The Andy Cohen Diaries (49 page)

THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 2014—THE PINES, FIRE ISLAND

Cloudy morning. Read a bunch of that Ann Patchett book
State of Wonder
that Jeanne lent me. I'm into it. Hung out on the beach with the Hawaiian who I met yesterday with the not-Grace-Jones-tattoo guy. He's cool. Saw this guy on the beach who I had a thing with from around 2004 to 2007 and he's in
Sleep No More
now and was with his boyfriend and we were all in our bathing suits and the conversation seemed loaded and weird to me. Oh, and it was their anniversary. What's more awkward, running into someone you had a years-long fool-around thing with or someone you dated for years? I think fool-around. What do you even call it when it was never anything official?

There's a pair of binoculars in the house, and I sit on the deck and grab them when something interesting is coming down the beach. It's better than an opera. At tea ran into Sam Champion and team—it's their last night here. He is a very nice person, as you would expect. Two people at tea told me their maids here are also their pot dealers. How efficient! Also an Israeli guy was peeing next to me at tea and casually told me that his pee smells stronger on Fire Island because he only drinks alcohol while here, which was further reminder to hold my breath and hydrate. Really fun dinner party at Michael and Wes's with Josh Wood, Chris Nelson, and Jason Moore, who just directed the new Tina Fey–Amy Poehler movie. We had what I hope is my last conversation of the summer about Ice Bucket Challenges. When I took mine eight days ago, my
WWHL
team already thought it felt old. They're still happening! And the new ones are horrible. Is it un-PC to say “We got it, let's stop now?” I took Wacha on a midnight beach walk and back at home watched Madonna's first Carson appearance, which was amazing on several levels—there's a whole daddy/daughter thing happening, or is it a daddy/sexy-girl thing? Plus it's over fifteen minutes long, and she is so brazen and flirty and ambitious. Blonde Ambition.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 22, 2014—THE PINES, FIRE ISLAND

Amy Sedaris was on
Fallon
last night and she told me that in the Adirondack Room she saw my bobblehead and stole an owl. She says she's gonna give it back when she is on the show again. So there's stuff coming in and stuff going out. I love that. I was walking Wacha on the beach this morning and when I looked back up at my deck I realized that people can see me checking them out with binoculars. It's not like I'm miles away up there. Great. Hickey arrived for what has become our new tradition of a weekend in Fire Island feeling fun and free and gay and groovy. We puttered around the island and everywhere we went people asked us if we were going to the night's marquee attraction: the underwear party on Cherry Grove. We certainly had not planned to go to an
underwear party
, which doesn't even sound hot—right? But the longer you discuss any idea, the more not-crazy it sounds, and on our beach walk with the just-back-from-the-city mayors of Fire Island, Bill and Chris, during which Chris gave us his yearly Fire Island Beach Home tour (“there's the
Normal Heart
house; that's where Calvin used to be; that's Robin Byrd's house”), it became clear that they wouldn't rest until we were all in Cherry Grove surrounded by underwear. After further discussion, we discovered that if we
did
go we did not have to actually walk around in our underwear. That sold it. Saw Fredrik Eklund at low tea in a beachy hoody; that is one realtor who can pull off a beachy-cozy look. After, on the porch at Sip n Twirl, a dude came up to me and told me that he's decorating Joan Rivers's bedroom and that he had seen Joan on my show, which he'd never seen before and about which he now had plenty of judgment: he really wanted me to know that I don't get too deep with anybody. But he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't insulting me, and the more he explained it, the more insulting it sounded. Bill and Chris explicated the schedule of events on this nuthouse island and it's insane—it's low tea (in straight terms, “tea” means
happy hour
), then Sip n Twirl, then you eat,
then
you go out! So Hickey and I were distressed to learn that after the magic of Lina we had to go
kill time
before the underwear party, which didn't start until around midnight. We did so by hitting our YouTube at home and vibing on some classic duets—highlights were Kenny and Dolly singing “We've Got Tonight” live—just check her out walking into the arena mid-song like the country thoroughbred she is—and Lionel and Diana singing “Endless Love” at the Oscars, which is magic despite the fact that she seems to be barely looking at her singing partner. The underwear party was a zillion guys checking their clothes as they walked in, and Hickey and I hanging with the clothed people with restricted access on the porch. We could
watch
the people on the dance floor in their undies, but we couldn't partake. You know what, that was just fine with us. There were people of all shapes and sizes and I will tell you there are many varieties of underwear these days. I spent much of the night talking to an insurance lawyer wearing a leash and collar. So many nuances to Obamacare! We walked back from Cherry Grove via the beach around three, glad we went.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 2014—THE PINES, FIRE ISLAND

