BUSTED! How Did They Do It--Catching Me Dining With Jennifer Love Hewitt?
THIS IS THE LOVELY JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT, MY LUNCH DATE, NOT THE JEALOUS KIM KARDASHIAN
These Are A Few Of The Highlights Of My Lunch Date With Jennifer Love Hewitt
What's it like . . .
to dine with one of Hollywood's most-beautiful celebrities, Jennifer Love Hewitt? In a word. Heavenly. Every word off her silken lips was perfect. Love is so charming that the roses in our restaurant, "Louie's," in Los Angeles, wilted as she gracefully walked by them.
Her laughter is so soft and feminine, you would swear that God Himself was standing near her applauding His handiwork. Jennifer Love Hewitt. What a wonderful girl. Star of movie, stage, and television. Every project she takes on does one thing: Succeeds. That's talent, folks.
But this story is the end-result of weeks and weeks of constant phone calls, emails and even a personal messenger that Jennifer sent to my house--asking, okay, begging like a girl with no shame, for me to have lunch with her.
And it was due to one thing. One insignificant thing. One less-than-a-speck in the universe: ONE EMAIL THAT I SENT TO HER WHILE HER HIT CBS SHOW, "GHOST WHISPERER," WAS STILL RUNNING.
This has taught me to be careful in whom I send emails.
Today is December 14, 2011. It's 10:54 a.m., (CST). I am sitting in front of my PC with my black coffee, hands shaking out of fear, and a mind that's raging with millions of info-bytes that I gained during my first (and last) secret lunch-date with the famous. Lovely. Charming. Jennifer Love Hewitt.
Why do my hands shake out of fear? Well, to be honest. At the end of this story, you, the valued readers, will do one of three things: A. be shocked at my being seen with Jennifer Love Hewitt B. think that I am an adulterer (which I'm not) or C. go on about your business. That's why fear rips me into at this moment.
But I know that to feel better, I have to unburden myself of something I just had to do to keep peace in my life and that was cave-in to having lunch with Jennifer Love Hewitt, a few weeks ago. And after I tell you my views of Jennifer Love Hewitt, I will tell you all the gory details of my first-ever meeting with Jennifer Love Hewitt.
If asked to describe Jennifer Love Hewitt in one word, what would you say? I know what I would say. And I've said it a million times. "masterpiece." She is that in every aspect of femininity and womanhood. Hewitt does not have to 'work' at being charming. She was born with charm. And grace. Dignity. And a down-to-earth self-image that makes average men (like me) feel at ease when being in her company.
I need not waste your time talking about the success that Jennifer Love Hewitt has had while in Hollywood. She has starred in movies such as, "Scream," "Heart breakers," "The Kathryn Hepburn Story," and television blockbusters such as: "Party of Five," as a young starlet and her biggest success to date, was CBS' "Ghost Whisperer," that for some ignorant reason, was cancelled. Whomever made that bone-head decision is now washing cars somewhere in San Diego.
But even with all of her fame, fortune, and mega-success, Jennifer Love Hewitt is as humble and giddy as a schoolgirl in her views of daily living. She goes for the simple things. A walk on the beach at midnight. A horseback ride. A picnic in some secluded, romantic place near the ocean. And sometimes just strolling by herself--collecting her thoughts and just evolving into the Hollywood icon that she is today. But when the praises. Accolades. Cudo's start flying toward her, she laughs and plays it down like it was nothing, when most actresses in her shoes would get a swelled head and crave to be on the cover of TIME, People, and Us magazines.
Now that I've reintroduced you to the lovely and talented Jennifer Love Hewitt, I need to get on with this "horror" story. Horror story? Yes, a horro story. Of sorts. Now most men, if approached by someone as lovely, charming, and feminine as Jennifer Love Hewitt would jump at the chance to just get their photos snapped with her. But in my case, I not only got my photo snapped with her (in a public place), but had lunch with her. Yes, I actually got to dine with Jennifer Love Hewitt.
Why I used the word 'horror,' was not because I was nervous. Fearful. Or intimidated by Ms. Hewitt. My years in the newspaper business taught me to always show no fear when meeting celebrities, governors, authors and wealthy businessmen. And women. I guess my background paid off. Most men, and probably women too, would have fainted when meeting Jenn. Okay. Okay. I call her Jenn. She loves it.
