The Andy Cohen Diaries (40 page)

Had dinner with Mom and the bridge group at that Italian place around the corner from the studio, then they came for their star-bartending tour. We put them in my office with Mya the makeup lady and left Mom in charge. She had specific ideas about who needed how much time with Mya. I was in the studio running through the show and we kept sending spies back to find out what the hell was going on back there. We played a game where the ladies read filthy names of strip clubs (“The Fuzzy Hole,” “The Titty House”) and Joe Manganiello had to figure out if they were real or fake.

Met Lance Bass and his friend Curtis for drinks at Barracuda and the night went way later than I'd planned. There is not a negative bone in that one's body. As for me … maybe this is something I need to work on?

TUESDAY, JUNE 24, 2014

Cher called today. But let me start from the beginning. I woke up feeling guilty about making the bridge ladies say such dirty things. We pushed it with a few of those.

Then I had my first real meeting with my architect. We wound up talking about Diana Ross for a long time. He once saw her apartment on the UES.

So he left and my phone rang; it was Liz Rosenberg, who told me to hold on, someone wanted to talk to me. “Andy!?!” It was Cher. Totally Cher, in fact. “Cher!” I said. “How are you, Cher?” She wanted to know how I recognized her voice. I told her that when Liz Rosenberg calls and hands the phone to someone who sounds like Cher, you know it's Cher. (Unless Madonna does a great Cher impersonation, I suppose. But in no world can I picture Madonna “doing” Cher.) We chatted back and forth about her show, what I was up to, and I asked if the Mackie costumes are in the show and she said they're slowly rolling out. She said he doesn't work from patterns, and then went into detail and worried that she was boring me. Which I disagreed with. She said they are all bored to hell in Canada right now, that's where she is. And the whole time I was sitting there trying to figure out the exact reason she was calling, but I think it was to say that her friend Paulette thought she'd offended me somehow by referencing the wrong team when we were talking about baseball backstage at Barclays last month. Because she knew I'm a Cardinals fan and she talked about the Phillies or something? I dunno, I couldn't figure out what the hell the issue was but I didn't care either. Cher said Paulette had a dossier on me and that she was sick to hell of hearing about me. I told her to use me to fuck with Paulette. She said she didn't need me to fuck with her, she could do it on her own. I said I would come see Paulette when Cher was at MSG and she said, “Hell, come see me, not her!” But the truth is that Paulette is the reason Cher did my show, so I am grateful to her best friend. She said please give my love to Anderson and I said we're going on vacation next week and she said I'm stuck on the road, will you please text me pictures of you guys on vacation? I asked for her email and she had no clue what it was. She said she doesn't know her address either and I said, “Cher, Carbon Beach, Malibu,” and she said no, it's not Carbon Beach, she knows that. And then she again asked if I would text her. Yeah, I'll text you, Cher. She had someone get her cell phone number for her but she couldn't read it. It was a long process and while we were getting to the bottom of what the hell her cell number is, my parents showed up at my door. I kept trying to mouth to my mom “It's
Cher
!” and she was pretending like she knew what I was saying. “OK! OK! We GET it!” she said in a loud non-whisper whisper. I told Cher I needed to know if the blond guy in her show was straight and Cher said he is, and that his hair is growing out and he looks like a romance novel guy. She lost me on the romance novel look but I guess it's hot in an eighties way. I hung up with her and as my mom tried to get me to explain why Cher was on the phone, Anderson texted and said, “I'm bored,” and I said, “Well, join the club, because I am kinda bored and Cher's bored in Canada right now, so we're all bored I guess.”

Rob Wiesenthal is starting a helicopter service to the Hamptons, and Nan Kane was doing a launch party; she said if I just stopped by the party I could get a free round trip to the Hamptons. I dragged Mom and Dad to the party, which was something of a pigfuck—lots of people in a small space. I asked if I could bring Wacha on the helicopter and they said whatever I want, but the truth is he will freak out (he's scared of the top going down in my car), so I think I'll never use the round trip—what am I gonna do with the dog?

We taped an episode with Tori Spelling and Jenny Garth that'll air on Sunday when I'm in Italy, and hilariously Tori did not want any questions about her marriage or personal life,
just weeks after the finale of her reality show which was set in couples counseling with her and her cheating husband
. So we said no way, and bless Jill Fritzo, who was trying to make all of us happy. (Being a publicist can be a thankless job.) I agreed to only asking her a few questions during a game, and then revised that during the show to include more. She was on a reality show about her personal life but didn't want to talk about her personal life! I just have to repeat that. WTF.