SJP's arrival on the ferry was the closest thing I've seen to Dolly Levi returning to the Harmonia Gardens—boys carrying her luggage, others handing her flyers, kisses blown, photos taken—for real I thought a song-and-dance number was gonna break out and the kids passing out flyers by the ferry were going to thrust her into the air. As the sun set over the ocean outside, Hickey made incredible steaks; she made some corn and a salad (I watched and refreshed drinks). SJP has a thing for grocery stores—she feels like when you travel, the local stores tell you a lot about where you are. She was fascinated—a lot of visitors are—about how an island with no cars and no (good) restaurants functions, and what kind of grocery store must service such a place. So after dinner we took a walk to town and went into the Pines Pantry so she could investigate. She walked through that Pantry with the wonder of a child visiting Disney World for the first time.
“Look at the beautiful butcher section! Here's the hardware! A Crock-Pot!”
and the people working in the store reacted to her with the same wonder, so it was like the animals in the zoo watching the visitors. We wound up on the porch at Sip n Twirl, having a drink and listening to music. And when I say that, I should point out that we were right next to the speakers, which didn't stop this kid from coming over and telling SJ that he would be honored to sing her a song. Ever gracious, she acted as though it was purely natural when he sang the entirety of John Legend's “All of Me” in full
American Idol
audition mode while ABBA
blasted
from the speakers five feet away. I was in hysterics, I might add. And we became obsessed by the mechanics (or lack of) of an incredibly drunk girl who seemed like she was going to topple over at any time. We ran into a ton of Broadway Boys who either knew SJ, Hickey, or me—so there was a lot of catching up and one of them said a big theater critic for the
New York Times
was at the underwear party last night and that really levels the playing field between critic and actor, when everyone is in their undies. Right?

SUNDAY, AUGUST 24, 2014—THE PINES, FIRE ISLAND

We saw the super-drunk girl on the beach today! “I am so sorry,” she screamed to us as we walked. SJ told her she was just happy she made it out alive. She looked different coherent and in a bathing suit, although I am fairly certain she had a cocktail in her hand. It was blazing sun all day and we took advantage of every second. We became fascinated with the choices people make regarding their swimsuits. So many options! Speedos in every shape and cut, some G-strings, not a lot of board shorts, and for me, what I would consider to be trunks that border on hot pants. And may I remind you that Mr. James Brolin complemented my almost-hot pants not eight days ago. Hickey wore board shorts. The Clark Kent Lawyer made an impression on me the other day in his square-cut Speedo with a lot of junk in the trunk. Sam Champion's suits resonated with me even after he left, because he seems to enjoy several manifestations of a sunset motif on a square-cut Speedo. It was a special joy walking through the nudie section with SJ and seeing her react to the varietals of penis and testes splayed out for display. For a lady who starred in a TV show with “Sex” in the title, her level of innocence is surprising. Hickey and SJP are here for thirty-six hours total and the amount of food they have brought into my kitchen is astounding. I am not used to having so much food in the house. Hickey made an incredibly robust breakfast and lunch. I had a mini breakdown because Wacha spent roughly six hours chasing his shadow—on the deck, on a long walk.… I Googled “compulsive shadow chasing” and it could turn into a real disorder. I felt a weight on me for the first time since I got to the island. We took SJ back to Sip n Twirl before her 9 p.m. ferry and sat on the railing listening to music as twinks 'n gays of all shapes and sizes testified at her feet. One gentleman presented her with something of a modern dance that you might consider in the vogue family. Guess who else was there? The high-ponytailed hype-lady from James Wilkie's October birthday party! What are the chances? She freaked me out again, so at least she's consistent. Hickey and I got SJ on the ferry and danced the night away. It was a great one.

MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2014—THE PINES, FIRE ISLAND

