Superball ring (Joel gives them out every year, it's a badge, and a privilege). "Hi Al" says the familiar stranger and then it slips though the fog I know that voice. Its Pee Wee Herman! "Call me Paul" he says and a half amused and meloncalie tone. Yes, I said it out loud, and now him and Al were looking at me with that "this must be your first celebrity sighting, you dumbass" look.
As if on cue, my brother, the industry guy who knows Joel's wife well and scored us the invites rolls up sticking his hand out to a warm introduction to Al and Paul. Relieved form the jack ass situation I just barley survived I relax into my drink and bask in the aura of the party itself. Not the socialite my brother is, I interject in conversation and the like all the while I keep noticing PW glancing at me in kind of a funny way. Blowing it off as just being buzzed and nearly drunk, I wander off in search of a jon and a smoke. Sometime later in a continues state of wander and pleasure seeking, I find myself escaping a live band and starting at Courtney Cox's almost perfect ass while having a smoke, when PW says hello.
Still embarrassed about the newb shit from earlier I try and relax and try not to be the dumb ass fan them I'm sure he runs into all the time. I don't recall everywhere the conversation went, but we talked about normal shit, life, the industry, what I did, what he didn't do in theaters, etc etc. When hes like, "Ive got a show running at the groundlings, you should come check it out…" I didn't know what the groundlings, was, though I was down for a free show. How bad could it be, PW was in it. handing me a business card, "call me this weekend, Ill put you on the list.." Thanks, I said, and with that he walked off. Flipping the white paper card over in my hand, "Hermon Productions" the night morphed into a surreal experience, and I was convinced I was drunk and it was time to leave.
Few days later, I ran into my brother and started discussing the evening as a hole. I mentioned that PW had slipped me a card and I was going to go see him at the Groundlings sometime soon, and he immediacy began laughing. "Yea, I picked him up on my Gaydar, I though he liked me, though looks like it was interested in you" I wasn't about to believe him. PW is not only not gay, he thought I was cool, and wanted to hang out, catch a show or something. My brother's accusations quickly dismissed, I call PW the next day only to find his show was over, but perhaps we could garb some food and chill a bit. Cool, sounded fun.
After setting the time, I get directions to PW's house up in the Hollywood hills. Its exactly what you would expect from a top notch movie star. Crawling up a winding road, past houses I can never afford and cars id never own, I finally make it to the tip top of this mountain and am forced to stop before the last house on the hill, fronted by a very large, and very ominous black iron gate. Sensing my presence, or perhaps via closed circuit television, the large gate came to life and slowly swung open to allow my entrance into what I will soon refer to as the Fortress of Pee Wee.
A little nervous and little overwhelmed, PW greeted me in the drive with a smile and a hand shake. I don't know what I was expecting, a grey suit, red bow tie, maybe long hair and a deviated septum and coke head sniffle. Instead, I found a mid forties dude, short hair, jeans and a collard shirt in the front yard of any suburban home (minus the stunning view of downtown la) trickling steam, grass, a favorite tree, and of course a modest ranch style home. After some casual chit chat, PW invited me inside and I caught my first glimpse of the Fortress of PW. Located on the door jam was an almost invisible black key bad. Almost something out of a movie, PW leans over, blocking my view and punched in a complicated multi digit code popping and electric lock in the door, and granting entrance to his den.
I was immediately struck by the number of photographs and pieces of artwork on the walls of his foyer. I'm sure the were famous people, or people of some kind of importance, as the P man himself was in almost every one. The second thing I noticed as we moved deeper into the PW den, was the clutter. Ultimate packrat this guy was, so much so, he actually closed of a wing of the house so not to be viable. I asked him what room that was, and only a "maybe later" response was provided. My overactive imagination took off and was again distracted by the largest lava lamp Id ever seen in my life. This yellow glob had to be at least four feet tall, and flanked by a couple of lounge chairs. Never mind this little groove center was located in the end of the master bedroom.
This was clearly where PW spent most of his time, taking a seat next to the big yellow globing tank of glass and wax, I continued to take in my surroundings as PW handed me a pipe filled with green, just like the caterpillar on top of the mushroom in Alice in wonderland…steel bedroom door with dead bolt.. bullet proof glass for the patio door…security panel on the wall.. curious more than uncomfortable, I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into.