THIS THING STARTED WEEKS AGO WITH
one innocent, insignificant e-mail. Yes, one e-mail that I sent to Jennifer Love Hewitt, sorry, I mean, Jenn, when her show, "Ghost Whisperer," was being cancelled. I was only doing my duty as a servant of my fellow man, or in this case, young, beautiful Hollywood female star. I can easily-recall just what I said in that email:
Dear Jennifer, just a brief note from a huge fan, (I weigh around 203, ha, ha) to tell you how much I love your character, Melinda Gordon, on Ghost Whisperer. I have found out today from a news item on CNN, that your show is sadly, not being picked up again by CBS. Those ninnies. Why would they treat you this way? I say it's pure, out-and-out jealousy by other females at CBS who want to be as famous as you. Not gonna happen. You will always be MY FAVORITE actress. And If there is anything I can do for you during this sad time in your life, do not fail to call me. (I added my phone number here). Your biggest fan, Kenneth Avery, Hamilton, Alabama.
And as I hit "send," the e-mail was gone. History. Forgotten about. And I went on with my life, but still saddened about the ill-timed decision to cancel "Ghost Whisperer." But what could I do? I am but a flesh and blood man. With flaws. Inconsistencies. And dreams of living in a perfect world one day. Oh, to be honest, I did think of Jenn on those lonesome mornings when I would watch "Ghost Whisperer," reruns on the Audience Network on DirecTV. Jenn is so caring. Humble-hearted. Giving. Why did this have to happen to her and not Alyson Hannigan on "How I Met Your Mother"? Whomever said 'life isn't fair,' sure knew what they were talking about.
As time went by and I watched more and more of "Ghost Whisperer," reruns, drank more black coffee, I began to sink into a deep, dark depression about how Jenn was being used. Run over. And emotionally-abused. Jenn is a good girl, I thought. Why, God, why? I prayed. And prayed a lot. I paced the floors of my house--praying as I walked. And in front of my mirror in the bathroom I prayed as I viewed my image as that of man whom had let his appearance 'go to the dogs.' I had not shaved in days. Nor showered. My clothes were dirty. Wrinkled. I looked awful. That, my friends, is what caring for someone will do for you.
One evening around 7 p.m. (CST), I had finished my day of watching "Ghost Whisperer," reruns, drinking my normal three pots of coffee and not caring about myself. But Jenn. I went to bed very early in hope that I would 'sleep off' my dark depression for Jenn's rough treatment. Poor Jenn. What a sweet girl. This is not how life is supposed to work. I remember as I lay across my unmade bed, screaming to Heaven, " . . .if only she, (Jennifer Love Hewitt) would call me....what I would tell her to make her feel better." Okay. That was a long shot. Talking to God like that, but after all, does the scriptures not tell us, "nothing is impossible with God"? So I tried that out.
I do not know how many hours, days, I slept. But when I awoke on a certain Friday morning around 5 a.m. (CST) I felt different. Refreshed. Still unshaven. Not showered in days. Clothes now wrinkled enough to make homes for cockroaches. But I felt good. My appetite had returned. What a turn-around. A miracle, if you will. I even felt good enough to make my bed, shave, take a needed-shower and change into some clean clothes. It was a new day. With a new "me." Glory be. The depression I had was gone.
THEN, LIKE THE HAND OF ZEUS MOVING THE EARTH, IT HAPPENED
as I was chowing-down some Eggo waffles with Aunt Jamima syrup, the phone rang. That's funny, I said to myself. I've not had a phone call in days. So I answered as politely as possible.
"Hello."
"Heeeey, is this Keeeeneee?" a sweet voice said.
"Uh, yes, it is. To whom am I speaking?" I asked while sheer anticipation ran over my body. Or was that the Aunt Jamima syrup?
"Ohh, silleeeee, it's Jennifer! Jennifer Love Hewitt! You sent me that loooveeely e-mail a few weeks ago...wow. It was like, wow, this man is a, like, you know, fan. How are you, Keneee?" she cooed.
