My Untold Short History With Oliver Stone
"I'm not going to crumble anymore! I'm going to talk to you no matter how I feel. I never could do it. You understand? I had to put the stuff that hurt like hell in some other part of me. Put it away, because when I talked I had to make sense and the hurt made me crazy."
Quote is from The Confession of Hector Ruiz-Hildalgo ~ A Novel by Silvio Valdez Copyright 1991
Disclaimer: This blog is based on a true story and my recollection of events, to the best of my knowledge. To protect the privacy of certain individuals, some of the identities have been changed or are composites.
Phuket, Thailand 1992
What would you do, if you were given an assignment to interview Oliver Stone? Perhaps you would write a professional one page letter giving him your credentials, a short list of your previous articles and a perfect paragraph to pitch the WHY in your proposal.
My first draft letter to Mr. Stone, was one page. I read it over and was bored practically after "Dear Mr. Oliver Stone". I crumbled up the paper and threw it on the floor and stared at the computer. The blinking of the cursor became hypnotic. I started over. This time I wrote from my heart; an overture to a stranger. A short time later, I had written a three page confession of sorts and thought long and hard about what to do next? Do I give my soul away to a perfect stranger? And why? Why did I feel compelled to write what I did? Why tell him about what had just happened between my father and I? Why would Stone give a rat's ass about my life?
As a writer, we are taught to make every word count. Omit useless words. Remember the reader. Weave him into your story. I followed all the rules and then broke every rule simultaneously.
How do you stand out in a sea of a million souls? How do you make yourself matter to The Director, or to you, the all important reader? Hemingway knew the secret and it cost him his life.
On that rainy day when I wrote to Stone, I think I was actually writing to my father. I was extremely depressed about something that had just transpired between him and I. Am I losing you? Maybe. Come back….I was desperate.
Yes, I wanted to land the interview, but what I really needed, or wanted, was someone to tell me that I wasn't losing my mind. I was heart broken and the only thing I knew was that Stone, as a human being, could relate to what I was saying.
"I've spent 3 1/2 years of my life in your prison..."
Do you believe in destiny? Or is everything random? It's hard to believe everything in our life is just purely accidental, but if there is a divine plan - who is in charge? God? Allah? The Universal Powers that Be?
To connect the dots to Stone, I must take you backwards to the beginning of my "accidental" or planned experiences with the rich and famous.
We each have our own stories. Our tales begin even before our birth.
Do you believe in reincarnation? I do.
In Aliens? Or UFOs?
Our history lies within our DNA and entwines. We live and die and the cycle repeats itself. In Buddhism this cycle of birth and death is called Samsara.
So relax and travel backwards with me to 1975.
The Way We Were
Denver, Colorado - 1975
I met Robert Redford when I was 13 years old and living in Denver. My best friend Amy invited me to a Democratic Convention event, somewhere downtown where Mr. Redford was speaking. There were perhaps a hundred or so adults crowded in the small room with a stage. Amy and I were the only teenagers and stood only a few feet from Redford. During the Q&A, I nervously raised my hand and asked him: “When will you be playing with Paul Newman again?”
The audience laughed at my question and Robert also laughed, replying that he would be “acting” with Paul soon, or something along those lines.
Back then Robert Redford was the Brad Pitt of our generation. Meeting him in person was a fantasy come true. Redford descended from the stage and the crowd moved in crushing me against him.
My first thought was; “Wow…he is only a little taller than me.”
I was quite tall for my age, but had always envisioned Mr. Redford as being much taller. Pressed up against the man who starred in The Sting, The Way We Were, Jeremiah Johnson and so on, I felt a bit light headed and was surprised by my own physical reaction toward someone that I didn’t even know. That night I vowed that if I ever met another famous person, I would give them space. My reason was out of respect.
"And tonight...please ask God to love him."
When you make a Rule such as: I will not stare at or talk to famous people, the Universe conspires to bring famous people into your life. A year later at age 14, I was working as a hostess at a hotel in Denver near what use to be Stapleton Airport.
One night, James Caan came in with a few women on his arm. All of the waitresses were crooning over him, but I tried not to look at him, nor to talk to him beyond telling him to “have a nice meal.” Yes, I had seen Brian’s Song, but the man in the restaurant did not act like Brian. I remember thinking that he was arrogant, rude and I hated the fur coat he wore.
