Taking first place on my list of my favorite things---my beautiful wife, Jennifer.
We met at a get-together dance which was put on by The Nassau County School for Boys (my school) and Miss Brandywine's School for Young Ladies (her school) when we we only 15 in early June, 1986. Well, at least I was 15...Jen had to wait another three months for her 15th birthday in September.
Jen, at 14, was already an accomplished martial artist...a third-degree black belt! Believe me, nobody wants to fool around with a person with that kind of qualification! Her reputation had already gotten around not only her school but almost all of Long Island as well. Many of the boys overlooked her as she sat in a chair by the wall of the ornately-decorated gymnasium and chose, shall we say, more demure young ladies.
Not this buck!
I took one look at this poor, pretty thing sitting all alone with tears welling up in her eyes, looking down at the highly-polished wooden floor, wondering why no one wanted to ask her to dance. Some of my friends warned me about her...saying that I'd be taking my life in my hands if I dared to ask her to dance. But, I didn't care. I gulped down whatever punch remained in my glass and put it down, reached into my pocket for a small aerosol can of breath spray, spritzed my mouth a couple of times, straightened myself up...and walked over to the one girl every boy on the island was too scared to approach.
"Want to dance?" I asked.
She blinked twice...maybe to get the tears out of her eyes...then slowly looked up at me, dressed in my dark blue silk and satin tuxedo, my darkly-tanned face scrubbed clean, my smile full of pearly white teeth and my hair smartly combed and styled. I held out my hand. She glanced at it for a moment, shocked, before taking hold of it and rising from her chair.
I led her out onto the floor and we started to dance.
"My name's Sasha", I replied in a quick attempt to break the ice.
"I'm Jennifer", she said after a moment's hesitation. Then, after some deep thought, she asked, "Aren't you afraid of me like everybody else?"
"Because you're a third-degree black belt martial artist? That's nothing to be afraid of".
Perhaps I answered a little too quickly---because she proved to be a might bit heavy on her feet...and my toes!
"Sorry", she quickly replied. "I've never danced before".
"You could've fooled me", I remarked.
Gaining more and more confidence, she placed her head against my chest as we continued to dance...even after the music ended. No one dared to interfere. We danced every dance together that night...and every night there was a dance party between the two school. Just one look into each other's eyes told the whole story...we were made for each other.
After that, we dated more and more...even to the point of missing each other's curfew. And I hadn't regretted it one bit.
One night in particular sticks in my mind to this day. Jen and I went to a drive-in movie. It didn't matter that I was still too young to drive and didn't even have a car. We sat on the roof of the concession building, listening to the movie. I offered her some popcorn. She looked at it...then at me.
"All that butter and salt isn't good for you, you know", she said.
"Really?"
She touched my cheek with her hand.
"You have very smooth skin", she replied. "Too much oil from that butter can collect under your skin and cause pimples. And your teeth...all that salt can collect on them and eat away at the enamel and ruin your smile".
"Really?" I asked once again.
She nodded...and that one action was enough for me. I tossed the large, three-quarter filled cup away...not even caring where it landed...and looked right into her eyes.
"You have beautiful eyes", I said in a moment of weakness.
"So do you", she replied.
That much said, we returned our attention to the movie screen, oblivious to everything that was going on around us. She placed her head against my shoulder---and we remained like that all through the rest of the movie...even after the screen went dark.
"Are you kids planning on building a nest up there?" asked the gruff voice.
We snapped out of our reverie and looked down to see one of the drive-in's security guards looking up at us. I looked at my watch.
"Holy shit!" I blurted out. "It's twelve o'clock!" I jumped off the roof of the building...a mere twelve feet...and reached up for Jen. She slid down into my arms.
"I'm really gonna get my ass chewed out by the headmaster!" I replied.
"No more than I will", she said as we both ran from the lot, hand in hand.
It was already nearing one a.m. when we arrived at Miss Brandywine's. The gate was closed and locked. Using all of my athletic agility, I scaled the brick wall, fell flat on my stomach and reached down to her. She took hold of my hands and I pulled her up and, together, we jumped off the wall and started to run in the direction of her dormitory...and would have made it!
"Stop right there!" came a voice from the darkness.
We halted right there in the glare of the strong flashlight, looking like two surprised deers.
Soon, we found ourselves sitting in the office of Miss Brandywine herself, sitting before the "great" lady and the headmaster of my school.
"Breaking curfew...trespassing on to private property..." Miss Brandywine counted down the list.
"I was only trying to..." I began to say to move any blame away from Jen.
"Silence!" she shouted not so loudly. She looked over at Jen. "Guard, escort Ms. Goldman to her room and lock her in until morning. I shall decide any further punishment then".
Jen rose from her chair, glancing over at me and smiling before the security guard led her out of the headmistress's office. Then, Miss Brandywine turned to look at the headmaster of my school.
