My Quest for Paris Hilton
November 28, 2005 | 7:12
am
Yes, I spoke to Paris Hilton it's true! And, I have her cell phone number until she changes it next. So, how does something like that happen? Let me start by saying I have a history of Hilton girl awareness going back to New Year's Eve 2000. I was covering a Guns & Roses show at the Hard Rock where I bumped into Neil Strauss (a music critic for The New York Times at that point and now the author of everything from a porn star memoir to a book on his quest for studliness) who I knew slightly. Strauss was driven to distraction by the presence of a Hilton sister at the concert. I don't remember which Hilton. "They are huge in New York," was the best explanation Neil could offer. A year later when the Palms opened there was Paris Hilton in a dress made of poker chips. All of this was before the television show, the video and too many controversies to keep track of all of which somehow made Paris Hilton a superstar for reasons that are honestly rather mysterious to me. No matter. I will leave it to the people who can quote Foucault to explain her success. After all, who better to explain the appeal of Paris than French cultural theorists.
The quest continues, after the jump
Back to my story. So, Friday afternoon I decided I had to reach Paris for a quote for the print version of the Moveable Buffet. Part of my column dissected how Jeff Beacher, promoter of the Madhouse, has enchanted celebrities and led them like a pied piper to the Hard Rock. Paris Hilton has been among Beacher's most loyal customers; she seemed the obvious person to inquire to about Beacher's beguiling charms. And, so I told Beacher that I wanted to talk to her. "No problem, I can hook it up for you sometime next week."
Of course, I had to have the draft in by Monday morning and so that would not work at all. "Beacher, I need to interview her this weekend," I told him. Beacher generally has a can do attitude. But not this time. He explained to me just how hard it was to even get a request to Paris Hilton let alone arrange an interview. He offered me Kelly Osbourne instead. In fact, I was willing to have Osbourne as a back-up; but still, Beacher said he would try to reach Paris, too.
Of course, what makes Beacher such a success is his relentlessness. Come Saturday Beacher called to say, "Done." Of course, his relentlessness goes both ways. There was a catch. Beacher didn't offer it as a problem at all only as an afterthought. "Oh," he said, "just e-mail me the questions you are going to ask her." Now, that is something I have never done and will never do. It was, in short, a deal breaker and I told Beacher that. But he didn't give up. First, I got a "Don't you know how big Paris is?" lecture. Regrettably, I did. But I still could not do what he asked. Then came the "everyone else does it" lecture on how many other publications he could name are fine with handing over questions in advance. Finally, Beacher hung up saying he'd see what he could do, and I began to think about questions for Kelly Osbourne.
But the next day, Sunday, Beacher called with the time for my Paris Hilton interview and to make it seem real gave me the cell phone number of her bodyguard. The body guard was going to hand her his phone. "You understand how entourages work?" Beacher asked. I didn't and so he explained that I ought to be fawningly grateful to the bodyguard for this hand-off since (thanks to the bodyguard) we were somehow end running Paris Hilton's official publicity people to do the interview. As the day progressed the interview's time kept moving. I had two conversations with the body guard. He was not even with Hilton though he promised to make some calls. Nothing happened for an hour or two. I sat by the phone.
Early evening came and I thought we hit a brick wall; a man called to say he was the publicist for Paris Hilton and to demand that I spell for him both my name and "the comedian in Las Vegas you want her to talk about." He told me that he would look into it but that he had no idea what was going on and was not sure that Paris Hilton would have time today to speak with me.
I called Beacher. I e-mailed Beacher. Beacher called back with her cell phone number. I called Paris twice leaving awkward messages. When my phone rang finally, I thought for sure it was either the bodyguard or the publicist telling me that I should give up and stop calling Paris so much. But it was the distinctive voice of Paris Hilton. The interview itself lasted less than two minutes. Of course, getting those two minutes took that entire day.
(photo by LUCY NICHOLSON/Reuters)
Hope those two minutes were worth it!
Famous people really think they're something special, so the rest of us mere mortals are fortunate just to know they exist. Hmm. Can't say I agree with that.
Posted by: Grammatika | November 28, 2005 at 11:25 PM
Um, I bump into Paris all the time at cheesy Hollywood clubs. We've even waited in line together for the bathroom (yes, Paris does wait in line, I've seen it). You're shock at her accessibility is pathetic, especially seeing as how she doesn't even have a substantial career. Maybe I've been living in LA for too long, but are you really writing out of a city equally as known for its nightlife? My advice would then be that you need to get out more!
Posted by: Kstar | November 30, 2005 at 06:56 AM
i would like to have paris hiltons cell number just to talk to her
Posted by: jon | December 13, 2005 at 11:01 PM