When Tink and I married over 14 years ago, we kept an apartment in Los Angeles for a couple of years because he was steadily shooting on studio lots.
Regularly, one of us would fly to see the other and, usually, that was me because he was working. To make things easier, I took duplicate cosmetics, hair supplies, and a small amount of clothes and shoes which included four or five dresses.
Now, let me explain this: In small, country Baptist churches, we have summer revivals and many are faithful to the tradition of a morning service as well as an evening service. From my teenage years, I developed a system of “revival day dresses and revival night dresses.”
The day dresses were more casual, comfortable and, quite often, old but beloved. To Los Angeles, I sent “revival day dresses.” One was a deep blue patterned, wrap dress that was comfortable and flattering. It was also old and cheap, having cost around $40 when I bought it.
One morning, as Tink was getting ready for work, I was having coffee and checking emails, getting ready to start a busy day.
He came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand and said, “Oh! I forgot to tell you – we’re having a red-carpet event tonight for the show’s premiere. We need to leave around six.”
“What!?!” I screeched. “A red carpet event? I don’t have anything to wear.” This was quite literally true. I knew the cast and guests would be dressed in major designer fashions.
He shrugged. “Go shopping today and buy something.”
I was growing more distressed by the moment. “I can’t go shopping. I have a book deadline. I have to write.”
“You’ll find something,” he replied.
I had no choice. I went to the closet and the only possibility was the old, $40 dress. I did have a nice pair of shoes to wear and a pair of cheap pearls. I knew I was way out of my league.
From the time we arrived, with sinking heart, I watched beautiful stars walk in and pose wearing incredible dresses. The show’s star, Jennifer Love Hewitt, was stunning. I felt like crying. She immediately came over to Tink and he introduced us. Babbling, I tried to explain why I was in an old church dress.
She, genuinely, sweetly, hugged me and said, “You’re beautiful. You would look good in a sackcloth.” She laughed. “I’m from Texas. I can say that.”
Wherever the star is, cometh the sycophants and other cast. Soon, there was a circle of us and five women. The sycophant was a minor network executive standing by me. Fairly quickly, I realized that she refused to look at or speak to me and was very slowly nudging me out of the circle. She was twice as tall as me, so she was quite capable of easily excluding me. Pretty quickly, she had pushed me out of the circle between sips of wine and there I, the premiere’s poor girl, was standing outside, looking in.
Thankfully, Tink realized in a minute or two that I had disappeared. He’s been in Hollywood long enough to realize what had happened. He took my arm, pulled me back into the circle, and said to the woman I call “Meanie,” “Have you met my wife?”
I could have knocked her over with a feather. I wish I had. Since Tink was the showrunner and key executive producer, she had no choice but to backtrack and drivel with insincerity. Sickening.
Two other show stars, not knowing who I was, spoke to me. Elisabeth Rohm, whom I had often watched on Law and Order, was passing by. Without looking at my ragged dress, she said, “You are so lovely.”
Moments later, an introduction to former Memphis beauty queen (and Elvis’s girlfriend), Cybill Shepherd, produced a similar, welcomed compliment.
But it taught me a lesson: Always wear your Sunday best.
Ronda Rich is the bestselling author of the Stella Bankwell series. Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her weekly newsletter.