And then there was O.J. Simpson
Big Island of Hawaii - 1988
I am sure I am missing a few other famous encounters, however, one encounter I will always remember occurred when I was 26 years old and having a drink with my sister Terri at some hotel bar on the Big Island of Hawaii. Lo and behold, in walks O.J. Simpson and his entourage. My sister excitedly exclaimed that O.J. was in the bar sitting only a few feet away from us. I told her NOT to look at him. We then put straws in our ears, I can’t remember why and proceeded to laugh quite a bit while completely ignoring O.J.. Maybe 15 minutes had passed and I needed to go to the bathroom, but the only way to get there was to directly walk past O.J.’s table.
I told my sister that I would be right back and proceeded to walk by O.J. and his entourage of about eight people. There was an outside bridge to the elevator that you had to take to get to the first floor where the bathroom was located. As I was standing in front of the elevator next to a couple who were also waiting, I see O.J. running across the bridge and his commercial flashed before me. At the time, his Hertz commercial had aired consistently, showing O.J. leaping over suitcases and railings at an airport. O.J. arrived by my side and the elevator door opened. The couple, O.J. and I entered.
Cornered in an elevator with O.J.
Ignoring the couple, O.J. cornered me in the elevator and said that he "had to" meet me. At the time, I thought the sudden appearance of O.J. was highly entertaining and surreal. None of us had pushed a button and O.J. turned to the speechless couple and asked them if they wanted to get out. Maybe by that time a button had been pushed and we were now on the first floor. The mute couple exited and the elevator doors closed.
We both had had a few cocktails, so I can’t remember verbatim everything that was said, but one sentence was quite clear. O.J. now had both arms on each side of me, so physically I was again being pressed up against some famous person and could barely move. I wasn’t afraid, because I knew little about O.J., other than that he was a well known football player who appeared in a few movies and TV commercials.
I had no idea that he was married, nor that he had been accused of physically abusing his wife. All I knew was that he hated being ignored.
O.J. flashed his pearly white teeth into an alluring grin and said, “I bet you’ve never kissed a black man.”
Denver, Colorado - 1975
For years I had felt some regret over how I had handled a Place Junior High School romance that never was. I was 13 yrs old and had a crush on a handsome young black man named Michael. Our mutual attraction never progressed, however, mainly because I was perhaps uncomfortable that he was black.
Who knows? I remember my Thai mother Janchai had made a few racist comments to me about my Jewish friends, however, my stepfather Bob from Oklahoma had never made a racist comment.
Michael was handsome, athletic, popular. He had all the qualities that any young girl would be attracted to, so what stopped me from even kissing him? The only obvious reason I thought, must have been because he was black.
I am a half-breed or leuk kreung in Thai. My mother is Thai/Chinese/German and my father is Italian/Austrian. My stepfather is part Choktaw and part white. He had enough Choktaw blood running in his veins that his daughter, (my half-sister Terri) could qualify for free college tuition etc.
I was born in Switzerland and moved to Milan, Italy when I was a baby. A year later we moved back to Geneva, Switzerland. At age 3, we moved to Bangkok, Thailand. I remember being so mixed up by all the different languages from all our moves, that I basically would pick out whatever words I knew, in whatever language and combine them together to form a complete sentence. My mother who was fluent in English, Thai, French and Italian was perhaps the only person who could understand my baby gibberish.
When I moved to Denver from Thailand at the age of six, I was mostly fluent in Thai and could barely speak English. Even though I looked completely European, the other kids would tease me with their Asian Jokes: "Chinese, Japanese, dirty knees...what are these?" and so forth.
My mother told me that I refused to speak to her in Thai and became completely fluent in English perhaps within my first year of living in America. I was an avid reader and had found an entire newer and kinder world reading about Little Bears and Choo Choo Trains. For fun, I read through our entire set of Encyclopedias. Not every page but I remember being mesmerized by the sections where the pages were clear and you could see different sections of the human anatomy or of the Universe.
I truly thought that I was extremely open minded and the most non-racist person I knew, until I realized that something wasn't quite right about my budding romance with Michael. Why would I reject someone I absolutely adored?
And then, 13 odd years later, there was O.J. offering me a second chance to kiss a black man. In response to his offer, I did kiss him. Why not? He definitely was a good kisser. After the kiss, I asked O.J. to "please back off" of me because knowing of him, was far different than knowing him.
His reaction was the last thing that I ever expected. He dejectedly dropped his arms and told me his home address, as if that would somehow make us closer or make him known to me.