"Uh, fine. Fine, I guess. Is this really Jennifer Love Hewitt? I get a lot of crank calls. I have to be sure," I explained--hoping that it WAS Jennifer Love Hewitt.
"You silleeee, boy. Let me prove it. I will read your sweeet e-mail to you," she said and continued to read the very e-mail I had sent weeks ago. Forgot it. And had went on about my life worried about her. Now it was her, Jennifer Love Hewitt, on the phone . . .with ME!
"Okay. You are Jennifer Love Hewitt. I apologize." I said very contritely.
"Hee, heee, (she even giggles beautifully) what a fan you are, Keneee. Oh, I can do a line from 'Ghost Whisper' for you as Melinda Gordon . . ."Hey, get away from her! She's only a girl!" And with that line, I knew it. She was Jennifer Love Hewitt. No doubt. At all. My heart raced like Dale Earnhardt Jr's National Guard-sponsored Sprint Cup race car. My eyes were filled with tears. No celebrity, local or national had ever answered a fan letter, e-mail or message I had left on their answering machines . . .and now, "the" Jennifer Love Hewitt was talking to me.
"Hey, hee, hee, like do you wanna have some, like, lunch today?" Jenn asked.
I almost choked on the air in my throat. My tongue swelled twice its size. I felt as if I were in a dentist's office being 'gassed' before getting a tooth pulled.
"Well, Jennifer, I, uh, well, you see. I am, uh, . . .short on . . .cash, but, uh," I said before she interrupted.
"So you are broke? Is that right? That's okay, Kenneeee. I can pay for lunch. After all, I am a working celebrity in Hollywood. Don't be ashamed. I was broke--that one time last month, hee, hee, when I, being girl, left my black American Express Card at home. You want to have lunch with me and talk about your e-mail? I love your style of writing!" she said making me feel as if I were somebody.
"Jennifer, I would love to, but I have to stay home today and clean house. Uhhhh, can you, please, give me a rain check? Please? It's important to me," I begged. Yes, begged. I had no pride at this point.
A long, deafening silence set in. I could hear her fiddling around with her car keys or something. She was mumbling something. Must have been talking to her maid or other help.
"Okay. I'm hurt, Keneee. I know how you men are--you like to pay for a girl's dinner. So, like, may I, like, call you later?" she asked in such a sweet, silken voice.
"Yes, Jennifer. That would be great. And next time, I promise to have money to buy our lunch. Thanks. You are a sweet person," I said almost crying at her sincere attitude.
THAT WAS ON A FRIDAY. THE NEXT MONDAY AT 8 A.M. (CST)
the phone rang.
"Hello," I said halfway asleep.
"Keneeeeee, it's me! Jennifer! You know, Jennifer Love Hewitt! You said I could call you later. It's later, hee, hee," she giggled.
"Ha, ha, yeah, it is later. How are you?" I asked getting myself awake and out of bed.
"Fine. Like, is today good for that lunch you postponed with me?" she asked, but this time, there was a demanding tone to her lovely voice.
"Well, uh, I tell you, Jennifer, I do have 'some' money on hand, but I don't know what kind of food you like, so can we just 'play it by ear'?" I answered.
"Sure, Keneeee, I like potluck. I like to be taken to my fave restaurant, "Louie's" in L.A. I eat there all of the time with John Stamos, Danny Glover, I call him 'glove,' and there's that, yeah, Tommy Gibson who is on that law-thingeee show, Criminal Minds. Don't be all jealous on me, Keneeee. I have lots of guy pals. Okay?" Jennifer stated while giggling in between words.
"Okay then. How do I get to Los Angeles, Jennifer? That is a big problem," I asked.
"Silleeee Keneeee, I got it covered. I sent my private leer jet to your, uh, hometown, Hammy, Alabama, ooopsie, I mean, Hamilton, last night so all you have to do, is like, drive to your airport, and you can't miss her, my pilot, "Julie," she will make sure that you are made comfortable on the flight. See you in a few, Keneeee," Jennifer said and hung up.
Now I was used to flying. As a long time ago I had flown on Air Force One with my buddy, President Barack Obama to hang out at the White House, but this was different. a leer jet. A female pilot. What would "Julie" and Jennifer think of me dressed in Faded Glory jeans and matching shirt, and loafers? I was in deep, friends. No turning back now.
