Input your name. Input your email. Input your phone number. Enter scoop message here. He called her up and asked her to compose a song for an upcoming movie- but the relationship soon grew personal. Jewel, who then wore thrift store clothes, says she felt like "Cinderella going to the ball" when he whisked her away to red carpets in Paris and Venice. Due to her manager mother Nedra 's frivolous spending, Jewel says she became millions of dollars in debt at the height of her success.
But I know that is it not safe with her. This is complicated not only by a sexual molestation at the hands of a male while younger, or a much more severe assault by a perfectly odious actor named Jack King when she was a young standup comedian, but by both her guilt and the possibility of being even more different than previously thought. And her palpable relief at that fact absolutely bursts off the page. It exists to be savored. And then shared. And then savored again. By all means, get thee to an online bookseller and order a copy as soon as possible. You are commenting using your WordPress.
You are commenting using your Google account. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email. He screened the film for me the next day. The movie was intense and dark and interesting. Sean was the same, and also charming, witty, and bright, and our instant verbal sparring characterized our friendship for the next year.
I was headed back to San Diego for a long-overdue surf session, and we agreed to talk creative soon. Several weeks later I was in a salon, getting a cut from my gay hair-dresser and friend, when Sean called, saying he was in San Diego and asking where we could meet.
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I gave him the address of the salon, and the next thing I knew, a town car had dropped him off and my car was all we had left. My hairdresser asked if he could come along—although I have no recollection where we were headed. Sean was friendly and unpretentious and said sure.
My car was a total mess. Like a holy mess. Clothes and food wrappers everywhere. There was so much crammed in there that the only open space was the front passenger seat. So Sean let my hairdresser sit on his lap. Who got no small thrill out of it. I wrote a song called "Emily" for the movie while out on the road. I cut it in a radio station on the station mic and Sean put it in the film. In the meantime, we spoke on the phone a lot and he was a fantastic flirt and I did not mind one bit.
But I intended to give him no such conquest. I put that man through his paces and he took it in stride. He began to court me in earnest, following me around on tour, acting as my de facto roadie. I was nowhere near famous, opening for Peter Murphy of Bauhaus in small clubs. Goth fans in makeup, fangs and scars, and black clothes. I'd play earnest folk songs and inevitably stop mid-song to ask someone to be quiet or kick someone out.
Sean stood side stage.
We talked about art and books and had a great time. I moved very slowly with him but he was a persistent and inventive suitor, and I enjoyed it immensely. He sincerely believed in my music, and this felt as good as anything. He was a talented artist and took my songs and lyrics seriously, and I was starving for anyone who believed in me. I kept our burgeoning relationship very quiet.
I was determined not to be "discovered" because I was dating someone in the public eye. I liked his mind, and had fun sparring with him. When I told him this in all seriousness, in a dive bar after a sound check, he responded with a melancholy stare and then a canary-eating grin and said that it would be impossible not to fall in love with me.
I looked at him to see if he was serious. It seemed he was.
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When the movie was finished, he asked me to go to the Venice Film Festival with him to debut it. I was nervous and excited—so far my experience in the music biz had been decidedly not glamorous. My time with Sean wasn't spent at Hollywood parties, but on the road with me at Red Roof Inns, where he would get his own room and carry my guitar back after my humiliating gigs.
No tabloid had yet picked up on us, so I was anxious about a trip like this. At the same time, I couldn't turn it down.
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It was the first time I'd ever been out of the country apart from Mexico. I told him I didn't have the money for a ticket. He said I could fly on the private plane with him. Sean said there would be a red carpet and lots of press and I would need to bring something to wear. I didn't want to walk down a carpet with him, and he said I could walk it on my own as songwriter for the film, which seemed okay. It was my first time getting gussied up with a professional stylist. The very fashionable woman eyed my polyester ensemble and began to pull dresses—as I tried them on I felt like a dog someone had dressed in sunglasses and a ball cap and a sweater.
I also felt a little like Cinderella going to the ball. But I was not a girly princess and not used to standing out unless I was standing behind a guitar. I finally decided on a pair of satin pants and a beaded asymmetrical top that showed a bit of midriff. I had no idea how to do makeup or hair, and had no idea there were teams of people to do it for me.
At a TV taping before leaving for Venice, I confided to the union hair and makeup lady, and she was kind enough to spend an hour with me and teach me how to put on eyeliner and shadow. I showed her a Polaroid of my outfit, and when she found out I owned no makeup, she gave me a lip liner, a blush, and shadow from her kit. She then drew pictures and step-by-step instructions on a piece of paper that I could refer to when the time came to get ready. I thanked her profusely and then kept busy with work so I wouldn't have time to be too nervous.
My manager Inga took me shopping at a Nordstrom Rack store for cute shorts, coats, and sweaters, and I was ready to go.
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The day arrived for the flight and there I was walking onto a private jet and finding myself face-to-face with several other Hollywood types. I tried not to make a fool of myself, but I fear I may have asked to feel people's noses when a good one came around. When I studied sculpture in school I'd become obsessed with feeling faces so I could better feel the shape I had to re-create. Particularly feeling the tips of people's noses. The curve and spring of each was so idiosyncratic that when I saw a good nose, I'd ask complete strangers if I could feel it.
First we went to Paris. We stayed in beautiful hotels and ate with Roman Polanski.
The romance ended before Jewel ever found true fame. "The breakup was hard for me," she admits.
Of course I had to be told who he was. I had shocking gaps in my knowledge of pop culture and knew no one, nor who anyone was. Sean would whisper in my ear and explain everyone's backstory to me. It was not my world and I was pretty sure it never would be. Sean took me to see the sights in Montmartre and wrote me sweet notes that he hid in my pockets. Next was Venice, and while Sean was in meetings, I took water taxis around and explored canals and cathedrals.
It felt exotic and luxurious to be so free. I'd never been on this side of travel—"this" meaning not staying in youth hostels and hitchhiking with knives. This was the Cipriani and private drivers and all the food I could eat, like fresh figs and prosciutto. Interesting people to talk with, some well educated, some well read, some simply vain and drunk on their power, but altogether an especially rarified, fascinating breed I had not come across before.
I recorded each moment in my mind to write about later.
One day I went to lunch with several women and Jack Nicholson. He was gregarious and entertaining. He struck me as very bright and possibly bored with most people, able to cope with the help of a mild combination of recreational drugs and a curiosity for watching interesting circumstances unfold. I liked him.