BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

The other night I had the strangest dream. I was doing the macarena with Al Gore at a fund-raiser for Garry Mauro. We knew all the steps and celebrities gathered around us shouting, "Go, go, go!" Then I saw Bruce Willis standing all alone holding a rotten banana. It made me so sad I stopped dancing. Then I woke up.

I guess it's all the talk about the break-up. On The View they said a lot of women are secretly celebrating. They resent Demi because she had everything--a decent job, kids, Bruce Willis. Now she can see how the rest of us live.

My best friend Brandi is beside herself with glee. The divorce will free up another man for gals like her whose husbands left them fir their 18 year old receptionists.

Bruce Willis is a nice enough fellow, I guess. In fact, years ago at a bar in New York City, he watched my grandmother's purse when she went to the lady's room.

But I told Brandi, "Watch out. Actors can be bad news, especially child actors."

I should know.

My one and only extra-marital affair involved a well-known televangelist who turned out to be a former child star named Tappin' Toby. Many of you will remember him from Kiddie Korral on channel 9 which came on in the 60's. He's the one whop used to get tears in his eyes when he danced to the Walter Brennan song about "That mule, Old Rivers, and me." The cameraman went in for a close-up of his little tear-stained face. Turns out he's always been able to cry on demand.

Tappin' Toby was evil personified.

The only place he ever took me was a storage unit out on Highway 80 West. There was this musty old box spring. That's where I saw the Tappin' Toby outfits--the sailor uniform, the unicorn costume, the tiny straw hat and seer-sucker suit. The black patent tap shoes.

The way he always said "Jumpin' Jehosephat!" should have been a tip off. That's the only thing they ever let him say on Kiddie Korral.

Anyway, I told Brandi, "Forget about Bruce. He's jaded."

"But I'm jaded too," said Brandi. "Lance and I put in the above ground pool. We were members at River Crest. We collected spoons from every state."

"You've got to stop living in the past," I said. "You sell socks every weekend at Traders Village. You haven't been to seafood night in three years."

It didn't do any good. Before I knew what hit me, Brandi booked us on a flight to Cape Canaveral for the big premiere of Bruce's new flick Armageddon.

I was dying to see it.

Anyway when we got to Florida it was about 120 degrees. Brandi was sweating like a half gallon of melorine. Gwyneth Paltrow and Laura Dern weren't much better off.

"It's not the heat," said Brandi. "It's knowing I could be the next Mrs. Willis."

When you get as old as Brandi and me there's slim pickens. Often you must settle for other women's cast offs.

Brandi has always gone for flashy guys. Guys with gold teeth and medallions the size of Frisbees. Guys who could have played pro ball if it weren't for that pulled groin. Guys who opened for the Kinks in '69. Guys named Butch or Satan Jr.

My rendezvous with a pretty boy taught me a lesson. What's wrong with guys named Al who pick up stray cats and remember their mama's birthday? Sure, there was that little thing about Michael Jackson playing basketball. But, until recently, I thought Karl was the serious Marx brother.

Guys named Al don't pierce their nipples. They don't listen to Insane Clown Posse. They're as loyal as a puppy and better house trained to boot.

Al's the guy I dream about.

So what if he's no Bruce Willis? He's no Tappin' Toby either.