Upon arriving at the Rankin Fite Airport, Hamilton, Alabama, my hometown, (check this if you think that I'm exaggerating) I couldn't miss Jennifer's leer jet--white with pink trim over the wings and tail fin. And there was the pretty, "Julie," the pilot dressed so professional in her yellow sundress with orange flowers. "Hi, I'm . . ." I started to say before "Julie" interrupted, "I know who you are. Now listen. I may look pretty, but I'm fierce if made angry. I work out with Lucy Loo and and hold a black belt in Kung Fu, Judo and Karate. You stay quiet in this plane. Do not talk to me and we will be fine," she said as she motioned for me climb aboard the "Ghost One," the name of Jennifer's jet.
Instead of telling you in paragraph-form how the lunch date with Jennifer Love Hewitt went, I will use a play-by-play method as used by professional sportscasters.
TOMMY, THE OWNER OF "LOUIE'S" IN LOS ANGELES - met us with a smile as big as New Jersey. "Welcome, Ms. Hewitt and uh, you are, " "My date, Tommy," Jenn said with a tone of authority. Tommy suddenly treated me like I was Justin Timberlake and showed us to our table which was perfect. A show piece or any house ware magazine. The table had the finest crystal and software, something that Jennifer loved. And Tommy, during our lunch, made every effort to make us feel comfortable.
OUR WAITER, EDDY, A UCLA GRAD - was so gracious in taking our orders. "You order for me, Kenneeee," Jennnifer said while looking so alluring--looking at me with those big brown eyes over the menu. I was stunned. I didn't know what she ate. "Uh, just give Jennifer her usual. Is that okay?" I asked Jennifer as she giggled in approval. I had a steak, green beans and an order of french fries. Eddy scowled at me for ordering such common food. Jennifer got a kick out of my rural ways.
We chatted a bit before our orders arrived. Jennifer's usual was Fillet Mignon with Orange Glaze, a small health salad with kelp, a raw oyster, and white wine. I chose to not drink. I had some delicious Community coffee.
"So, Keneee, what is it that you do?" Jenn asked sipping her white wine.
"Aww, nothing much. I just do some housework, write on HubPages, and stay home," I replied. And noticed a look of sympathy coming over Jenn's angelic face.
"You write for whom . . .Hub what?"
"HubPages. A terrific website where writers can display their finest works to share with other writers and just average people like me. It's fun," I tried to explain.
Jennifer took her napkin and was gently weeping at my story that wasn't that sad. I was growing suspicious. Maybe this was a side of her that I had not seen on her television shows.
"Why are you crying, Jennifer?" Something wrong?" I asked in a soft voice.
"NO! Nothing's wrong! Do I look like something's wrong? I am Jennifer Love Hewitt--a celebrity. Famous. Well-liked. Now why ask a stupid question like that?" she bellowed and made the other people dining in "Louie's" stare at us in disbelief.
"Uh, hey, I was, uh, just asking. Errr, I didn't mean anything by it," I said looking at the floor pretending to look for a fork I had dropped. I heard whispers coming from the other patrons. I was hoping that this was an episode of Bloopers and Practical Jokes. God please, let this NOT be the Jennifer I adore! I prayed to myself.
"Hee, hee, did you like that, Keneee?" That was how I pass my auditions--when I take them. I usually just 'phone it in,' and audition over the phone. The casting agents around Hollywood know me, so why waste gasoline and time? Right? Like, take a look at this face, this body. I ask you, Keneeeee, is this the face and body of someone who NEEDS to audition for a role?" Jennifer said actually standing up to show me her perfect body. I liked that part, but when strange men in the restaurant began whistling and cat-calling Jennifer, I got upset.