We walked out of the elevator and then something chameleon like happened. The egotistical star turned into a real down to earth person. I can't remember everything that we talked about, but I do remember we had a long conversation about life, relationships and maybe even talked about his wife Nicole.
About 20 minutes passed and I saw Terri standing on the bridge above us waving to me. I waved back and shouted to her that I would be right up. O.J. and I returned separately to the bar and danced a few dances, only after I whispered to him that he was "afraid."
As I was leaving the bar, O.J. stopped me and gave me his room number at a nearby hotel so we could "talk" some more. This time, the tables were turned and I was indeed the one who was quite afraid. Not of him, as much as I was of myself. In the end, we never did meet and OJ became a faded memory until many years later when I was in Thailand watching the news and saw the infamous Bronco chase on June 17, 1994.
Watching the chase reminded me of the letter that I had written O.J., the night after I had met him and about my drive back to his hotel the next morning. I remembered feeling compelled to give him the one page letter, all written in red ink, (a color that I rarely use), and feeling utterly relieved when I arrived and found out that I was too late. O.J. had already checked out.
As the white Bronco moved ever so slowly down the highway, memories of that night and the next morning came slowly back. Memories of my stepfather Robert Impson (ex-Navy Lieutenant), angry at me for "you must have done something to attract him," and at O.J.; "The nerve of that guy," Bob growled.
We were dead wrong thinking that Bob would be entertained by our funny O.J. story. On the contrary, he was fuming and threatened to go to the hotel and give O.J. a "piece of his mind." My sister and I feared the worst, imagining the Big Island headlines would read: IMPSON KILLS SIMPSON!
Fortunately, Bob never did go to the hotel and the real headlines none of us ever expected appeared in blood red over and over and over.
By the time O.J. was a daily news story, I had already met Oliver Stone, who had been in Phuket filming Heaven and Earth in 1992. My editor in Bangkok mentioned that Oliver Stone was in country and that I should try to interview him. My reaction was: "Oliver Who?"
Part 2 UTURN
Denver, Colorado - March 7, 2016
There is a gap in this story as wide as the Uni-Verse. A gap of 24 years that will take everything in me to fill in. My Untold History with Oliver Stone is a story few will believe. It spans 24 years and is beyond any earthly interpretation.
I first met Oliver in late 1992, never imagining that I would see him on several occasions over the next few decades. On March 6, 2016, my husband Eric and I saw the legendary director once again, at the Alamo Drafthouse in Littleton, Colorado.
Before seeing him, I was taking my second flight lesson with my Persian flight instructor at Centennial Airport. I had no idea Stone was even in town. My flight over Red Rocks Park was so beautiful and peaceful and for one hour I got to escape the insanity of my life. I love my life and am extremely grateful but wow....sometimes I just feel like what the fuck?
After my flight, I called my friend Molly to see if she could meet us for a late lunch and she excitedly exclaimed: "Did you know Oliver Stone is here?"
My heart skipped a beat.
Here, in Denver? I asked.
"Yes, get the Denver Post," Molly said.
A short time later, I was scanning the Denver Post when I found the article Molly was referencing. I called the Alamo Drafthouse and asked if there were any seats left? Yes, there were 4 seats left in the front row.
Six years had passed since the last time I knew that Stone was in town. It was January of 2010 and I was in Bangkok, where Stone would be speaking at the Foreign Correspondents' Club of Thailand. I saw the article in the Bangkok Post and my Mom was surprised when I told her that I had no desire to see him.
"You should go see him," she urged, fully knowing that seeing Stone had triggered quite a few of what my family now refers to as my Episodes. It wasn't Stone's fault, but in the past few decades, shortly after any interaction with Stone, my sanity would start slipping away to some place that I can only describe as other.
Now, I had a choice again. Something inside told me that I had to see him. My husband drove me in our old green Mustang convertible, the short few miles to where Stone would be appearing.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. Yes, I was absolutely sure.
I can't even remember why I felt seeing Stone was so vital. What did I want from seeing him again? I had emailed him on September 11, 2015, on my way to Thailand and was shocked when he replied the next day. It was a short emailed reply, but it was our first correspondence of any sort in many years.
Now he was once again, within reach. And even better, physical reach.
I wanted Stone to see me in the flesh. To make sense of whatever my past with him and Rutowski had been. There are people who have a deep impact on our lives, even though the actual time that you may spend with them is relatively short. For me, my past relationship with Rutowski was straight forward and made sense. But Stone was a mystery to me. Our longest meeting occurred five years after our original meeting in 1992.