"I trust that you will come up with an equally suitable punishment for this young man, Mr. Halperin?" she asked.
"I shall indeed", the headmaster answered. Towering over me, he continued, "When we return to the school, you shall remove your belongings from your present room to a single room. You shall be locked in every night at nine and let out every morning to attend classes. Every day during study hour, you shall report to my office where you shall write "I will never break curfew again" on the blackboard until the hour is up. After class, you shall dress in your gym uniform and run the track for two hours...non-stop. You will do this every day until the end of the term. Do you understand?"
"What about weekends?" I asked, hoping for a stronger, more deserving sentence.
"You will spend eight hours every Saturday and Sunday, from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon, writing "I will never break curfew again" on my blackboard. You shall also be barred from attending any more dances, parties and field trips as well as being confined to the campus for the remainder of the term. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir".
The headmaster looked at Miss Brandywine.
"Quite suitable", she replied.
Soon, I was alone in my new room...or should I say cell. There were all the conveniences of my double-room---a bed, a bathroom, air conditioning and heating...everything, but a window. Boy, when the headmaster punishes, he really punishes!
I lay there upon my bed, stripped down to my briefs, looking up at the ceiling. Then, it struck me. The end of the term was only two weeks away!!! Maybe being punished like this wasn't going to be so bad after all. But, oh...running that track two hours every day in the heat after class was going to be murder!
After graduation, Jen and I did everything together. We moved to Central Florida, where we both were admitted to UCF...Jen on a phys.-ed. scholarship, me on a theatre scholarship. We found a two-bedroom, two-bath apartment not far from the campus on the outskirts of Orlando...and lived very comfortably. We even found after-school jobs to suit our calling. Jen found work teaching in a dojo in Winter Haven. I went to work at Universal Studios, putting my dramatic talents to good use...first as a stuntman at the King Kong exhibit, graduating to the role of Gozer at the Ghostbusters exhibit.
After we graduated UCF in 1993, Jen and I left our apartment in Orlando, moving into a two-story house in Indian Lake Estates, a small, secluded community in southern Osceola County. Jen remained working at the dojo. But, after a small electrical accident with a battery pack at Universal, I was forced to seek less-hazardous employment...at the Orlando Sentinel, where I put my hobby of photography to good use in the Travel Department. I was able to travel around the U.S. and the world, taking pictures of all my destinations and relating about my travels in my own weekly column.
Jen and I were really living the high life! That is, until we went to Universal one hot early spring day. I was dressed in an orange schimmel shirt, mid-thigh frayed denim cut-offs and sandals, enjoying walking through the theme park with Jen...and then it happened!
"Young man, have you ever done any acting and modeling?" I was asked by a wide-eyed, white-haired man.
I looked at the man...then at the young girl standing nearby. I recognized her from the TV series "Beverly Hills 90210"...Tori Spelling.
"I'm doing a new series, a spinoff from both "90210" and "Melrose Place"", the man continued, handing me his business card. "If you ever come out to Southern California, look me up".
After he walked away, Jen and I looked at his card...the business card of the great television producer, Aaron Spelling. The great man was offering me a possible role in his latest venture...a series called "Models, Inc."...a series centering around the mother of the landlady of "Melrose Place".
I mulled over the prospects of finally working in Hollywood...my greatest dream. With Jen's blessing, I packed up and made the move (a little bit at a time) out to L.A. But, my dream became a broken one...for on the very day of my arrival (by car, no less), news came that "Models, Inc." had been axed from the TV line-up. There I was...in L.A., without a job and without a roof over my head.
Still, I had to eat to survive. So, taking what little money I had to my name, I went to a nearby supermarket, purchased a manual can opener, a box of plastic forks, spoons and knives, some canned foods, some cans of Sterno and a pot to cook my food in, looking forward to spending my days scouting for work...and my nights taking refuge either in my jammed car or on the steps of some house of worship. But, luckily...my next encounter saved me from any of that---for I chanced to bump into an actor with whom I was well-aware of.
"I know you", I said, pointing at the actor. "You're Brian Patrick Clark...Merl the Pearl from "Eight Is Enough"! I used to love watching that show when I was growing up".
A real kind-hearted soul, Mr. Clark listened to my tale...of meeting Aaron Spelling in Orlando, getting his card and an appointment to try out for his now-cancelled series, et cetera.
"So, what are you doing now?" he asked.
"Making the rounds of the agencies during the days...possibly sleeping in my car or on a church's steps at night...that sort of thing".
"I think I can help you out", he said, reaching into his pocket and removing his wallet.
Shocked, I said, "I don't need any money!"
"No, not money. My agent's business card. She's always looking for fresh new talent". He handed me the card. "You get yourself cleaned up, put on a suit and go down and see her tomorrow. And, if her secretary gives you a hard time, you tell her you're my friend and I sent you. That'll get you in".