Puff puff puff went the pipe. Now I am by no means a random pot smoker. I've been smoking since I was about 16, and for the first several years I was literally stoned all day everyday. I was not however prepared for the quality of grass that Pee Wee scored. Needless to say, after three or four tokes, I was fucking blasted. Again my gaze drifted around the room while we discussed this that and the other. Transfixed by the four foot yellow lava lamp I was caught by a piece of conversation I seemed to be in the middle of:
"yea, I don't know why, but him and I aren't friends anymore.." said the P man
"why not..?
"I think his friends said that we shouldn't be hanging out. "
"seems kinda stupid all in all, what is he in high school?" I asked rhetorically
"No college, UCLA"
So yes it was a little odd the PW was kicking it with college age guys, going shopping "hanging out" to the point that dudes friends gave him shit over it, but hey, he's probably just trying to fuck some younger ass.. My brain did a skip on this thought and my carefully placed veil of delusion was starting to slip. Getting up I asked for directions to the bath room and went into a tiled room slightly smaller than my current living room.
There was a walk down (yes, walk down as in with stairs) sunken tub a shower couple sinks and right on the edge of the tub there was what appeared to be a strategically placed playboy mag from almost a year ago. Now I've got a pretty good intuition and I couldn't help but think that it was put there for some reason. I mean my god, who sits in the tub and reads classic porn? The oddest thing though was when I went to leave the bathroom and got a look at the door. It wasn't a regular door. It was clearly made of some heavy solid wood. A steel door jam could be penetrated by a sliding bolt. And I mean a fucking bolt. This isn't no on your screen door job, this was a piece of 1/8 thick, 1" wide sliding bolt like you see in a fucking bank or the cops busting their way through on their way into a suburban meth lab.
"So what's with the security PW?" I finally asked as I returned from the john.. After all I did have to, this was just getting to weird. "well a few years ago I had a stalker, who came to my house, and beat on my doors in the middle of the night and tried to break into the house" "must have been a serious stalker to warrant bullet proof patio glass.." I replied. "yes he was pretty serious" Yes I caught the "he" and it buzeed around my already buzzin head. The desire to flee started building up within in me however I was in no shape to drive let alone back down this fucking mountain with all its twisting turning single lane road.
"want to see the rest of the house?" PW askes to change the subject, sure sounds like a great idea. Of course the outside patio of the master bedroom had a spectacular view of the Hollywood hills. Dropping off from his back porch into the Los Angeles forest natural preserve it was simply something anyone would love. I figured however that a man with this kind of money would hire a gardner once and a while, to you know trim the bushes and what not. Though at closer inspection there appeared to be what looked like PVC pipes jutting out about 14" from the bushes about 4 feet off the ground and running down the mountain to destinations unknown. While observation the pool and having a wild fantasy of Hollywood type hotties scantily clad around the Greek and modern roman architecture around the pool, the purpose of the pipe becomes apparent as PW shovel scoops a load of dog food down the tube to the mountain below. "I feed the deer".. Um..ok. this guy is definitely off center and I was beginning to get the feeling that PW man of action didn't get much company up here to his Eagles Nest.
Back inside the house a long hallway wound from the back bedroom to the kitchen living room on the walls were literally hundreds of pictures and photographs of PW with celebrities, headshots, works of art and the like. I remember about a year after I kicked it with the P man, hearing on the news he had been arrested for maintaining a kiddie porn art collection that was somewhat subjective in nature. I further don't recall seeing anything that I would construed kiddie anything on the walls of his house "prominently displayed" as the allegations depicted.
This however may have been in the living room, a room in witch I was not given a tour of. Just off the kitchen the door was closed and the entry blocked. "what's in there" I asked in curiously "oh the living room.. maybe Ill show you that later.." wink wink nod nod. Now what ever he had back there, I kind of wish he would have showed me, as I suspect it would have helped this little story.
The tour ended in the kitchen (the man desperately needed a maid) as perhaps he was sensing my general discomfort and the whole scenic tour or towards him in general when he recommended we go and get a bit to eat. Anxious to get out of his fortress and my skull still over toasted from the fine ass weed, we head for his Lexus and began our decent down the mountain.
