Ann Richards: Oh, What A Ride
As the reporter for the documentary and I stood around looking for good people for her to interview, I looked out the window and nearly fainted.
Walking toward the front door of the joint were Lily Tomlin, her partner Jane Wagner, and two other women who looked like they must be local handlers.
I nudged the reporter and said, "Holy fuck, look out the window! Here comes Lily Tomlin and her girlfriend!"
We scampered outside with her video crew and cornered them.
Lily agreed to be interviewed for the documentary, "after she'd been inside a while," so I stepped forward and reminded her of the time we'd met in Venice Beach in the mid 70's when she was marching up the Boardwalk with a bunch of women for the Equal Rights Amendment.
I admitted how intimidated I was to meet her back then, and how I'd created some bullshit name-dropping connection so she'd think I was cool.
She patted me, said, "Bless your heart," then was shuffled away by one of her handlers, a large, scowling butch of a Mulatto woman.
Later on, while Lily was inside the bar surrounded by ass kissers, I spied Jane Wagner standing at the bar talking to one of Ann's former staff members.
I horned in, said hello to both of them, then Jane--the creative genius behind Lily Tomlin's creative genius-- asked if she could buy me a drink.
The staffer drifted away from us, leaving me alone to chat with one of my true idols.
After we chatted briefly, Jane said she had been drinking a bit that day and that she needed to eat something.
Just then, my big sister and her partner walked by and said, "Let's get something to eat."
I said, "Jane, this is my big sister R and her partner S. Would you like to eat with us?"
By then, Lily was outside being interviewed for the documentary, so Jane shrugged and said, "Sure."
We found a nice table for four, then quickly were joined by a couple of women who moved another table against ours to make more room. Jane sat at the head of our table, flanked on either side by my big sister and me.
Jane and I talked about the things she had written and produced, and I tried my best to crack her up. I actually succeeded a few times.
Then we started talking about how we were both television addicts...especially when it came to "Project Runway."
Meanwhile, the cranky Mulatto butch was seated next to my sister and eavesdropped on our conversation like a motherfucker.
She butted in and said, "Jane, if you lived in New York, do you think you'd still watch a lot of television?"
I asked her if she lived in New York and she sniffed, "Yes,"
Then I asked her name and she said, "Anna Something-Smith." I asked what she did and she glowered at me and answered, "I'm an actress."
I said, "What might I have seen you in?"
She said, "The West Wing?"
Turns out her name was Anna Deavere Smith and I'd never seen or heard of the bitch before.
I quickly turned my attention back to Jane, and in a moment of impulse I said, "Jane, I'll give you ten dollars cash for your e-mail address."
Jane laughed and said, "Come on, my e-mail address is worth more than that."
I said, "Okay, twelve dollars..."
Suddenly Anna Nicole Smith or whatever her fucking name was actually stood up and yelled, "Jane, don't give her your e-mail address!"
I looked up at her looming over the table and said, "But I'm not a nut, I come from a good Texas political pedigree!"
Just then, Lily and the documentarian walked back in, joined us briefly, then Lily and Jane left for their hotel, with Anna Who-the-Fuck Smith lumbering after them like the musk ox she was.
I so wanted to say to her, "Anna, nice to meet you and I'm so sorry about your son's recent death," but my Al-Anon program prohibits me from being an obvious bitch in person.
To be continued...