So That Happened by Jon Cryer

Author:Jon Cryer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-03-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

And This Is Tuesday, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha

By the end of the eighties I was pretty disappointed that my stardom hadn’t introduced me to a behind-the-scenes world of sexual debauchery I assumed was de rigueur in Hollywood. Although I got into show business because I loved acting and performing, there was always a secret part of me that wanted the embossed invitation to the hush-hush orgy, the casual Malibu cookout that suddenly turns into a vigorous game of nude Twister, or the night out at the swanky club during which gyrating lesbians pull you into a back room for a private show in which they pass cigarettes back and forth. (I like girls who smoke, remember.)

And yet I had been unmolested by Hollywood decadence.

Enter my friend Richard, friend to Playmates, director of Playboy videos. We’d been pals only a few months when he said the magic words: “Hey, want to come to a party at the Playboy Mansion?”

Um, did Han shoot first?

This was it! I was going to the notorious home of the twentieth century’s foremost sexual hedonist and nudie-pictures purveyor, Hugh Hefner. Score! It was the infamous Pajama Party, too, when all the girls wore lingerie. So it wasn’t just attending a soiree at the Playboy Mansion—the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view would be scantily clad women! And, boy, I’d heard tales—vivid, mythic tales—about the Grotto, the rock-enclosed Jacuzzi heaven that hosted erotic escapades that defied the imagination.

I was going to get to see all of this? And maybe get some other senses involved, too? Don’t get ahead of yourself, Cryer.

I had to buy pajamas, of course. I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to go in boxers and a T-shirt. This wasn’t a come-as-you-sleep party. (Technically that’s a wet dream, but I hate puns.) I bought a cheap flannel combo at Macy’s, figuring the satin look of Hef was not mine to imitate. I was a newcomer. I had to earn the satin. That would come when I was a regular.

Richard and I pulled up to the mansion in Richard’s 1974 Corvette Stingray, which boasted a vanity plate that read, BONDAGE, and I was too in-the-moment to think about what it looked like for two guys in pajamas to get out of a car that said, BONDAGE. I was all atwitter, because I was prepping myself for the A-list, all-star bacchanal that awaited us behind the security guys with the guest list. This was my Steadicam moment from Goodfellas when Lorraine Bracco gets ushered through the back of the nightclub, introduced to a world of status and power, but that makes me Lorraine Bracco and Richard Ray Liotta, so let’s scotch that comparison. I was excited; let’s just leave it at that.

The doors open, we walk through into a tented backyard, and my eyes are like a heat-seeking paparazzi Terminator, ready to zero in on all the big names, your Nicholsons, your Beattys. . . .

The first face I recognize is Ed Begley Jr.’s.

Okay, not the biggest star, but a talented character actor! He was friendly, too.

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