Wrestling the Hulk: My Life Against the Ropes, Page 3

  One of my mother’s friends owned a nail shop and my mom got a tip (no pun intended) that there was an opening for a job. I went to the salon and was interviewed. They must have liked me because I was hired to start immediately.

  The nail shop was a cool place to work. Our salon was filled with cute Valley girls doing nails in bright, funky colors. I think the customers enjoyed it and kept coming back. The salon was located in an upper-middle-class area of the Valley. In an economy where many women couldn’t afford the luxury of a manicure, these more affluent women could. I had a lot of Jewish clients, too, and one Hanukkah they all got together and bought me a gold chai symbol, which in Hebrew means “life.” They said that they were all adopting me and they were now my Jewish mothers. Love you guys, I thought. But one mother’s advice is enough!

  In just a couple of months, I ended up building a solid clientele at the salon and was banking about $450 a week, which was really good money back in the late ’70s. I gave up my red VW Bug and bought a brand-new black 1978 Camaro. I got an apartment. Quickly, I was on my own and rolling.

  I realized that being a manicurist is almost like being a bartender. As I buffed, filed, and painted, I would sit and listen to every one of my clients’ problems, family stories, and love lives just like a bartender listens to a customer on a stool with a beer in hand. I was like a shrink with a new client every hour on the hour with a new story! Family problems, cheating husbands, bratty kids, bitchy girlfriends, interfering in-laws—the topics ran the gamut from A to Z. One thing I learned from all of my single female customers was that you should never live with somebody unless you’re married to them, because some guys thought, Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? So many of my female clients moved in with their boyfriends and just three months later they were packing up their stuff and moving out. Another thing I realized from my career as a manicurist was that there is always a new life lesson to be learned from someone else’s mistakes.

  I was happy with the money, but things were beginning to get difficult. There was gossip about clients as they walked out the door, and I don’t dig gossip!

  The owner of the shop had a chance to be a contestant on the game show Match Game and won a trip to Acapulco. “If you guys want to be a contestant, I can get you on the show,” she told us. Although I had never watched Match Game on television, a free vacation sounded pretty darn good to me. So one afternoon a few of us girls from the salon went to the CBS Television Studios and tried out. After a series of interviews, the producers ended up picking me as a contestant. Acapulco, here I come! I thought.

  The host of Match Game, Gene Rayburn, coordinated all the action while the six-celebrity panel was given a phrase with one word missing. The celebs would write down the word that they believed was the best possibility to help make the match. Then, two contestants would try to guess what the stars had chosen. The key to the game was to pick the most basic thing. A point was given for each correct match, and the contestant with the most points won.

  The bright lights, cameras, audience, and excitement—I was a Valley girl who was simple at heart and was a bit intimidated when I stepped out onto the set. However, I quickly composed myself and got down to business. I made some matches and was doing pretty well. In the end, I actually had the most points for the day.

  In the final round I went head-to-head with one celebrity—the comedian and Broadway actor Charles Nelson Reilly, who was a frequent panelist on the program. I had the chance to win $5,000. The final match question was: Princess BLANK. The first thing I could think of was Princess Grace, so I blurted it out. Then, Rayburn asked Reilly what he chose and he said, “Princess Grace.” Ding, ding, ding! I won $5,000! I was jumping up and down. I ended up going home with a total of $5,500.

  In the summer of 1978, I opened Linda’s Nail Boutique in Chatsworth, California. Having been exposed to my mom’s interior design ideas and talents, I knew I wanted to do something different decorwise in my new place. First I bought a bunch of old antique treadle sewing machines; then I took the machines out of the table stands and used the table frames as workstations. They were very unusual and caught the eye of every customer as soon as they walked into my shop. I designed the shop with an all-Victorian motif, including an antique dresser with a big mirror over it, potted parlor palms, and cute floral wallpaper, all in the beautiful colors of lavender and soft greens. It was very feminine. I hired a new crew and even had a guy manicurist, which was pretty much unheard of then.