We parted ways...but not before I took a look at the name of his agent---Nina Blanchard. I had heard of her. People in the entertainment industry call her "The Star Maker". Ninety-five percent of her clients make millions on TV, in movies and print.
I took a shower and got some sleep at the local YMCA, got spiffied up in my finest suit the next morning, hopped into my now-emptied Lexus (since I placed all my belongings in my room at the Y) and drove down Santa Monica Boulevard to the office of Nina Blanchard---Star Maker. True to form, her secretary gave me a real hard time...or tried to, until I mentioned that I was a friend of Brian Patrick Clark. Undoubtedly, his name pulls some strings here. The secretary called her boss, who personally came out to welcome me. I showed her my hefty resume...she asked me to look in different directions.
"Nice healthy complexion", she remarked. "Good jawline, strong...bright eyes. Smile!" I looked at her and smiled. "Charming. The look of a "lady-killer"".
I looked at the secretary, who sat at my side.
"Is that good?" I whispered to her.
"It's the highest compliment", the secretary replied. "You've got it made".
"Go downstairs to the photography studio and tell Guido I want a hundred shots of this young man...suit, denims, topless, underwear, swim trunks---and a couple of modest "nudes"", Ms. Blanchard told the secretary. "And I want them yesterday!"
"But, I haven't got any denims or trunks", I retorted. "I just have what I got on!"
"Don't worry", the secretary replied, pulling me out of the office. "Guido's got everything in every style and size!"
Guido sure knew his stuff...and how to make me look good in front of the camera---even naked! And when she saw the results! Well, let's just say that Ms. Blanchard was floored.
"Beautiful!" she said. Then, putting the photos down, Ms. Blanchard looked up at me. "You're definitely a lady-killer. You have the kind of face and body that will have them falling in the aisles, tripping over each other to try to grab a piece of you...or at least a piece of clothing".
"Sounds like I'd better get separate insurance for my clothing", I joked.
"You've got it all...the body...the look...and the sense of humor! You'll make a bundle in the industry!"
I could just see the dollar signs floating in the air all around me. I dream was finally coming true.
"Now...to set you up in a house", Ms. Blanchard replied.
"I have just the place", her secretary intervened.
That afternoon, I was placed in a "model's house"...a five-bedroom, five-bathroom mansion in the heart of Malibu---the perfect location just in case Ms. Blanchard wants to shoot more pictures. The only problem with the house...all the other male models had their girlfriends living with them. Jen was still in Orlando...but not for long.
Within a month, Jen had gotten everything situated and made the move to join me in L.A....even going to the point of locating a dojo in downtown Hollywood where she could work. Just one problem...at the dojo in Winter Haven, she held a rank of a shi-do-sha, a grand mistress. Here, in L.A., she would have to surrender that title to her employer and be satisfied with the rank of sensei...until she got her own studio in which to teach.
One by one, each of the other male models and their lady-friends move out on their own, selling their share of the house to those who remained...until just one alone remain---me. By the beginning of the spring of 1997, I had become the sole owner of the house on the Pacific Coast Highway in beautiful Malibu.
Soon, with Ms. Blanchard's help, the offers were starting to stack up like hotcakes! Roles were coming out of the walls for me. Not just movie roles...extra and bit parts...but work on stage as well. Stage work doesn't pay as much as film and television...but it's definitely a start.
In the summer of 1997, Ms. Blanchard got me an offer which I just couldn't refuse---a $7,000,000 shoot for fashion designer Donatella Versace, whose late brother Gianni got me started on my modeling career back in 1984. The work was indeed strenuous...traveling by boat between Italy and Greece, shooting around the islands and ancient locales---Santorini, Mykonos, Serifos, Rhodos, etc. Then, on a stop near an historic spot called the Hellenic Stone, with Jen and I dressed as Helen of Troy and Paris, I got down on my knee, opened a small box and popped the question to Jen. I had asked her to become my bride...at last! Ms. Versace was so happy at being a part of the festivities that she at once offered to design a beautiful wedding gown for Jen...her gift to such an auspicious occasion.
Finally, on June 25, 1999...after almost two years...Jen and I were married in a simple---but expensive---ceremony at the Young Israel Synagogue in Hollywood, Florida. Both of our families were present...as well as Ms. Versace and Ms. Blanchard. My new best friend, Casper Van Dien---a newlywed of one month himself---was the best man and his wife Catherine Oxenberg was matron-of-honor. Their children by previous marriages were the flower bearers, with the two eldest as ring-bearers---Cappy Van Dien holding the ring which I would put on Jen's finger and India Oxenberg holding that which Jen would put on mine.
Our honeymoon in the South Pacific was pure bliss...but it couldn't compare what happened after we returned. Jen and I have now been married for ten and a half years...and that union has brought us five beautiful children. And I am looking forward to many, many more years with my favorite woman.
