Such a sad time it was when the show came to an end. Affiliates had been dropping over the years, but the death knell was when Paul was caught in that theater with his dingus in his hands.
There had been times when we shared those moments together. When his appetite could be sated by a VHS tape sent by mail. But he was maniacal about the possibility a paparazzi would fish out the mailing packet from his trash. So he strayed… I dealt with it. I comforted myself with the memories. The fact that he was caught in a smut theater was pure irony. By that time, we’d already grown apart.
Early on, the show was a HUGE hit. Everywhere we went, fans by the legion. Paul had a taste of the high life and it was like the most intoxicating drug. He had to have more. When talk came out of a multi picture deal, he assured us we’d all be included. “Most of all you, Chairy,” he said to me. His eyes had that moistness that compelled me to believe him. Here my troubles began.
“Big Adventure” or as we called it, PWHBA (“pooh-ba”), was the first sign that we were all to be remaindered to the bargain bin at Camelot Music and Video. I had a part but Paul actually wrote me out himself. Gambi told me not to fuss about it. He was afraid I’d become known as “difficult”. He told me about dozens of furniture he knew that ended up selling themselves on the streets and flea markets. It didn’t matter to me. The number of times he wiped on me after a tape, I was already dirty. Dirty for life. Oh, how I’d scrub whenever he left the house. The stains on my arms eventually disappeared, but the stains in my headrest live on to this day.
Paul dumped me. It was no surprise. He called me into his treehouse one day and laid it on me like woolite. “Chairy…” he said, using the voice. Oh, that voice. It’s that voice that would make me forgive him to this day, not quite a boy, but not yet a man. “I think you know we’ve grown apart…” That’s all I remember. I lubricated my feelings with $400 scotch that Chuck Norris had given me after he did a guest shot on the TV show. That night, I drunkenly called Paul and begged him to take me back. I offered to do anything, even go to synagogue with him. He just laughed at me.
Gambi was right. I ended up on the street. Like so many pathetic show biz types, I desperately took any role that was offered, even appearing in a porno with Kato Kaelin. I did blow, hell I kept Colombia in business 1987-1999. By the time “Big Top” hit the screens, I was no longer on Paul’s Christmas card list. I took no pleasure in his debacle in Florida. I knew he’d recover. Not like it was, but okay, you know? And he did. I didn’t. Everybody in Hollywood knew how he had used me. I even got sympathy from Ronnie Specter.
After fighting it, I’ve given myself up to the streets. Michael Stipe saw me a week ago and tried to organize a benefit concert on my behalf, but I told him no. Save it for the shiny happy people.
Excerpt from "Chairy, A Life Unraveled"