  Linda’s Nail Boutique quickly became known as one of the hippest manicure salons in the Valley. I knew that with busy careers and even busier family lives with screaming kids and demanding husbands, many of the housewives in my area were in need of a little TLC, and I knew exactly how to deliver it. As soon as they walked in, clients heard relaxing jazz music. Complimentary coffee was served in the morning, and white wine was available after three P.M. I offered all the latest fashion magazines and even threw Playgirl into the mix, which was new on the horizon back in those days. Let me tell you, the women you wouldn’t think would have ever picked up a Playgirl always picked it up. When they turned the magazine sideways and the centerfold—“man of the month”—would unfold, I’d always let out a little chuckle. In fact, we had a damn good time in there. It was like a party. Many of the customers also became my friends, and I still keep in contact with them today. I worked long hours and always did my best. I made it a fun place to be. The customers really liked my caring style.

  Linda’s Nail Boutique was a success. Blonde ambition, baby!

  The Game of Dating

  All work and no play takes the fun out of Linda’s day, I thought. I wasn’t even twenty-one years old yet and I was busier than most adults I knew. I owned my own flourishing business and condo, which I bought with the money I was making at the salon. However, even though I was crazy busy, I was young and needed to keep up my social life. I decided to play my hand at the game of dating. One day, the most gorgeous set of long, tan, muscular legs walked into my nail salon. I looked up and saw it was the new mailman on our route. Talk about a special delivery, I thought. Wow, nice package!

  The mailman’s name was Steve. He had dark curly hair and wore aviator sunglasses and shorts. When he entered my store, he appeared nervous because of all the girls checking him out. I decided to break the ice and introduce myself. As we talked and I looked into his hazel eyes, I began wishing mail was delivered on Sundays, too. I decided to invite Steve to my mother’s house for a barbecue.

  Eventually we began dating exclusively. It was a simple relationship, but really fun. We’d go to the movies and then to Bob’s Big Boy for a burger and a milk shake. Steve bought an old red Corvette and we would go on long drives along the coast on weekends. I really enjoyed spending time with him and we had a lot of laughs.

  MY MOM WASN’T AFRAID TO OFFER HER OPINIONS ON THE MEN I dated. “You could have a jet-set life if you wanted. You need to take a moment to think about all the options you have.”

  I was young and didn’t know that I was worthy of a jet-set life. Steve was my first real boyfriend, and all I knew in my youthful naïveté was that even though he didn’t have a lot of money, I just enjoyed being with him. I was simple at heart just like he was. I was not the gold-digging type.

  Toward the end, my relationship with Steve unfortunately began to unravel from the confusion of my heart and my head not really aligning. I wondered if maybe I did need to explore life a bit more. After three years of dating, we broke up and I really missed him. I guess my mom just wanted the best for me. She always used to tell me that I was beautiful, special, and a ball of fire. She felt I needed to date guys who had more to offer than just good looks, nice legs, and a sweet disposition.

  After I broke up with Steve, I decided to play the field for a little bit. We had become serious, and I needed to see where my own life was heading. I was a little older now, and I wanted to date different types of guys. I didn’t care if they were geeks or cool, old
er or younger. For the next year, I opened my mind up and expanded my dating horizons. Along with the dating I was doing, my mom decided to do a little guy hunting on her own for me.

  A client of my mother’s design firm, Claridge House Interiors, had four kids, and one of their sons was a big, strong twenty-three-year-old contractor who looked a lot like the actor Tom Selleck. Well, that piqued my interest for sure, so I decided to do my own investigation on the Magnum P.I. look-alike. I found out that Brad was six foot four, with brown hair and green eyes. He was heavily involved in his Christian church, kind of like a born-again Christian.

  After going to Catholic school for eleven years and attending mass every Sunday, I was kind of burned out on spending my Sundays at the parish hall. Not that I was tired of being Catholic; it’s just that I was working like a fiend and my weekends were precious. Getting dressed in my Sunday best and sitting in a hot church was not how I wanted to spend my weekends. I wanted to get dressed in my best bikini and head to the beach.

