Prairie Tale: A Memoir by Melissa Gilbert

Author:Melissa Gilbert [Gilbert, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Entertainment & Performing Arts, General, United States, Personal Memoirs, Television actors and actresses - United States, Rich & Famous, Gilbert; Melissa, Television actors and actresses, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Women
ISBN: 9781416599142
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2009-06-08T21:00:00+00:00

Per Rob, the next step was moving in with him. He wanted me to move from my mother’s guesthouse into his mother’s guesthouse.

However, his was more than fourteen feet away from the main house, and he had redone it in American Gigolo style, bachelor pad chic, featuring black lacquer cabinets, leather furniture, glass bricks, Bang & Olufsen electronics, and a splash of neon light. By contrast, my place was done with funky, comfortable furniture tending toward the style that would become known as shabby chic, with beautiful art nouveau accents. I also had three cats, Sylvester, Cairo, and her son, Dr. Murray Schwartz, as well as my dog, Sidney Beagleman. Rob had a cat, too, an Abyssinian named Bob Love.

I didn’t see how the hell my stuff was going to blend with Rob’s. Nor did I see how we were going to share his closet, which already overflowed with designer clothes and wardrobe from his various movies. Also, he didn’t have a doggie door for Sidney. But every time I raised a new obstacle or problem, Rob told me not to worry, that we’d figure it out, and we did.

We worked out more than just living arrangements. In one of our conversations, we divulged to each other what had been going on while we were apart. I told Rob that I’d been seeing someone very seriously, but had ended it for him. He told me about the craziness of his relationship with Stephanie. After everything was finally purged, I said, “So let me ask you a question about you and Stephanie.”

“Yes?” he said.

“What is it like fucking yourself? You guys are clones. What’s it like?”

He just smiled his adorable Rob grin.

“You noticed?”

“Who didn’t,” I said. “I mean, she’s clearly not just any other seashell, is she?”

After agreeing on a summer wedding date, Rob left for St. Augustine, Florida, where he began making Illegally Yours, and I turned my attention to actual wedding plans. I pored through bridal magazines, looked for dresses, and met with wedding planners, florists, and caterers to get ideas. Rob and I talked numerous times a day. He was more into the guest list, a monster task that began to resemble an awards show seating chart with all its nuanced complications. One day he said if we were going to have Francis Ford Coppola, we needed to invite Oliver Stone, too. I pointed out that we didn’t know Oliver. Rob said, “Yeah, but we really should.”

There were many similarly nutty conversations. Like could we invite Demi and still have Emilio? Could we invite my friend Leilani’s sister, who had had a less serious thing with Emilio but a thing nonetheless? Judd or his ex, Loree? On and on ad nauseam. At one point, I felt like we had to invite everyone or no one, because it seemed as if everyone in Hollywood, at least those we knew, had slept with one another. Us included. It convinced me that one day way in the future, the industry will

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