Jason Priestley (22 page)

“Listen,” Coop counseled. “Do it as soon as you get there. I mean, the absolute soonest you possibly can.”

“Why?”

“Your nerves will be shot enough. That ring will be burning a hole in your pocket on the plane for the entire ride over . . . you don't need to be wandering around England for a week trying to maneuver her to the right place. Trust me. Get there, get to the right place, take the knee, and ask her. Do it right away.”

I filed this advice away for future reference.

Sometimes we hung out with Jeffrey and Vera—just a bunch of actors sitting around bullshitting. At one point, Coop flew down to L.A. to audition for
The Wedding Crashers
. When he told me he got the part, I was thrilled for him. We both knew it was going to be a huge movie.

Coop and I spent a couple of nights a week following Zach around to the local comedy clubs he played in Vancouver. He played such tiny little venues—just Zach and his piano and a small audience who, half the time, had no idea what they were watching. People didn't know whether to laugh, be offended, or walk out . . . his shows were something else. Zach Galifianakis was absolutely brilliant, a truly singular talent, a little like the late great Andy Kaufman. Like Andy, he had moments of true comedic genius.

Zach's favorite thing to do at his performances was try to fail, miserably. Making people laugh was no challenge for him so he used to raise the bar on himself by actually trying to be unfunny. The great thing, of course, was that when he tried to not be funny, he was at his absolute most hysterical. Try as hard as he might to bomb, he never did. Coop and I watched in awe as he pulled off some amazing onstage feats.

Because I was back in my hometown, I was constantly recognized. And Zach and Coop were total unknowns. They walked around everywhere with no problem. They had no “fans” to speak of. Man, how things have changed in a few short years. . . .

We wrapped that first season of
Tru Calling,
and then I was asked to go the Monte Carlo Television Festival to help the producers sell the show internationally to the European television markets. Naomi and I headed to the TV Fest at the beginning of June and wrapped things up in a hurry. We had a wedding to attend.

T
ori Spelling had invited us to her wedding, but that meant we had to leave the Monte Carlo Television Festival a bit early. I very much wanted to attend the ceremony, especially to see Aaron. I wanted Naomi to meet him as he had been such a key influence in my life. Although he was no longer as big a part of my life, we were still in touch and I was anxious to introduce the two of them.

The timing was tricky; we drove to Nice, flew from Nice to Paris, then took the long flight from Paris back to L.A. A car picked us up at the airport and drove us home. The driver waited while we raced inside, showered, changed, and jumped back in the car in less than half an hour. We pulled up just in time for the sunset wedding.

There was no question that the wedding would be held at home. Just a little backyard wedding. Ha! This was a full-on Aaron Spelling production at his beloved Manor. There was no bigger or better venue in all Los Angeles, and his only daughter's wedding was everything one would expect. The ceremony was held in the motor court at the front of the property near the fountain, and it was lovely. Then all the guests walked through the Manor to attend the reception in the back.

I had been to the Manor many times to visit Aaron and had, over the years, become immune to its size and magnificence. I had forgotten how completely overwhelming this place really was the first time one saw it. Naomi walked beside me with her mouth literally falling open—frequently. She was truly in shock; she could not believe what kind of place she was walking through. Just the art alone was amazing—Monets and Chagalls everywhere you looked. There were forty-foot ceilings and magnificent room after room after room; it really was too much to take in. The sheer over-the-top opulence of the Manor was, in a word, staggering.

We finally exited the house to arrive at a huge tent in the back. There had to be at least a thousand guests mingling on the perfect grounds, with plenty of room to spare. The
90210
cast was all seated at one table, with the most elaborate place settings, decorations, and flower centerpieces I had ever seen in my life. As we took our seats, I leaned over to Naomi. “Honey,” I told her, “I want you to take a really good look around. This is probably the only million-dollar wedding we will ever attend.”

