Free Kiss and Tell by Shannon Tweed Page B

used to cry on my shoulder about it all the time. (Even after her fling with Hef, she still didn’t get in. Ironically, Playboy wanted to put her in the magazine after she got famous, but by then she was done with them.) I realized it was time to move into my own apartment in L.A., so my sister and a girlfriend, Cindy, who was dating Hef’s son David, and I rented a place—one I never stayed in until we broke up, but it was there, ready. I was at the “just in case” stage, waiting for the inevitable.
    The night Peter Weller showed up at the Mansion pretty much spelled the end of Hef’s and my relationship. Peter had a great time, but I was just not into the whole Mansion party scene anymore. I’d had a little taste of independence, and I wanted to see where it took me, but I still wanted everything; I was confused again. Twenty-five years old and at another major crossroad. By the end of the evening I’d made up my mind to meet Peter at his hotel later. We’d been spending every night together while shooting the movie. My sister, who had missed me while I was away, rode with me in the Porsche to our apartment. She was always up for some adventure, and now happily came along for the ride. She said, “Shannon, I think we’re being followed.” I laughed it off, but she said, “No, really. We’re being followed.”
    I started dodging and weaving, going in and out of side streets like we were in some kind of movie. I don’t know what I was thinking… that I could lose them? Not likely. It was so silly. We made it to my apartment, where I showered and packed an overnight bag. I figured whoever was following us would be gone by then, so I took off for the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, where Peter was staying, and didn’t think any more about it. The next morning, as I was coming through the lobby, I saw one of Hef’s security guys standing by the front doors, waiting for me. I just said, “Oh, good morning.” That was pretty much the end of that relationship. It was clearly not working out for either one of us.
    Hef was a great boyfriend. He was always loving and supportive, but hey, he wanted a girlfriend with him at home. He wanted what he wanted; I wanted what I wanted. There was no terrible, bitter breakup—nothing traumatic at all. It was a chapter in both our lives that was over. I wasn’t going to cry about it. Well, not much. I think a huge mistake many women make is to think, Okay, I’ve found the guy, and now I’m going to change him. Women find a guy and try to change him, but he never does; men find a woman and hope she won’t ever change, and she always does. As a woman, to hope you will change a man—that’s a fool’s game. Hef wasn’t going to change for me. There wasn’t going to be any more compromise on either side.
    During our year and a half together Hef had given me many fabulous gifts—but especially confidence in myself. He made me feel tremendously important and valued. He treated me like an adult and asked my opinion about things, engaged me in conversation, and never treated me like a doll. I owe him big. He did a great deal for me: for my sense of self, for my finances, and I would even say for my sense of morality, though that’s certainly quite subjective! He even supported me through our breakup: He paid my rent and gave me Louis XIV furniture for my little apartment. We split the dogs we both loved and stayed in touch. We remained friends; I missed him a lot, and I visited him frequently.
    I landed a job as a regular on a soap, Days of our Lives, and things calmed down a little. I was on my own, for real this time.

JOSH TAYLOR PLAYED MY LOVE INTEREST ON DAYS OF OUR LIVES. WE HAD FUN TOGETHER, AND WERE AMONG THE FIRST TO START MAKING OUT IN STRANGE PLACES (I.E. ON THE BAR) ON DAYTIME SOAPS.

Chapter Seven
    Sexy in the City
    S hortly after I moved in with Tracy and Cindy, my sister and I decided to move into a different apartment on our own. We found a place on Burton Way in