  My mom didn’t think that being a born-again Christian was so bad. “It wouldn’t hurt you to go to church more often,” she said. Maybe she’s right, I thought. How bad could this be? After all, I was dating all kinds. So one Sunday afternoon Brad and I met for our first date at—where else?—his church.

  Brad and I clicked and dated for about a year. Although we spent Sundays at church, we did eventually make it to the beach together, just not the way I had expected. He invited me on Valentine’s Day and wanted to make sure we were sitting on the sand at sunset, which I thought was really sweet. As we both watched the sun sink behind the sea, Brad seemed supernervous, and I began to get a sinking feeling. He rambled on and on about how much he loved me. Brad also looked increasingly pale, and when he held my hand, his palm was clammier than the oysters we had earlier for lunch.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  Then he hit me with it. “Linda, will you marry me?” he said, as he popped the question.

  Marriage? I thought. It had only been a year. I was totally shocked. I wasn’t ready for that serious a step, but clearly Brad was.

  He looked at me with fear in his eyes and said, “Linda, answer me. Will you marry me?”

  “Ah . . . sure, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Brad went home and told his entire family about the engagement and that I said yes. It was clearly such a big deal in his family. He was his parents’ favorite. The happier and more excited they got, the more scared I got.

  As time went by, I realized in my heart of hearts that I wasn’t going to marry Brad. And as more time passed, the pressure mounted. From selecting a wedding location to creating a guest list to booking a honeymoon suite, the wedding train was quickly leaving the station and I felt like lying down on the tracks.

  I continued to go through the motions for the next couple of months, but as each day passed I realized how different Brad and I were. When it was time to pick out the bridesmaids’ dresses, I began to get really nervous. I had to speak up and say something. I drove to my mom’s house, sobbing the entire way. I had to speak my mind. I needed her help to get out of this thing.

  I sat my mother down and told her the truth. She helped me call off the wedding. My mother and I both learned a valuable lesson that day. There’s no way in the world that any daughter can marry the person a parent selects for her, despite all the good intentions involved. Just because Brad was a good, clean Christian man doesn’t mean he was the right marriage material for me.

  I think my mother realized that I, the extrovert and wild child I was, had to alter myself too much to be with a person like Brad. I think she understood the importance of me staying true to myself and she helped me get out of it by calling his mom and breaking the ice. I was so scared!

  I had a friendly, fun-loving spirit. Adventurous. And guys really dug it. Unfortunately, it got me into situations that led to serious relationships way too quickly. The guy starts calling me every day. We start seeing each other every day. Next thing you know we’re going steady! After breaking it off with Brad, I decided to stay single for one of the first times in my life. In trying to be serious with my love life, I came up with the policy “three strikes and you’re out.” (Strike 1: His conversation over dinner is duller than the butter knife. Strike 2: He picks his teeth after dinner and eats it. Yuck! Strike 3: You are out with a guy and he leaves a crappy tip . . . you’re like, huh?) Dealing with one or two of these things you think to yourself, Maybe I can deal with this. But when strike 3 hits, he’s out.

  After a few dates like that, I decided that being single wasn’t so bad. You start to realize that your time is more valuable. You’d rather sit home and read a good book than be out with some chump, having to fake it all night. I decided that I didn’t want to waste my time anymore.

  In 1981, I ended up meeting a woman named Cindy, who worked at the nail salon. Some of the manicurists I worked with were housewives and others young unmarried girls, but most everybody in there was average. Cindy dared to be different. We called her Crazy Cindy! She had platinum blond hair, wore fake eyelashes every day, was always tan, and had a great set of legs. She was thirty-six years old, divorced with four kids, but she had the energy of a teenager. She was a big influence on me because she made everything look like fun and was a great mom! We hung out constantly, going to the beach, working out, and even dieting together.