It was great to see everybody again. It was very much another warm reunion, though Luke was unable to attend. We all liked the groom, Charlie, a great deal. He was a writer who seemed to be a perfect match for Tori. Over the years on the show, Tori had been quite young, and not surprisingly had run through some questionable boyfriends. She had found a really good guy, and everyone at our table was happy she was settling down with him. We were happy for them both.

Aaron was visibly older and becoming more fragile every year by this time. He was also overwhelmed by well-wishers as the father of the bride. Still, he graciously took the time to sit with Naomi and me for fifteen minutes and catch up and extract a promise that I would come in to see him at his office. He was as wonderful as always, and Naomi was thrilled to finally meet the man who meant so much to me.

The whole event was so over-the-top magnificent that it would be hard for me to describe it. There's no need, anyway, as it was certainly covered extensively in magazine stories that ran for pages. I mean, Michael Bublé was the entertainment! Naomi and I were on the dance floor when the guy next to us stopped dancing and called, “Hey, Jason!” I looked over at him. It was Adam Biesk from
Teen Angel,
of all people—turned out he was a close friend of Charlie's. I was shocked to see somebody from those days. But I shouldn't have been; there were all kinds of people at that wedding. A Who's Who of Hollywood turned out for the wedding of the year.

T
he decision was made. I was going to propose to Naomi. I decided to take her back to the street corner where we met to propose, which meant I had to get her back to London under false pretenses. She was very caught up in a makeup job at the time and not in any big hurry to take a trip out of the country, or anywhere at all.

“Your brother and the new baby, we really should go see them,” I told her.

“Yes, absolutely, we will . . . soon.” She was not convinced.

“Luke's doing a play there . . . a limited run . . . let's go see him while we're there. We'll need to go this month. Come on, a quick trip, it'll be fun.” She finally acquiesced and I picked up her diamond ring, where, as Coop had predicted, it burned a hole in my pocket the whole eleven-hour flight to London.

I did it up big. I got us a suite at the Savoy, arguably London's most famous and historic hotel, and we went to the Ivy for dinner the first night we arrived. We took a romantic little stroll after our meal and lo and behold . . . just happened to find ourselves on the street corner where we'd met. I asked Naomi to marry me, she accepted, and we immediately got into an argument about which street corner it had actually been. The reality is that we'd met on the corner of Charing Cross Road and Shaftesbury Avenue, right in front of a Pizza Hut, which is not the slightest bit romantic.

Directly across the street is the magnificent red brick Palace Theatre, where
Les Miz
had its endless run and is still playing for all I know. “Honey, it was right there, in front of the
Les Miz
theater,” she pointed.

“No, honey,” I said patiently. “That would be nice, but, unfortunately, we actually met here, in front of Pizza Hut.”

“Really, Jason, it was over there. I'm quite sure.” The full British accent.

“And I am equally sure it was right here. Trust me, I do remember.” Hey, I didn't blame the girl for wanting a more picturesque location, but we met in front of Pizza Hut.

The next night we attended the theater. Luke was starring in
When Harry Met Sally
opposite Alyson Hannigan at the Haymarket. He was great, and the audience loved him. After the show we went backstage to share the good news. Luke was, in fact, one of the first to hear it and see the ring, as this was less than twenty-four hours after I slid it onto Naomi's finger.

“It's no trip around the world, but I think we could take quite a journey together,” Brandon had said to Kelly when he proposed on the show. Kelly turned Brandon and rival Dylan both down . . . in real life, I had taken Naomi around the world and she said yes. And in real life my good friend Luke could not have been happier for us both.

A
t the beginning of the second season of
Tru Calling,
I was in New York yet again for the upfronts. I spent two days with all the FOX talent, including Mischa Barton, who was currently the hottest thing going on the show
The OC
. Naomi was working as a makeup artist on a kids' show in the Bahamas at the time, and they asked if I would appear as a guest. I grabbed the chance to see her and have a quick few days' vacation as well. Coincidentally, several of the actors from the upfronts were also scheduled to be interviewed on the same show, so we all left the hotel at around the same time and headed for La Guardia.