I would like to say I remember the trip though the winding trails and hairpin curves, but I really didn't. The fact of the matter is I was scared out of my mind. Who would have thought PW was an aspiring formula one driver? Trying to look relaxed, my foot went looking for the imaginary break pedal as he would come too damn close to the edge of the road, no guard rail mind you to protect one from the hundreds of foot fall off the side of the road. Tumbling and bursting into flames only to be found later deceased with once famous TV star Paul Rubens. Houses, mansions and parked sports and luxury cars blurred by as The P chatted about some shit I don't recall.
So after the exhilarating ride, and back roads though Hollywood, we wind up at this hole in the wall Mexican joint, that PW frequents often by the way he was greeted. The walls were covered with famous peoples' headshots and I do mean covered. Most places in LA have a dozen or so, but this place easily had 100 covering its walls. Though I quickly found out why when we were seated the booths were specifically designed so that no only did no body walk by, but you wouldn't able see any other booths from your own and you were somehow left with the feeling that you were the only ones in the restaurants. I had never been there before and tried to find it again later, though I never did. I suppose I was too lost or out of my mind while getting there, not to mention just happy to be alive.
There we were, alone and sipping beers, food ordered, chimichanga for me, I don't remember what he ate. I love chimiechangas and order them where ever the opportunity presents itself. I was pretty much sold on the intuition now that although PW has been nice, and hanging out was cool he was clearly hitting on me and wanted a piece of the Mike. I didn't allow my mind to wonder if he was a top or bottom, into fetishes or what. The meal was wrapping up, and being the point in a date where I would be making my move, PW changed the course of conversation from his role in playing a queer in Blow to dropping innuendo to blow jobs.
Taking cue I summoned the courage though the grassy and now beer buzzed haze to ask "So ive heard a rumor around that sometimes you've been known to go both ways….." After careful consideration and a mischievous grin stretched across his buzz cut skull I committed my self to never see again, the confession was achieved "yes, Ive been known to experiment"
The gauntlet was throw down, my sexual identity and the subsequent evening was left in the balance. Fortunately, the waitress brought the check to interrupt the moment giving me pause to consider my options. Shall I reject PW sever this wonderful and somewhat enlightened friendship, all subsequent bragging rights and insights into pseudo celebrity or, maintain my well developed sexual identity and return meekly to straight obscurity.
The waitress leaving us alone again I made the quite simple declaration "I've never been known to go both ways.." it was out, there he had it, though he didn't seem disappointed, rather oddly amused. "known to have gone anfd going are two diffrent things..." slithered from his lips like a serpants tounge. Reaching for my wallet PW stopped me mid grasp "Oh no I've got it.." pulling his billfold out resting his arms on the table. The air seemed to thicken as he thummed through 50 dollar bills as if trying to select the right one to bay the 40 odd some dollar check with.. "hmmmmm witch 50 should I choose out of all of these many 50's?" so said his thumbs.
Of course I was flattered that the PW would pay the check and I was under no disillusions that he was in fact offering me cash to ride my ass…or something equally sinister. As a crafty veteran of such solicitations I pretended not to notice the thumb action and instead started intently into the foam at the bottom of my beer until he finally selected the perfect 50 and dropped it on the table.
Quickly thereafter we abandoned the invisible mexi joint and we're racing back up the mountain through streets that seemed familiar for only a moment in the darkness. Mentally forcing myself sober, doing a few isometrics and what not, I willed away the lingering cloud of grass buzz and slight beer buzz that was not for the circumstances quite pleasant.
Alas the last turn was rounded and the great iron gates of PW's mountain top fortress appeared and opened as we passed through. My lonely black 4runner sat patiently in the drive way as if calling me to flee and to freedom. Out of the car and in the drive, PW asked if I wanted to some in for another smoke. On the spot for the inevitable rejection, late as it was (like 9 o clock) I politely declined and murmmered some sort of bullshit im sorry I don't recall. I do however recall a final look of disappointment and resignation in Pw, was I really a catch oddly flattered for a nanosecond before offing my hand for a shake and walking quickly to my truck without trying to look like i was in a hurry.
Crawling my way down the mountain through the twisting darkness, I wondered if I would ever see PW again, whether I would make it home without incurring a DWI, whether my brother would have banged him, and how I should have asked where I could get a 4' tall lava lamp.