OUR FOOD FINALLY ARRIVED - and I tell you this, friends. I was purely-amazed. Stunned. Shocked all the way down to my socks. If I had worn any. Jennifer devoured her Fillet Mignon like a hungry she wolf with a litter of puppies. And guzzled down the white wine like a Marine on liberty. I just ate my steak, green beans and french fries without looking up for I realized that the other diners were snickering at Jennifer, who now had steak sauce on her face and didn't bother to use a napkin. And to make things even more embarrassing, she tried to talk to me, "Kenn, (gulp)--eeee, giggle, (gulp, chew) after---(chew, gulp), lunch, (gulp) want to---see where --(gulp, cough, chew, gulp, gulp,) where I live?" she barely asked before dropping a huge bite of steak on her designer dress. My heart was breaking. Seeing this icon of movies and television act in such a boorish fashion. She took it on herself to wipe the steak sauce off her face on the coat of a waiter who was passing by. He only smiled. And probably made a bundle selling coat on EBay for having it used by Jennifer Love Hewitt as a napkin.
AS WE GOT UP TO LEAVE, A JEALOUS-LOOKING KIM KARDASHIAN - came by our table and was dressed in some charity-based red smock. "You, girl, gotta pose with me for a publicity picture," Kim said while winking at me. "Well, okay, but Kim, just one photo. We are in a tad of a hurry," Jennifer said with a protective tone to her voice. Kim and Jennifer both wore a red smock with some charity's name on it and the photographers who had been called by the restaurant, snapped about a hundred photos. Jennifer has a soft-spot for charities. Even with her jealous rival, Kim Kardashian, involved. Jennifer just cannot say no to any group that helps others.
"Say, Jenn, who's your new man there?" Kim said while trying to touch me on the arm.
"Oh, heee, heee, that's my biggest fan, Keneeeee, from Hammy, oh, some, (giggle) town, oh yeah, Hamilton, that is in Alabama. Right, Keneeee?" Jennifer replied laughing with Kim.
Kim looked rather disappointed at Jennifer being with me, but what could I say? I was an invited guest of Jennifer Love Hewitt and I did NOT want to be engaged-then-dropped in a few days by a true-blue socialite like Kim Kardashian.
TO SHOW YOU JUST HOW SWEET - Jennifer Love Hewitt is in public, while we were eating, well, while I was eating, Jennifer was "gorging" down her meal and three scoops of Rocky Road ice cream spread over two pieces of apple pie, she happen to spot Martha Madison, a lovely girl with beautiful blond hair sitting, nibbling a small salad at a table or two away from us. Jennifer got up from our table and went to chat with Martha, who had been one of the main stars as "Belle Black," on the hot soap opera, "Days of Our Lives," and now does mostly movie work. The two giggled like two college friends. And "air kissed" each other as Jennifer came back to the table. "Did you sneak a bite of my dessert? Huh?" Jennifer growled. Yes, growled. "No, Jennifer. I, uh, just, finished my french fries, and uh," "Just thought you were a chow hound, that's all," she snapped as we arose to leave. Eddy, the waiter, brought the check and Jennifer put her black American Express card on the black server with the bill. Eddy was only gone a few minutes and came back. "Did you see that big tip I left for you?" Jennifer said to Eddy as we walked away. "Yes, that five-dollars will go far," Eddy said under his breath.
I was suddenly wanting to return home to Hamilton, Alabama. Maybe this day couldn't get any worse.
WHEN WE ARRIVED AT JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT'S MANSION - her entourage met us at the front door-smiling as if they were paid to smile. I found out later they were. Jennifer started giving out orders for dinner to be prepared, something of an Italian nature, I think. Before I could sit down, she told me to go with her down the hall. Then I started feeling very edgy. I am no adulterer. What was she wanting? In a few minutes I found out the answer to my question: I had to sit and watch her getting a massage. Jennifer wasn't nude. She was well-covered in some pink towels with a famous motel logo on each one. "Guess you are wonderin' what that awful smell is, right, Keneeee?" Jennifer said very lazily while a man, "Ike," from New Zealand, massaged her neck. I didn't get a chance to answer. "It's hog lard! Yeah, hog lard. My good gal pal, Britney Spears turned me on to this stuff--it's great for the skin and adds years to my youth, Keneee. Want "Ike" to give you a massage, or as people from your rural town says, " a rub-down?" I didn't say a word, but watched Jennifer doze off to sleep as "Ike," kept rubbing like a machine---up her back, down her back. Legs, feet. neck. She was snoring. I mean snoring like a middle-aged man. I was so humiliated. I felt trapped. A prisoner. Almost about to panic.
