Don't get fresh with the Prince
“Did you hear what happened to Will Smith?” my sister asked me during one of our numerous daily phone conversations yesterday. “Will Smith? Will Smith the actor?” I asked, bracing myself for some horrific news. But then I thought about it, Will is relatively squeaky clean. I can’t ever remember any tabloid stories about him drinking and drugging or beating up on Jada. What in the world could have happened? For a fleeting moment I wondered if he had been killed in some kind of freak accident. After all, Donna Summer had just passed away and they say celebrities die in threes. I held my breath and asked “What happened?” she then went on to tell me the story I’m sure you’ve already heard by now; how Will gave a reporter in Moscow a beatdown for trying to lock lips with him. Okay, I got a look at the footage on YouTube, and it wasn’t a beatdown, it was more like a pat on the face—and who could blame Will. The guy was going in for the kill! It really does appear as if the man wanted to put one on Will’s lips. But Will wasn’t having it! The price of fame.
For the most part celebrities receive no sympathy when they complain about the paparazzi or overzealous fans. They make millions, live lives most us can only dream of, so I for one am hardpressed to muster a tear when hearing their sob stories. It’s not to say that in every case their grievances aren’t warranted. We’ve seen several celebs murdered at the hands of some crazed fan—John Lennon and Rebecca Schaeffer readily come to mind. And Lady Di’s life was cut short when her driver tried to flee the paparazzi. When you take all of that into consideration, being rich and famous does have its drawbacks.
After my sister and I analyzed the Will Smith kissing incident to death, she asked me what I would do if my new novel “Married in the Nick of Nine” became an international bestseller and I was suddenly a media darling. I wanted to answer her, but I was too busy trying to decide what dance I would do on The Ellen Degeneres show and what designer gown I would wear on the red carpet. Wow, what a vivid imagination I have. “Well for one thing, authors are not sought after, like movie stars,” I told her. “Most authors are unknown.” Sure, Harry Potter put J.K. Rowling on the map, and Terry McMillian hit it big with Waiting to Exhale and then there’s Stephen King and a host of others, but when was the last time you saw either of the aforementioned plastered on the cover of The National Enquirer or People Magazine? If I was fortunate enough to sell a million copies of “Married in the Nick of Nine,” I don’t think I’d have to worry about some reporter tying to kiss me. Now on the other hand, Oprah, pucker up!