Saved By The Sniffles
My ex-wife has done quite a bit of work on the house since our divorce. In fact, she has been so successful in transforming the basic, early-’60s, suburban split-level into a beautiful, traditional Japanese home (complete with beautiful tatami floors and delicate Shoji panels) that Edward Zwick decided to use the house to film the interiors for The Last Samurai. This was very good news since the income generated by the production would help her defray the cost of the very expensive renovations.
There was just one problem: Tom Cruise.
That greedy little git decided to charge my ex-wife certain “acting fees” for the privilege of having him in her home. These fees were structured on a rather byzantine scale that was based on how much of the room he used in any particular scene. If he was only standing in one place, the fee was relatively low. But if he walked across the room (especially if he covered over 50% of the floor space) his fee skyrocketed. And, wouldn’t you know, he was purposely blocking his scenes so that he was always walking from one side of the room to the other.
This egregious exploitation of his power as a movie star and producer of the film was outrageous, but it was made even more so by the fact that, even though my ex-wife and Mr. Cruise were dating, that wasn’t enough to induce him to reduce his acting fees. The way things were going, the frivolous charges would have devoured any money my ex-wife would have earned from the production, leaving her no choice but to sell the home she had worked so hard to create.
I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit by and watch her be added to the long list of exploited and bankrupted homeowners Tom Cruise had left in his wake his entire career. I spoke with Nicole Kidman to see if she could provide me with any insights and she expressed the opinion that the only way he would ever change would be through the use of physical force. Force, according to Nicole, is the only thing he understands.
So, I wedged myself into the crook of a cherry tree, where I would be obscured by the cherry blossoms, and waited for Tom to pass. My plan was to leap on him from above, pin him to the ground, and hold him there until he promised to change his ways. At the very least, he needed to reduce his acting fees in light of the fact that he was in a relationship with my ex-wife.
Sitting there in the tree, I had plenty of time to reflect on the situation. I mean, what a jerk! It’s no wonder Nicole divorced him. And I’m really surprised that Oprah Winfrey, who is a huge Tom Cruise fan, hasn’t seen through his pathetic, shallow exterior to see the greedy and exploitative cad underneath.
But as I sat there, waiting and fuming, I felt a tug on my sleeve.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Dad,” Emma said, tugging on my sleeve again. “Are you awake?”
“I am now. What’s wrong, Emma?”
“I’ve got a really stuffy nose,” she said, sniffling ineffectively to demonstrate her problem. “I can’t sleep.”
“I’m sorry about that, Em. Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll bring you a decongestant and a glass of water.”
As I walked to the kitchen, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. If my daughter hadn’t awakened me, I would have made a terrible mistake. In the light of day (or 1:58am, at least), it seemed ridiculous that I would accept anything Nicole Kidman said at face value. It was obvious that she had an agenda. She was probably just trying to get me to beat Tom up because she couldn’t get Lenny Kravitz to do it.
Besides, given the nature of the film he was making, Tom Cruise would have undoubtedly been carrying a Samurai sword on his person. And even without a sword he could certainly beat the crap out of me. What could I have been thinking?
I carried the medicine back to the girls’ room and sat on the edge of the bed as Emma chewed the pills and took a few big gulps of water.
“Thanks, Dad, I feel much better already.”
“So do I, Emma.”
“Good night,” she said, pulling the covers up under her chin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Come wake me up again if you can’t get back to sleep.”
“OK, Dad. I will.”
“With any luck,” I thought, “She’ll save me from doing anything else stupid tonight…like asking Halle Berry to marry me. Sure, it’ll probably seem like a good idea at the time, but deep down I know it would never work.”