  This was the time when I started to really come into my own, getting into shape and figuring out my own style. The ’80s workout craze was starting to take over, and I was into going to the gym—the social scene there was great. Tanning beds were becoming popular, too, and I would get bronze by visiting the tanning salon three times a week. I loved to dress in neon colors, because it described how happy I was inside at that time. I would wear long dragon lady nails in sunset red or coral. My body was curvaceous and muscular. I had lost ten pounds, and I was enjoying feeling so confident and self-assured.

  I was meeting new people and just as I was starting to feel good about myself . . . BAM! I met Terry—the one man who would make me wrestle with my decision to stay single.

  Locking Lips with Thunderlips

  I was twenty-two and I had owned my nail shop for four years and a condo that I bought for $76,000. Every month I had a mortgage payment, nail shop rent, utilities, and a car payment, and I got tired of struggling so hard to make ends meet. I took a second job and began cocktail waitressing at one of the Mexican restaurants that a client of my nail shop owned. I then worked at a French bistro hoping I could make more money. I would get up at seven a.m to work at the nail shop, change clothes in the bathroom at the end of the day, and then work at the bar till two thirty A.M. Then, I would go to sleep and do the same thing the next day. I couldn’t keep going at this pace, and it was too much stress for a girl in her early twenties.

  In the summer of 1982, I sold the shop, rented out my condo, and moved back home with my parents. Then, I started working at my friend’s nail salon. I knew the transition to moving back in with Mom and Dad wasn’t going to be easy, but my bigger goal was to save money. Almost immediately after I moved home, I bought a brand-new red Corvette. This really pissed off my mom.

  “I thought you moved back home to save money?” my mom griped.

  “I am going to save. I promise!” I said with conviction, as if I had to convince myself.

  One Friday night, I had to work late at the nail salon. I hadn’t made plans with any of my girlfriends for after work. I really needed to get out, but everyone already had plans. Feeling sort of sorry for me, my mom suggested we go to the movies to see E.T. I thought, A Martian movie? (Little did I know that cute alien would phone home into the hearts of people everywhere.) Reluctantly, I got into my family’s station wagon, and my mom and I went to the Winnecka 4 Drive-In Movie Theater. I felt like a total loser at twenty-two years old going to the movies with my mommy on a Friday night! But she really helped me get out of the doldrums.

  When we got to the the
ater, E.T. was sold out. My mom suggested we see Rocky III, which was the other popular movie playing.

  “I don’t want to see a boxing movie,” I said. “I hate boxing.”

  “No, it’s a love story. You’ll like it!” my mom said, enthusiastically.

  Shortly after the plot of the film unfolded, there was a scene where this big, tan, muscular blond guy called Thunderlips came on-screen. He was slated to fight Rocky in a charity match. Thunderlips had a presence that could not be ignored. As he flexed his pecs with four beautiful blondes climbing all over him, he looked at Rocky and said arrogantly, “The ultimate man versus the ultimate meatball.” It was a part of the movie that you really remembered.

  The next morning as soon as I woke up, I called my friend Kathy, who was another manicurist. “I had to go to the drive-in with my mom last night,” I said, and then I continued, “so we’re going dancing tonight and I don’t care if I have to drag you out!”

  That night, Kathy and I hit the town. We headed over to the nightclub Red Onion, on Canoga Avenue in Woodland Hills. It was a popular spot for local Valley girls, with a disco downstairs. We had only been there five minutes when Kathy said, “Hey, the guy from the Rocky movie is here tonight.”

  “Sylvester Stallone?” I asked.

  “No, the other guy.”

  “Clubber Lang?”

  “No, the big blond guy.”

  My heart pounded because Kathy was absolutely right! With his long blond hair, Thunderlips, wearing tinted sunglasses, stood towering—and I mean towering—over the sea of clubgoers. As he made his way into the club, I noticed him talking to a few groupies. I am not going to be one of them, I said to myself, and kept my distance.

  I couldn’t help but think about the fate in all of this. I never go to the movies, and then the one movie I do go to see, the very next night the guy from the movie is right in front of me. In my town. In my club! It was so darn crazy that he was there. One night before, I wouldn’t have known him from Adam!