The live show was amazing—the dog was there, my parents were there, the
Today
show was there filming a piece about our fifth anniversary, and Sonja was there and, after all, she's the straw that stirs the cocktail. I was supposed to have a date with that actor that
two
people wanted to set me up with, but he totally blew me off, and it was okay because we all hung out after the show and John Oliver and I went deep about the psychology of hosting a talk show, about the mind fuckery that ensues when you have a bad show—or even a great one. I told him I never doubted myself until I started the show. He's been doing stand-up for fifteen years and said he always can remember a worse audience, which helps him realize that whatever he just did wasn't so bad. He and his wife brought me presents from Jonathan Adler—a London needlepoint pillow and a Puppy Uppers jar. Also I told John that I thought it was amazing that Jon Stewart had the confidence to let him sub for him while he was directing a movie. No late-night hosts have guest hosts anymore. I don't think anybody wants someone to do it any better than they do it, and who can blame them? I allowed it one time, when I was scheduled to be at Liam's in the South of France three years ago. Jay Mohr, who'd been blogging about
RHONJ
for us, sat in one night. I woke up like a shot at 6 a.m. French time and checked Twitter to find a stream of “You should go on vacation more! This guy is hilarious!” and I realized I didn't care to leave my seat again.

So it was a motley crew and we partied late. My dad talked my director Rocco's ear off, Mom and Sonja somehow found things in common, then we debated whether it was an urban myth that someone had been attacked with excrement in Times Square sometime around 9/11. The team watched as over and over Siri misunderstood my mom's request for information on “Times Square FECES.” We stayed until one-thirty—my poor parents.…

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 25, 2014

World Cup fever has overtaken the city and it feels like Europe—you can hear the sound of games coming from bars, restaurants, dry cleaners, magazine stands. I love it. The architects are here measuring the apartments, which apparently takes two days.

Had an old-school dinner outside at Morandi with Bruce, Jess Cagle, who is now the editor of
People
, which totally blows me away after knowing him twenty years, and Chris Bagley, who has just moved back from France.

Joel McHale and Stanley Tucci were on the show. Mom and Dad were sitting in the front row and Mom thought McHale was a wiseass, which is exactly what he is but I like him. It was Chase's birthday and we had cake and somehow that turned into me getting Mom to do her runway walk for the staff. It didn't take much coaxing.

I had a date with this Croatian basketball player who used to play professionally in Turkey but when they all found out he was gay, he had to leave the country. Now he plays in a league here, and during Gay Pride Week a few weeks ago his entire team surprised him at the bar he was at wearing T-shirts that said “Equality.” He said he was in tears—it was the happiest day of his life. I was in tears hearing about it.

THURSDAY, JUNE 26, 2014

Had the hardest workout—I think we did seven rounds of boxing and kicking. He let me freestyle on the punching bag for a minute each round and I was a total disaster at it. I've been doing sequences with the Ninj and Will for a few years and I couldn't come up with anything but a straight assault. Maybe that's all you need if you get in a fight.

I came home drenched and somehow hadn't gotten the memo that there was no water in the building until four. So I hung out sweaty and waited for a conference call with Martha Stewart and watched us get beaten by Germany in the Cup and then spent a while online trying to figure out how we lost but didn't get knocked out. The water wasn't on at four, so I had to shower at Equinox (I was in and out of there in six minutes) before going to the show for a meeting.

Brought Wacha by Bruce's, where he, Liza, and I continued our lament about more NYC institutions that are closing, specifically her deli, which for years has not only hidden her extra key but killed a mouse for her and basically guarded her life.

Met Mom and Dad at Morandi with Wacha. They had been at
Buyer & Cellar
, which she loved and he was lukewarm on. I was a dick to Mom for the first fifteen minutes of dinner, then she told me I was being an asshole and I broke it down and decided her energy was too intense for me to handle so I had turned on her. Once we talked it out, we were great for the rest of the meal. Then Mom announced that her favorite shoe repair store in the city is closing, so add
that
to the list, and who even knew my mom had a favorite shoe repair store in the city? Anthony from the show stopped by, then John Hill, then Liza on her way home from Bruce's. She told them about the deli and it was a big commiseration. Wacha was crying when I left to go to the bathroom, and Liza said her answer to her own question would be that she would ask a dog what they were so afraid of happening when you leave. I'm both concerned and flattered by his attachment to me.

