"Women like confidence! That's why when I'm at a bar and I see a girl I like, I say, 'Hey, let's take a look at that snatch!' They're always like, 'Wow, you're confident. Ok, what do you think of this?' 'Hmm, looks a bit gamey, but I'm in a pinch, so saddle up, Seabiscuit!'"
-- --- -- --- --
When I did "Burning Blue" - the play from which I was fired for being patriotic and having a large penis - I worked with Chad Lowe. At first I bristled at the prospect of this once-upon-a-time TV star coming in as the lead. I'd been doing theater professionally for six or seven years by that point and not only had he never done a play but, judging by the first few rehearsals, he'd never learned how to memorize lines. A few weeks into the process, however, my tune began to change. Chad, I discovered, possessed the one personality trait I find most endearing in the people I encounter in my daily life:
Chad Lowe was fucked up.
Don't get me wrong, he struck me as a good man, always tryng to live right and do the right thing; but when I knew him, he was tortured, confused and drowning in a vexing marital quagmire that quickly dissolved into divorce. On top of that, and despite growing up with all the trappings of an upper-class lifestyle, Chad is the quintessential recessive gene sibling. Even before I knew him, I felt bad for him. Sure, he is an exceedingly charming, funny, intelligent guy, but it's not hard to notice that his DNA's spiral staircase is missing a few more steps than his brother's. I always imagined his would be difficult shoes to walk in. I have two older brothers who were "valedictorians" and "certified geniuses" and "loved by my parents", but they aren't fuckin' Rob Lowe. I never had to see MY brothers bang two hot underprime girls on primetime TV.
Once we got comfortable enough with each other to talk about personal things, I asked Chad the obvious question: "Hey, was it tough growing up with a brother like that?"
Chad chuckled and replied, "Wait until you meet my dad."
A few weeks later, Chad invited me to dinner with most of the Lowe clan at Joe Allan's on restaurant row in Manhattan. Chad's dad-- let's call him Pimp Lowe--is what the ladies like to call a 'silver-haired fox.' He is absurdly handsome in that George Clooney/Sean Connery/Viagra-commercial-guy way. You know, that ruggedly-slick or slickly-rugged quality younger women always seem to confuse for maturity and integrity? That quality which, to the trained eye, screams "I am going to fuck your girlfriend's mother to get to your girlfriend, and even when I get caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar, I will not get in trouble for it?" Yeah, that. Not that Pimp Lowe hadn't been attractive in his 20's or 30's, but you got the sense from looking at him that his salt-and-pepper hair, leathery skin, and crow's feet combined as the perfect accessories to his alpha male tendencies.
I remembered Chad's admonition, so I made sure to scrutinize his father throughout the meal. The man was indeed a pimp - in that white, upper-middle class way. This silver-tongued patriarch could teach any self-proclaimed PUA a thing or two about a thing or two. He didn't use tricks and lines. He simply commanded attention and commandeered the conversation with his formidable presence and a twinkle in his eye that tightrope-walked the line between mischievous and scary.
Not unsurprisingly, he was divorced from Chad's mom, who was also at dinner. Awwwkward. The casual and playful banter between the two of them involved, among other things, Pimp Lowe's alleged infidelity; a topic that would have made my head explode Scanners-style had the dinner taken place during my first year in New York when I was still fresh from suburban Virginia. Luckily, it had been 7 years for me in the big city, and I was... maybe not jaded, but muted.
"All those times you thought I was out sleeping with other women," he said/joked/whatever'ed at one point, "I was working!" He kind of laughed his way through it, and like many good comics, the gregariousness of his delivery made me (and everyone else at the table) semi-laugh along, even though I really didn't know what was so fucking funny. Chad confirmed that his dad did, indeed, cheat incessantly on his mom. He had known about it since he was a teen.
It begs the question: how did Pimp Lowe's offspring evolve through this situation? Chad and his brother were the progeny of a man who admittedly cheated on their mother and had the live-and-let-live attitude to joke about it in a public setting with strangers. I watched Chad look away and act like nothing had been uttered. My thoughts immediately drifted to his own struggle with marriage. I noticed that Rob wasn't really engaging his father's hubris either and I wondered how he was handling his own wedded bliss. Can you make a perfect marriage from that background? And, in particular, can you do it after being a notorious playboy most of your life? I thought back to a story Chad had told me earlier that week about Rob from back in his ear-ringed 'Youngblood' days:
Rob was at airport security (mind you, this was the 80's so that line was a fucking breeze) and he made eye contact (through shades) with a beautiful woman in a security line across from him. Beep. Empty your pockets, sir. They played the public peekaboo thing a bit, she biting her lip coquettishly and he half-smiling and turning away behind the protection of his designer sunglasses. They went through their respective lines, converging on the same egress point. Rob silently strode up to her. She was probably waiting for a line. Or at least a 'hey' or a 'my name is' or a 'wanna have a drink?' or whatever cold-opening lines mere mortals use. Instead, he gave her a key to his hotel room m.o.s. (mit out sound, as they say in the biz) and walked away. Sure enough, an hour later, the gorgeous stranger appeared. She was probably going to say 'I usually never' and 'I just came here to talk' to de-whorify her choice in her whorified brain, but he pulled her brusquely into the room and nary a word was spoken until the love-making was done.
"And you are...?"
I know what you're thinking: So what?! That had nothing to do with how he grew up! He's a fucking movie star! It's Rob Lowe!
Obviously, being a movie star is what allows him to get away with it successfully. But being the son of Pimp Lowe is probably why he thought the idea was a good one in the first place. Of course his exact approach won't really help most of us humans who yield to gravity and taxes, but it doesn't change the fact that the idea is still... enticing. You have to admit there is a sort of primal economy to it that makes the method worth attempting at least once. As I sat there at the table digesting my dinner, I couldn't help but think how the moral of Chad's story might apply to my current predicament.
There was a girl in the group of people at this dinner that I kind of wanted to "get to know better," as they say in the personal ads. We had only exchanged brief flirtatious glances and even briefer conversation throughout the night, but there was a definite 'something' between us. If you're an asshole with a ponytail you might call it 'energy'. If you are an asshole with a ponytail and a receding hairline, you'd call it a 'vibe'. I mentioned the attraction to Chad, who mentioned it to Rob, who looked at me like he was Dr. Ruth and I was asking what that stuff between my legs was. He paused and quietly relayed a simple piece of advice that, in light of Chad's story, made perfect sense.
'Maul her,' he said.
"What?!"
Posted by Bill Dawes at 6:19 PM