Years ago Grac and I came up with a phrase that we decided to say to each other in the event that one of us suspected that the other's body had been overtaken by aliens. This phrase would be proof of whether or not we were still us. The problem is that we keep forgetting the exact phrase, and today spent ten minutes in the pool hashing it out. And as I write this I am realizing that maybe Grac is in fact an alien. She (or her shell inhabited by an alien) and Amanda came on the noon ferry. I walked there barefoot in wet bathing suit and nothing else; my inner island self is almost fully realized here, I may never leave. (Actually, I tried to extend a couple days but they rented the house to someone starting Thursday.) Hickey and I had a sentimental goodbye at the 10 a.m. ferry and ran into Robin Byrd. A guy came to the house to record narration for two Bravo shows and it was hilarious recording lines about Vicki Gunvalson on a closet floor in a wet bathing suit. Bill and Chris took the day off to hang out with the girls. While I was scoping out this guy in a traditional-cut blue Speedo who was parked in front of our house reading a magazine, Grac had another idea for her ideas list—an app for binoculars. I think it's genius. It probably exists. She made a special Fire Island Pines 2014 playlist featuring Samantha Fox, Boston, Run-DMC, Milli Vanilli (Grac and Amanda were Fab and Rob for Halloween one year), and six more hours of perfect music that was the soundtrack of our day. Bill said he sweats pot at the gym. Grac got him a Hawaiian necklace with a bone on it that he's gonna wear like a choker. Oh, and there were pot lollipops. We all tried to point out our livers—another new parlor game!—I don't think any of us got it right. I kept debating going and talking to the blue Speedo guy and didn't. I didn't see him at low tea, either, but there was a flag dancer making a rainbow in the sky to the tune of “Take Me Home”—he's a member of the local flag-dancing group the Flaggots, of course. We had dinner at Bill's, though it was cut short when they ran out of pot and tequila. I was so glad I remembered Blouse's birthday before the night was over—I left her a long message, which made me wonder where the hell Blouse was late on a Monday night in St. Louis. It was no easy feat stumbling home across the island on endless boardwalks in the pitch-black night, but the smell of meat-filled barbeques wafting through the air and the perennial sound of the waves made it all better. We were in bed by eleven-thirty and Grac was doing a character who was rating every wave after it hit the beach (CRASH—“Yeah, yeah, that was good.” CRASH—“No—that one stunk…” CRASH—“OK, fair.”), which was funnier than it sounds here.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 26, 2014—THE PINES, FIRE ISLAND

After nine days here I think my motor skills are deteriorating. Thankfully, Wacha has not lost his; he was a normal dog on his morning beach walk. Amanda had diagnosed him with anxiety and compulsiveness that may have to do with past trauma. Joy. I gave Grac the Beats by Dre headphones for Sam. I figure they can't crush his head like a vise in the same way as mine since he's under ten. Grac suggested to Bruce that he buck the LA trends and get himself a muscle car. And yesterday he did, a Dodge Charger. He texted wanting to know what he should name it and Grac said it needs to be “something like Carmen, something with a good edge,
West Side Story
meets Marisa Tomei meets a maraschino cherry.” Bruce agrees but doesn't like Carmen or Carmine. So he's thinking. After I put the girls on the ferry, my last day here evaporated into thin air like the mist over the ocean. (Was that cheesy? But it's true!) Andrew Rannells and Mike Doyle dropped by in their swimsuits with roadies. We killed my last bottle of Whispering Angel—they made wine spritzers (which Mike thinks get you more drunk because of the bubbles), and we talked and talked while taking sun, jumping in the ocean, looking at people from my deck with my not-obvious binoculars, and jumping in the pool. Those guys are a cute couple and—even though this aired like fifteen years ago—I can't get the image of Mike Doyle dressed in a miniskirt and lipstick as the
Oz
prison bitch out of my mind. Wacha ran right up to this creepy scene happening on the beach, which was a Thai massage, but a shady one, and he was trying to jump up on the guy getting the massage. Wacha loves massage lotion, which is a constant battle for me during my weekly Adam massages. Then Adam showed up and
I
got one (but not creepy), for ninety minutes. I told him he is looking more like a man and less like a twink and he said I have been saying that to him for almost a year, which I forgot at the time but now vaguely remember. At one point I got up to go to the bathroom and the blue Speedo guy was back, in the same spot. I decided to definitely go talk to him after the massage but at that point he was gone. At tea I got invited to an “It's a Madge Madge Madge Madge World” party, which I'm told will be the largest-ever gathering of people dressed as Madonna (a rep from Guinness is coming to map it out) and I momentarily considered finding another house to stay in for the next few nights so I can attend. The host is going as “Live to Tell” Madonna; he has a huge cross he's going to schlep around. We wondered who we would be. I am all over the map about my
Madentity
, but I think “Hung Up” Madonna. Guess who came up to me at tea—Blue Speedo Guy! He said he'd been hanging near my house because of the incredible music (Grac's six-hour playlist). He is from San Francisco and he's a twin. We made plans to see each other later but I had dinner at Wes and Michael's (they don't eat buns and they got hamburger buns just for me) and was so tired after, I canceled. Not exactly making great use of my last night on Fire Island but Daddy is tired.