It was the night before the Oscars 2011, and I was sitting in a corner of the Beverly Hills Hotel ballroom guzzling miniature In and Out burgers with Jamie Foxx – while he detailed what constitutes The Perfect Female Bottom.
Foxx’s notion of gluteal perfection is generous, encompassing almost every shape and size in existence. But he felt that many of the preposterously beautiful actresses at the party “worry too much about their weight.” Passing me a tiny Beverly Hills Courier cone filled with fries, he shrugged: “They should live a little.”
I don’t think I’d ever seen Hollywood live it up the way they did that evening at legendary producer Jeffrey Katzenberg’s annual Night Before Party. If you picture one of those Vanity Fair ‘A-list cluster’ front covers and cram in every famous face in Tinseltown, that’s what that ballroom looked like.
三级成人视频Although I’d spotted plenty of A-listers out and about in LA over the course of the year, joylessly running, hiking or tucking into alkaline water and gruel in restaurants before their 8pm curfews, this might have been the only time I saw the stars do the unthinkable and… enjoy themselves.
There was real, live drinking going on: the kind that has you whooping with laughter and leaves you bloated and blotchy; real, live eating – where guests have finally stopped complimenting the canapés – “Oo, those look gorgeous!” – and actually began shovelling them into their faces like normal people. Two actresses known for peddling multi-million health empires were holding court on the smoking balcony, their toxin-free complexions all but obscured by clouds of smoke.
None of this debauchery made any sense, what with the next day being the biggest date on the Hollywood calendar - which made me love it even more. Nothing could make me happier than watching the uptight flout all the rules, whilst listening to charming Jamie's ten-point perfect posterior plan.
Once my husband finally tore himself away from Jennifer Aniston, however, and spotted me chuckling away with the Collateral star, he didn’t seem happy - and dragged me off to the sushi bar by way of Hugh Jackman, Gwyneth (“But you’re so nice!” he told her, surprised – to which she still more surprisingly replied: “Oh I’m very, very nice. [Squeal of laughter] Except in the bedroom…”).
三级成人视频Things went from the surreal to the sublime as we chatted to Warren Beatty and Annette Bening, who was concerned that I didn’t yet have any children and urged me to start a family immediately. Which seemed a tall order at that particular point in time. What with the several Methuselahs of champagne we’d both drunk by this point, the only thing we could realistically start was heading back home.
Not before a visit to the ‘gifting lounge’, however, where party guests were handed what looked like a large cheque book, each cheque bearing the name of some covetous brand (from Apple to L’Oréal) and we’re urged to go from stall to stall filling our swag bags with loot, as the sound of singing angels in my head reached deafening levels.
Staggering out, Pretty Woman-style, we ran into Gwyneth and Cameron Diaz by the exit, clutching their uncashed cheque books. Running a scathing eye over my husband and delivering what must surely be the best line of the night, Cameron sighed and said: “Oh Piers, take mine - you pathetic little man.”