A tale of two Garths. Chapter 35. I get to get naked again? Let’s do it!!!!


It took about four months after my agent-stripping incident before I struck again. This time it was a lovely English man by the name of Oliver who was the innocent victim of my nudity. When I first met Oliver it was at a small movie lot in the heart of LA. Garth’s friend Paul was an Assistant Director, and was able to weasel me a last minute audition on a Levi’s commercial Oliver’s production company was about to shoot.

The location was already set. The crew was in place, including Garth, and the auditions had already been held. But Oliver was kind enough to let me come down and audition anyway. I walked into the production office and came face to face with a thin man with slightly curly brown hair. He was tall, wore glasses, good looking, and had a creepy factor of zero. I immediately liked him. We went into his office and talked for a while and got to know one another. We were really hitting it off. If this had been a date, I would say it was going really, really well.

“I think you’re great Stacy. You’re really funny,” he told me in his dreamy English accent. “The commercial takes place on a train. A man and woman catch each other’s eye and in reality she’s only interested in his jeans. So one shot is him in his boxers, and the other is of her rear end pulling up his Levi jeans. So we do need to see your butt.” The way he said, “butt” was just so damn charming. Do you happen to have a bathing suit picture on you?” Huh? Bathing suit picture? Many of the actresses in Hollywood are smart enough that when they take their headshots, they get some bathing suits shots as well. I wasn’t one of them.

“No, I don’t have any bikini shots,” I said with an apologetic look on my face.

“That’s okay. If you would like you can go home and take a couple and bring them back.” Man this guy is nice. He seriously was really nice. Most people in Hollywood would have just shoved me out the door at this point and told me to be more prepared next time. As I stood there looking at his overly understanding eyes I came up with a plan. It wasn’t exactly a great plan. But it was a plan nonetheless.

“Look Oliver, I drove all the way out here in traffic. Bumper to bumper traffic. And I really don’t want to waste your time any further.” (Translation – I really don’t want to fight the traffic a second time to come all the way down here.) “I’m already here, I’m wearing a bra and undies, so why don’t I just show you what I look like in those.”

“Uh….uh….uh….” Poor, poor Oliver. He was shell-shocked.

“Oh come on Oliver, it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Just a warning though, I didn’t shave my legs today.”

“Uh…uh….okay,” he said looking pretty scared to tell you the truth. And that’s when I stripped off my tiny red Superman t-shirt, unbuttoned my black Levis (Hello, I’m auditioning for a Levis commercial) and dropped trou. Oliver just stared in bewilderment as all 5’10 of me stood across the desk from him in my black bra and G-string. And with my jeans still securely hung around my ankles I did my best at a graceful twirl for him.

“Um, I’m going to have to take a Polaroid you do know that right?”

“Sure, Oliver. Whatever.” The Polaroid was industry standard. Usually once you walked into any audition they took a Polaroid. The reason being that headshots are VERY deceiving. People touch them up so bad that you think you’re going to audition Tom Cruise but you end up with the Elephant man. It’s actually not a cool thing to do. You end up wasting not only the casting directors time but your own. I was a purist. No touching up. What you see is what you get. G-string and all.

Oliver took two pics: one from the front and one from the back. I put my clothes back on and bid Oliver adieu. As I walked out to my car in my superman shirt I felt pretty damn good about myself. Maybe I should just drive home in my underwear. I think I was starting to get addicted to this.

As usual I didn’t get the role. Oliver was all for it. His partners in the production company weren’t sold. Damn. After the commercial was shot and Garth and Paul came back from the shoot, Paul went on and on about how Oliver kept asking about me. Oliver was smitten. Story has it, when Garth found out about Oliver’s little crush he approached him on the set and demanded he give him the Polaroids and Oliver reluctantly parted with them. Oliver did the right thing. He wouldn’t have wanted to turn out like the wall in the employee bathroom.

I later found out from Paul that Oliver and his family would summer off the coast of Greece on their giant Yacht. Kicking myself. Kicking myself. Kicking myself. Oliver was a pretty successful producer and he liked ME. Yet I was with a man who often stayed out all night chasing little white lines. Hmmmm. Oliver or Garth? Summers in Greece, or summers spent working doubles to pay rent and bills for my slack-ass boyfriend who couldn’t hold a job and kept stealing my money? Yeaaaaah. Garth was clearly the right choice on this one. Kicking myself. Kicking myself. Kicking myself.

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