Idol Truth by Leif Garrett

Author:Leif Garrett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: N/A
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2019-09-03T16:00:00+00:00

My Dinner With Brooke

To celebrate the success of my CBS prime-time special, Tony Scotti had a party at his house. The minute I walked into his Beverly Hills home, I couldn’t help but notice that, in my opinion, it was a total reflection of his personal style: lots of tacky nouveau riche excess in red and gold—bold, loud, and gaudy.

It wasn’t a big party, just the inner circle of Scotti confidants, with the addition of Brooke Shields and her mom, Teri. Brooke had been terrific on the show. Even though she was just fourteen, she wasn’t just beautiful; she was funny, she had good timing, and I think the sketches she and I did were some of the highlights of the show. The mood that night was celebratory; the show had received lots of positive attention, and I think it was being viewed as a big career boost for me. But as the party was mostly adults, Brooke and I naturally gravitated toward each other. Even though she was a few years younger than I was, I still found her to be super pretty and sweet, and she seemed to have more than a little bit of a crush on me. We were talking by ourselves at one point, and I asked her, “Why don’t you and I go out and have dinner one night?” I had recently gotten my driver’s license, I had my new Porsche 914 2.0, and I was feeling more confident and footloose than ever as the world had begun opening for me like the oyster it was.

Her eyes lit up, and she said she’d ask her mother. Teri’s reputation in the business as a hyper-protective mama bear was both well-earned and well-respected. She fiercely guarded her daughter’s career, and looking back, I can honestly say, as strict as she may have come off to some, I wish my mom had done the same thing. That said, I should not have been too surprised when later in the evening, with a death-ray stare and more than a little alcohol on her warm breath, Teri whispered to me, with disarming calm, “You touch her, I’ll kill you. If there are any photos taken, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” I nodded slowly, expressionless, quite confident in her promise to deliver (I will add that, for some strange reason forever lost in the mists of time, this conversation took place under a table, just the two of us).

I pulled Tony aside that night and said, “Look, I want to take Brooke out to dinner this week, but it needs to be very discreet. Teri means business. I don’t want to die. I need you to help me out.”

My idea was to take her to Ma Maison over on Melrose. The restaurant had been opened several years earlier, in 1973, by a Parisian named Patrick Terrail, and it was the place—so exclusive that its phone number was unlisted. As the saying went, “If you don’t have the number, we don’t want you.

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