In 1997, I was in Phuket when my phone rang and the caller identified himself as "Richard". Rutowski and Stone were so far from my mind at that point, that I thought I was speaking to another Richard that I knew, who lived in Phuket. It took me a moment to realize that it was Rutowski. His call, out of the blue, really shocked me. The timing was awful. I was struggling with financial ruin: all of my money had been frozen by the Thai government during the 1997 Asian financial crisis that started in Thailand. I was depressed and trying to figure out how to survive the crisis. Richard wanted me to come up to Bangkok to meet him and Stone, but I didn't think I had the energy to deal with them. I told him "maybe". Rutowski and Stone were on their way to China and would return in a week. I had a week to decide whether I should fly up to meet them.
In the end, I had to fly up to Bangkok to sign some document regarding my frozen money. With great trepidation, I did meet Stone and Rutowski for dinner and a night out in Patong. It was a highly memorable evening; sitting in a taxi squished between Rutowski and Stone while they were smoking pot and later being basically interviewed by Stone, while they were smoking opium in Richard's hotel room, (which I will write more about later). That one night left me with more questions than I could ever answer and made me extremely paranoid regarding Stone.
The next time Stone was within reach was in 2004, when he was filming Alexander in Thailand. I was on his set in Saraburi, invited by the Thai military to what was a closed set. In the weeks that Stone and company were in country, I kept randomly running into people involved with the movie all around Thailand. Finally, I decided to go to the set, which did not turn out well. Stone was in his trailer for what felt like forever. Colin Ferrell was sitting a few feet from me in that ridiculous blond wig. There were hundreds of horses and a number of elephants and costumed extras. Everyone was just sitting there, waiting for Oliver. Myself included. Again, I will write more about this later.
In the end, I never saw Stone while he was filming Alexander.
We exchanged a few emails over the years and while he was filming Bush in 2008, he said that we could meet for lunch the next time that I was in Los Angeles. Again, we never had lunch because by the time I went to Los Angeles, too much time had past and I didn't contact him.
As the decades past, I wondered if I would ever see him again. I had missed my chance in 2010. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to see Stone back then.
By 2016, I thought I was strong enough to just be part of the audience.
Maybe I thought that by seeing him, I would be able to feel some sort of resolution. Instead, my body freaked out so violently, I began vomiting in the Alamo's bar, ten minutes before the film was scheduled to start. I have no idea why I got so sick, but there I was vomiting my guts out.
Perhaps what was making me so ill, was the notion that Stone knew more about me than most of my closest friends, because shortly after I met him, I sent him some of my more intimate thoughts on just about every subject.
Over the years, I deeply regretted sending him anything and repeatedly asked for him to either tell me that he threw it away, or send me back my extremely private ramblings. He did neither, which infuriated me. There were days I felt hatred for him because I thought he was extremely cruel. How hard would it be for him to just tell me that he threw it all away? I could have felt at peace knowing that, but not knowing made me feel extremely vulnerable.
There are few people who truly know me. Maybe no one.
I have accepted that.
Sometimes it gets lonely, but at least I can pet a dog, or watch geese fly in perfect formations, or see tree branches raising their arms to an understanding sky and know that it doesn't matter if I am known by anyone.
I love my husband more than I can even express, but he doesn't understand all the parts of me that I wish he could. That's ok. He understands enough.
Do you want to hear more?
More about my tiresome trials and tribulations of working so hard to basically go backwards. A huge part of me wants to give up and just focus on riding my bike, flying planes and playing with my long suffering and hilarious husband and kids. I think the world will spin just fine without my FB posts, or opinions on anything. My voice doesn't really matter. I am learning this and finding peace in letting go....of everything.
The mantas know me. The whale shark knew me. The oceans....it's hard to give up, but it feels impossible to save anything.
My friends want to know the details. I tell them give me time. I can't cliff note 24 years into a few sentences. As for Oliver, I hugged him - we exchanged a few words while we were both standing in the side entrance to the movie theater. A photographer took our picture and then someone ushered us to the front row. The theater lights dimmed and as the movie U Turn started, I began coughing so hard that I pissed myself. Back inside the theater's bathroom, I thought what the hell am I doing here?
Eric has never seen U Turn and I have. I did not want to see it again and I especially didn't want to watch it with him, so I went back inside the theater and told him; "Let's go!".
I think we were there a total of 10 minutes. That night I had no desire to write a book on Oliver Stone. I just wanted peace.
