Eszterhas' bio insists that he has never missed a single one of his son's Little League games, but somehow I don't believe him when he says he's worried about what the kids are lapping up in this national cesspool, this hour televised motel room, which he has done as much as anyone to bring about. Thus, in regard to the difference between Eszterhas and me, suffice it to say that, as far as I'm concerned, the wrong plane went down. I notice a Chagall, a Dufy in pencil and charcoal, and a signed Magritte. We used as much of her in the role - her persona - as we could. Elsewhere are framed napkin doodles by Warhol, who obsessively drew her whenever they went out together; one is entitled FF eye. Eszterhas is equally tight-lipped when, musing about the contents of the Starr Report, he describes a deeply footnoted reference to President Clinton and Monica Lewinsky's "oral-anal contact" -- rimming, don't you know -- which he says was the report's "most sexually incendiary revelation.
And how is she coping with it?
She is sitting on a giant velvet-covered sofa, her tiny arms hugging her knees to her chest, one hand twisting a lock of the famous corn-blonde mane. The same year Charlie's Angels became cult viewing, she appeared in The Poster, the one with the red bathing-suit and nipples that sold six million copies in its first year. You should be writing novels if you can't get work in Hollywood. Griffin became tabloid news first in aged 18 when O'Neal, a former boxer, punched his front teeth out in an attempt to stop his stoned son driving his Mini Cooper; and again in when Griffin was involved in a boating accident that killed Francis Ford Coppola's son, Gian-Carlo. Each cycle of Hindu time has four ages, called kalpa.