TWO HOURS CREPT BY - and "Ike," had finished his massage. He quietly left the massage room as I was left alone with the much-relaxed and loud-snoring Jennifer Love Hewitt. I never carry a cellphone, so how could I get out of here? I was now in panic-mode. Sweat was coming down my face. My shirt was soaked in sweat. My deodorant, AXE For Men, was not working. At all. Suddenly, she woke up--as if in shock. "Where do you think you're going, Keneeee?" Jennifer yelled while pulling the pink towels up over her chest area. "Uh, I need to be heading by home, Jennifer, and " she interrupted, "Who told you to call me Jennifer?" she barked. "You did," I said fearing that "Ike," the muscular New Zealander would hear us arguing and punch me out. "Well, Mr. Keneeee, you can go and I will call you a cab and even pay for your flight home, but where is it?" Jennifer asked with fire in her beautiful brown eyes. "Where's what?" I said very scared. "Your part of the money for lunch, that's what!" she said sitting up on the edge of the table. "Uh, well, here is all I have, fifteen-dollars and eighty-cents, will that do?" I said--almost in tears. "I guess. And this lunch, Keneee, was NOT fun. You are probably the worst lunch or regular date I've ever had. You don't talk! You don't drink! You don't talk vulgar! I can see why you idolize me so much. Loneliness. Is that it? Loneliness, Keneeee?" Jennifer said telling me to turn away while she dressed in her casual clothes--designer jeans, top and designer house slippers designed by Bill Blass.
"I apologize, Ms. Hewitt, I didn't . . ."
"Call me, Jennifer, you idiot!" She snapped while pushing me in head of her to the massive living area that could pass for an NFL football field.
Jennifer Love Hewitt stood with her arms crossed--staring a hole in me and not saying a word as I made an effort to thank her for a nice, well, okay, interesting, afternoon.
"Jennifer, I, uh, gulp, want to, uh, thank you, for all of your hospitality, the meal, and the tour of your massage room. It was fabulous," I said as humble as I could.
She returned not a word as she handed me two, one-hundred dollar bills for cab fare and a one-way ticket, (coach, of course), to Hamilton, Alabama. She never made an attempt to say goodbye or anything. I looked back at her and she was stationary--like a marble statue. Her maid, "Nikki," a fine lady from Haiti, was nice enough to let me out to wait for my cab.
As I walked down the two-hundred or so stairs down from Jennifer Love Hewitt's mansion, the security guards, "Nick," and "Peter," two well-trained security specialists from Vietnam, nodded and shook hands with me as my cab drove up.
I took one last look at Jennifer Love Hewitt's mansion as I got into the cab.
When we were about six blocks away from her mansion, I ordered, "Habeeb," the cab driver to stop for a moment which he obliged. For an extra tip. I got out of the cab, raised my hands up to the skies above and yelled to the top of my lungs . . .
" . . .thank you, God, for delivering me from that living Hades hole. I will never, and I do mean NEVER, do anything as stupid as this as long as I live . . ."
Was I glad to get back home. I was even glad when I had to hitch-hike from Birmingham, Alabama to Jasper, Alabama, home of George "Goober" Lindsey (true fact. Google it) where I caught a ride with a truck driver named, "Hal," driving a tractor-trailer rig hauling live chickens to some place in Georgia. "Hal," dropped me off about a mile from where I live. I was so happy I ran to my home that looked way better than Jennifer Love Hewitt's mansion. Or Jennifer herself for that matter.
When I got in the front door, I jumped for joy. Like an ape being let-go from a zoo into the jungle. I yelped. Screamed and just celebrated being in MY home.
I took time to shower and get into some clean clothes and settle in for a much-needed quiet and relaxing night.
Ahhh, the simple life. Don't you love it?
THEN MY PHONE RANG
"Hello," I said. With a bit of apprehension.
"Is this, Kenneth Avery?" a soft and angelic voice asked.
"Yes, this is he," I replied.
"This is, Martha, Martha Madison . . ."
"Martha WHO?" I said. And hung up.
