Stories From Candyland Read Free

was out to dinner or in a Beverly Hills department store, people would say, “Rock Hudson was here just last week.” Bad timing for me, but I was still optimistic.
     

     
    In 1966 I started dating a man named Aaron Spelling. He made me nervous because he had quite a reputation as a playboy. Even though I was twenty, I knew I was no match for a sophisticated and worldly playboy. I agreed to a date, we enjoyed ourselves, and I accepted a second date. I liked him a lot, even though his playboy image, social ease, and maturity scared me.
    “Candy,” Aaron’s voice crackled from the massive car phone that took up half his front seat, “I’ve been invited to a party for Grace Kelly on Saturday night. We can go there on our date.”
    A party for Grace Kelly? Oh my. Grace Kelly was the most beautiful, most elegant woman alive. I think that if she had been a star when I was born, my mother might have named me “Grace Gene.”
    I was so excited that I missed Aaron’s next sentence: “The party is at Rock Hudson’s house in Hollywood. Candy, do you want to go to Rock’s for Grace Kelly’s party?”
    “What rocks?” I said.
    “I told you. The party is at Rock Hudson’s house.”
    The world stopped. Everything started spinning. I was afraid my heart was going to fly right out of my chest. I was going to Rock Hudson’s house!
    The next four days seemed to take four years. I shopped for clothes I couldn’t afford, and looked through every fashion magazine over and over to find the right hairstyle and makeup look for the evening. I also called all the people who had ever made fun of me for having a magnificent obsession with Rock Hudson. Carole Gene Marer was going to Rock Hudson’s house.
    By the time Aaron picked me up in his black Cadillac Eldorado Brougham, I was giddy. I’m a very shy person and don’t talk much, but Aaron couldn’t shut me up. In retrospect, I think I sounded like Alvin and his chipmunk friends, chatting incessantly.
    We arrived at a white house surrounded by beautiful flowers at the top of a hill in Hollywood. I started shaking. Were we having an earthquake? Oh no. Not tonight. Please.
    It wasn’t an earthquake. It was my nerves.
    We walked in, and every one of the stars whose photos and lives I had studied and admired in my movie magazines appeared before my eyes. Someone snapped our picture. And then, suddenly, there he was. Rock Hudson! He was tall, dark, and handsome, just like the magazines said he was. He was smiling. Wait. He was smiling at Aaron and me. He was walking toward us. Rock Hudson was just feet away from my feet.
    Then my feet took me to Rock Hudson’s bathroom, and that’s where I stayed the entire night. I was so nervous, so scared, so overwhelmed—so of course the answer was to lock myself in Rock Hudson’s bathroom and hope no one would need to use it.
    I remember all three of the sentences I said to guests at that party that evening. “It’s occupied. You can’t come in. Go away.” Anyone who tried the door, knocked, stomped, or asked if anyone was in there got one or all of my three phrases.
    I also remember what people were saying. Many of the voices were familiar. I found out that celebrities talk about their kids, the weather, vacations, cars, clothes, and all the other things normal adults do.
    Aaron’s voice was always in the distance. He had this Texas accent that gave him a very distinctive sound. He’s a playboy. He’ll find someone else to hang around with tonight, I remember thinking. He won’t even miss me.
    I’m not sure how long I was locked in the bathroom, but soon I was jolted by the realization that the person knocking on the door was my date, Aaron.
    “Candy. Is that you in there? Are you sick? What’s the matter? We have to leave. The party is ending. Candy?”
    I froze right there on the toilet seat in Rock Hudson’s bathroom. I had been discovered. I hadn’t really thought this through. I hadn’t realized I’d have to leave the