Mark Ruffalo and Keira Knightley were on and we played a game about Mark and I being doppelgängers and then we got some tweets saying we look nothing alike, so who knows.

Before bed, Wacha was standing over something next to the bed, looking very quizzical—it was a dead bug lying on its back. I got rid of it with little incident.

FRIDAY, JUNE 27, 2014—NYC–ROME

This morning I found another bug in the exact same spot! Dead! I need a CSI!

I felt very mournful all day thinking about leaving Wacha, and it seemed like he was mirroring my energy. He was really snuggly and big-eyed. That being said, it was a lovely day. I took a walk with the Croatian basketball player and packed after a two-hour massage.

The big group I travel with is converging on Italy for Hamilton's birthday. If Bruce and Barkin were in charge, we would've left for the airport at noon for our 10 p.m. flight to Rome. Suffice to say we left at 6:30 and got there in record time and had plenty of time to debate whether Kendall Jenner would become a big star. One person suggested it was only possible if a nose job was in her future. I had no idea what she looks like, but disagreed on principle.

Before passing out on the plane, I re-realized Wacha is a dog and isn't thinking about anything deep—most especially he's not thinking about me when I'm not there. Why do I keep getting sucked into the guilt trap? It's been nine months already.

SATURDAY, JUNE 28, 2014—ROME–POSITANO

Thank you, pinot grigio and Ambien, for the full night's sleep on the plane. And thank you to our great host, Hamilton, for picking us up in two helicopters, which we took from Rome to Sorrento, landed on what looked like someone's backyard, then drove to Praiano, where we spent the whole day and night at Villa Lilly, which is gorgeous. Swam in the Med, played “Gay or Italian?” with a whole group of Speedo guys (I lean more towards Euro), napped, and watched Barkin unpack. Dinner was fresh fish, al dente pasta with spicy red sauce, light salad, eggplant. Bruce got furious at someone's suggestion that Brooklyn is past its prime, and just when the night started to have the potential to get messy, my water taxi arrived amidst lil anchovies jumping in the night water—and I hiked up that Positano hill to the Sirenuse.

SUNDAY, JUNE 29, 2014—POSITANO/CAPRI

I had my room as cold as a meat locker, so it was a good sleep. Woke up to a marching band playing in front of the church in the square. Sounds kind of unpleasant but since it's Italy it was exactly how you want to be woken up on your Sunday. Ate a massive breakfast on a terrace overlooking the Med. After forty-eight hours of food I feel like I haven't worked out in months. That's sobering. And so boring.

The Villa crew picked me up in a speedboat and we went to EOS and joined Barry and DVF for a hike/shop in Capri. Jason bought pink pants and Bruce got red shoes. Lunch on Barry's boat was epic: steak and lobster and beef carpaccio and a bunch of crazy summer salads. For dessert a Capri cake—torta Caprese—which is chocolate and almond. Mary South thought of a slogan for the Palm: “Let them eat steak.” I don't know if Bruce will go for it but it's great. I was gossiping with the EOS crew on the bridge and our entire group was waiting for me on the tender without me knowing. I like the crew gossip, especially who is doing who, but ya never wanna leave ten people waiting. Especially this bunch.

Jeff Klein, John Goldwyn, and Cornelia Guest joined us for dinner. Of course I had to ask Cornelia about Warhol and she had some wild stories, like riding out a hurricane on a boat off Newport with Andy, one of the chicks from Sister Sledge, and Randy from the Village People (I mean!?). Also she told me about getting in a snowmobile accident with him in Aspen. She thinks he would've dug the Housewives but turned on them “when they started thinking they were Sophia Loren”—that's when the fifteen minutes would've been up. Interesting that she thinks he would've been turned off by their acting like stars, he liked them real. Very drunky, we schlepped up the 250 stairs to the road where we waited for a cab. I dropped them off at the San Pietro, realized I didn't have any euros, and Cornelia threw me a fifty. There were fireworks coming from Positano as the driver texted his way around the windy, treacherous Amalfi Coast. Comforting. I paid it forward, giving him the fifty on a thirty-euro fare, and got back to the Sirenuse in time to see a spectacular finale and hear sweet applause and whistles breaking out from various parts of the hillside village.