I want real friends. Friends whom I can have a beer with and just be. The whole Hollywood scene is the last place on Earth I want to visit. Poor Leo. Not sure how he has stayed sane all these years.
A few days later, I changed my mind. I thought why not? Why not write this fucking story?
Disturbed - The Sound Of Silence [Official Music Video]
Vietnam changed my life and millions of others. I was in Bangkok from 1963 to 1966, from age 3 to age 6. I returned to Bangkok from Denver, Colorado when I was 13 years old in 1975.
Today I watched a powerful documentary called Last Days in Vietnam. My husband teared up several times while watching the insane evacuations. I watched the video with stone cold eyes. Not one tear left to shed.
Instead, I would rather be calm, courageous and of true service, like the Vietnamese pilot who miraculously managed to get out of his flight suit while flying a Boeing CH-47 Chinook. I want to take you with me on a journey to hell and back, with Heaven and Earth in between. Sounds a bit more like an LSD sandwich, than a true story. I am sure fellow writer Steve Rosse could help me out with that line, if he ever reads my story.
The Doors - The End
Last Days In Vietnam
Giving Head With Words Instead
Denver - May 25, 2016
From this point on, everything I post will be disconnected or appear to be and the timeline may be wrong, but I can put it in order later. I have been extremely sick these past few weeks and this is the first day (coincidentally my stepfather's birthday) in weeks that my pain has subsided enough to even attempt continuing this project.
The night that I met Stone at the Heaven and Earth cast party in Phuket, he introduced me to Richard Rutowski and James Riordan who was writing Stone's biography at the time, which was later published in 1996.
Stone (The Controversies, Excesses & Exploits of a Radical Filmmaker), – September, 1996 by James Riordan (Author)
Stone also introduced me to several other men at the table, but I can't remember their names. Jim Riordan wrote his address for me and told me to be sure to keep in touch and we have been in touch on and off ever since that night, even though I haven't seen him since then.
Eight years ago, I wrote to Jim sharing my Kerry Packer2,(one of the richest and most influential men in Australia) story as follows. At the time, I was reading Riordan's book The Coming of the Walrus which is the sex scene that I refer to in the email.
June 26, 2008
Wow...quite the sex scene on page 133...made me blush. Did I ever tell you that I once met Kerry Packer (who is now passed on) at the Oriental in Bangkok and his entourage took me to dinner and then asked me to join them in his Penthouse suite. That was when I met Packer.
I had no idea who he was at the time...only knew he had something to do with Casinos. We were on the patio (there were like 20 men in business suits and one lady and moi). Kerry asked me what I did in Thailand...I told him that I was a journalist, but that I had just met Oliver Stone and was thinking of switching over to film. Just for fun, I told him that I was working on a screenplay called: Giving Head With Words Instead.
"Why are you wasting your time with the likes of Oliver Stone?" Packer demanded, more than actually asked. Pause.....you could hear a pin drop.
I sipped on my wine and thought what the fuck am I doing here and who are these people????????
Kerry continued, "So would you?" Hmmm....would I what, give you a blow job?
"You couldn't afford me," I replied. Holy shit Catgirl...I had no idea that he was worth BILLIONS....
All eyes were on us as his entourage watched awestruck.
Kerry gave me this piercing serious look.
"Everyone has a price," he said. "Or can be bought." I'm not too sure what his exact words were. I'm sure I wrote them down somewhere and tucked them away in some file.
"OK....10 million US." or maybe I said; "1 million." Again, it was a long time ago and I can't quite recall all the details.
Well...again the stare and he didn't flinch as if he was considering my price. That was when I thought...holy shit...I need to get the hell out of Dodge.
I told them I had to leave, which was true...I needed to meet my sister and brother-in-law at Spazzo's, which is where Oliver, Richard and I dined in 1997.
I made a quick exit and ran into my editor3, (he is now the publisher of his own magazine in Thailand) at Spazzo's and he told me who Kerry Packer was. Wow...I was like holy hot sauce! He asked me to ask Kerry if he could interview him, so the next morning I called Kerry at the Oriental.
He sounded grumpy. I had also forgotten my address book next to his WHITE ADDRESS BOOK which was 2 inches thick and had a gazillion numbers.
"I'm not talking to any damn journalist!" he said rather pissed offed. I thought...no, you just wanted a blow job from one.
That's basically the story...there is a bit more, but another time.