The first-class section of the plane to Nassau was half empty; there was just me, Mischa Barton, her mother, and a random businessman. Since we had just spent the past two days at the same event, I walked over to Mischa's aisle, where she was sitting next to her mother, hiding behind a magazine, and said hello. She lowered the magazine an inch or so as I put out my hand. “Hi, Mischa, I'm Jason Priestley, and we're going to the same event in the Bahamas together.”

Her eyebrows raised a fraction. “Mmm-hmm,” she said dismissively and brought the magazine back up to cover her face.

Okay, then, so it was going to be like that. I found my seat and did some work, read some scripts, whatever. We soon landed in the Bahamas, waited a bit for our bags, and then lugged them outside the airport into the hot tropical afternoon. Mischa and her mother looked around, disconcerted and lost. No one appeared to be racing to assist them.

Having stayed at the Atlantis Resort before, I knew the drill. The official Atlantis car pulled up right in front of me and the driver jumped out. “Mr. Priestley, great to see you again! How are you!” He came over, shook my hand, and took my bags.

As my old friend Cheryl Teetzel was producing the show, I figured I better help these two. I walked over to Mischa and her mom and said, “Here's the car to take us to the hotel, where we're all staying.” Both women looked at me like I was the biggest asshole in the world. The driver approached, asking, “May I help?,” and I said, “Yes, this is Mischa Barton; she will be staying at the hotel.”

“Yes, of course. I am here to pick you up as well,” the driver said and collected their luggage.

The three of us got seated in the back of the limo; I was sitting directly across from Mischa and her mother as the car prepared to leave. Mischa looked at her mother and said, “Do we have to share a car with
him
?”

“
He
can hear you, you know!” I said. “
He's
sitting right here!”

She let out an annoyed sigh and rolled her eyes, then looked out the window. We had a very silent thirty-minute ride to the resort.

WE STARTED THE
second season of
Tru Calling
and got twelve weeks into it. Suddenly, a FOX executive showed up on the set to observe, then John, our show runner, called a meeting. We all sat down in the meeting and he said, “Okay, here's the deal. We're going to shoot this next episode, then FOX is canceling the show.” I was absolutely staggered by the news. I had truly thought we were just beginning to hit our stride, and our ratings numbers reflected that as they continued to climb.

The season one hump was over, and we were moving right along . . . we'd brought some new and interesting characters on board: Lizzy Caplan was now on the show in a recurring role; Eric Olsen, too. I would have bet anything we would have all been there for quite some time doing that show. In this particular case, there had been a shakeup in the FOX executive ranks. The new president didn't like
Tru Calling,
especially as it was one of the old president's picks. He pretty much cleaned house. It was a purely political decision as far as I could tell, and it was quite a bummer.

We had to show up and shoot one more episode after this news . . . which was not fun for a bunch of demoralized actors. Why not just pull the plug and send us all home? Why do one more show? We all needed to be looking for a new job, for one thing, and the sooner the better. We shot the last episode, a Christmas episode called “The Lost Christmas,” and that was that. I'd heard many a story like this from my buddies on other shows, of course, but it had never happened to me. That's Hollywood.

Zach and I returned to L.A., and eventually Coop's show ended, and we all returned to our lives. Mine didn't change too much, but theirs certainly did! Zach and Coop—just two guys I'd been running around with all year, carrying on, doing crazy, silly stuff all over Vancouver—would, over the next decade, star in some of the most successful motion picture comedies of all time. Man, I love Hollywood.

I
was no longer a kid, and I was no longer living under a glaring spotlight . . . and I was glad on both counts. There had been no way to prepare for living my twenties as a suddenly famous “heartthrob.” No one can give you any advice; at least I never found anyone who told me anything useful. It's an experience that's difficult to understand unless you've been through it, which is one reason why Luke, Ian, and Brian are still good friends of mine to this day. We shared a crazy experience, one that from the outside looked awesome. Fame brings so much attention and special treatment, but it's not even about you—the
real
you; it's about the character you play on television—and you know it, which makes it all pretty hollow.