2From Wikipedia: Kerry Francis Bullmore Packer, AC (17 December 1937 – 26 December 2005), son of Sir Frank Packer, was an Australian publishing, media and gaming tycoon who owned the Nine Network. He was famous for his outspoken nature, wealth, expansive business empire and clashes with the Australian Taxation Office and the Costigan Commission.
At the time of his death, Packer was the richest and one of the most influential men in Australia. In 2004 Business Review Weekly magazine estimated Packer's net worth at AUD 6.5 billion ($6.5 billion; about USD 5.4 billion).
3 The editor I "ran into" was Colin Hastings, who is now the man in charge of The BigChilli Company in Bangkok. http://www.thebigchilli.com/about-us.html
My letter to James Riordan continues:
Please take a look at my artwork and tell me if it is what you were looking for:
I have more, but I still need to find it.
I am still waiting for your poem.
Hope all is well in Illinois, or wherever you may be.
Princess Prisana Peas of Phuket
Madman in the Gate
EVERYONE HAS A PRICE
Denver - May 25, 2016
My dear friend Richard Wilson died last month. When I was in Bangkok in February of 2016, I was with my sister when I heard the sad news that Richard was diagnosed with a brain tumor from our friend Michael.
Time ebbs and flows, circling back upon itself in a never ending cycle of Samsara.
I still cannot believe my dear Richard is not walking the streets in Bangkok. He died in Koh Samui and I can see him there now, walking on the beach. He pauses and stands on a million grains of sand. We stand together in my mind and stare out at the waves as the sky turns radiant hues of gold, shining brighter with each passing minute.
I wrote Richard back in 2008 about Packer and the following is our emailed correspondence:
Thanks for Micheal Kranzler's email. I do remember that your ex was working for Packer and about the detectives. I would love to find his friend Whitey....he was actually really cool. He was the one that I ran into in the Oriental's lobby, who invited me to go up to the Penthouse.
Remember, I had no idea who Kerry Packer was at the time. So after eating dinner with half of Packer's entourage (Packer was with the other half), I went back to the Penthouse and met Kerry and the whole entourage and we're sitting on the balcony and he asks me what I do and I tell him that I am writing a screenplay for Oliver Stone called:
Giving Head With Words Instead
And he laughs and in fact the whole bunch of them laughed and Packer said why the hell are you wasting your time with Stone? I mean this seriously could make a great film clip of sorts.
So then Packer asks me if I would....as in give him head right there in front of everybody?! And I reply that "you couldn't afford me." At this point, I still had no idea who he was. It was quite entertaining for his entourage for sure!
Well....he gives me this look and I think holy shit...I need to get the hell out of here.
Then he says: "Everyone can be bought or has a price or something bap nee."
And I replied: "I can't be bought."
Well like I said, when Brandon was diagnosed with leukemia, what we really needed to start the process of saving his life was MONEY! I would've done anything and I mean anything to earn the money to save Brandon's life. Kerry Packer was right. Given the right circumstances: EVERYONE HAS A PRICE and CAN BE BOUGHT.
You may remember most of this story. I haven't thought about it in years....I am actually surprised that I remember so much of it.
BTW...Oliver Stone emailed me a few weeks ago. We are having dinner in a few months. I think I am taking him to Taco Bell.
Have a great Monday!
Going backwards to reach Packer. I don't think that I have mentioned that my son Brandon was diagnosed with Aggressive Leukemia in Bangkok in 1998. He survived and is now working with the team of doctors who saved his life in Denver at Children's Hospital.
The email string continues. Richard Wilson writes:
Yes I knew Kerry & James Packer, indirectly.
I didn't always agree with them on the strong arm tactics,
My ex of many years was Kerry Packer's top advertising sales for all his high end publications
and was therefore a gold mine for his company.
Known as the ice princess she could charm the deBeers, Rolls Royce, BMW, Cartier's to get them in.
He had us trailed by detectives to see if I was kosher!
so yeah send it to me, thanks
here is also cc'd to Micheal Kranzler
stay in touch
On 07/04/2008, at 5:25 PM, Prisana Nuechterlein wrote:
Scary! Hey you remember Kerry Packer? I wrote to his son the other day. If I can find the email that I sent, I will forward it to you. That was too crazy running into you after all these years on that roof! Could you give me Mike's (I think that was his name) email address? We were on his rooftop and he told me he produced a movie on Heroin that I really wanted to see....
Love being back in touch with you again!
Snowing/raining in Denver. God I miss Thailand!
NOTE: This story continues under the title of The AntiChrist Returns to The City of Angels
© 2013 Prisana Nuechterlein
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