Free Is My Bow Too Big? How I Went From Saturday Night Live to the Tea Party by Victoria Jackson

probably about to get mugged. So I run in the dark to the next big intersection (the train station is closed), figuring that if I’m running the criminals might think I’m already involved in a crime.
    After our cast became a hit around the second season, we were all given private limos. So I’d leave the party and run through the gawkers to my stretch. I’d slide into the black leather seat, shut the window-tinted door, and ride one and a half hours to Connecticut. I’d glance out the dark window, completely oblivious to the criminals.
    I just had to tinkle so badly.

 

Star
She’s gonna be a star
At least that’s what it seems
She’s gonna be a star
If only in her dreams
She’s gonna be a star
At least that’s what they say…
She might just kill herself today.
    W hen you’re on a hit TV show, everybody wants you. Doors open, and suddenly, I’m in eight movies, jetting between NY and LA weekly, sometimes on the MGM Grand: a luxury airline. It was red and purple inside. It looked like Vegas. On one trip to NY promoting the movie Casual Sex?, Lea Thompson and I each had a big bed where we watched movies with the curtains drawn, and ate a thirteen course dinner with flowing chardonnay in goblets.
    “What time do we have to wake up tomorrow?” I asked.
    “I don’t know. Isn’t this great?”
    “Yeah. Which course is this?”
    “I think it’s the fifth one.”
    “Wow. I’ve never lain in a bed on a plane before,” I said. “It’s like we’re flying through the air like Superman, but on our backs instead of our stomachs.”
    “Yeah. Burp .”
    Quickest five hours I ever spent.
    On one of these flights, I went to the restroom just as a movie star (who shall remain nameless) was exiting. The powder room was full of marijuana smoke.
    He said, “Oh, sorry,” when the cloud of smoke poured out on me.
    “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve smelled it before.”
    “Come and join us,” he said.
    I really should “network,” I thought, but decided against it. After my restroom visit, I walked back to my seat. He saw me, smiled, and gestured for me to sit in his private booth. He was very famous. “This is my manager,” he slurred.
    His manager looked sober and embarrassed.
    “Where do you live?” said the high movie star.
    “Weston, Connecticut.”
    “Oh, I’m going to Connecticut. Wanna share my limo? You could give me a blow job.” His face was completely serious. This wasn’t a joke.
    My face turned white.
    His manager apologized with a red face.
    I smiled and stood up. “I better go back to my booth. Got some reading to do.”
    People are strange.
    Casual Sex? Was the biggest movie role I ever had. I was the co-star. The title was misleading. Perverts were disappointed and nice people stayed away because it sounded wild. It wasn’t too wild. I was naked in it though. How can a Christian justify being naked on a thirty foot screen? Well, this is how:
    My first movie, not counting Double Exposure or Stoogemania, where I only had two lines and then did a handstand, was The Pickup Artist. I was twenty-six and in NY for the first time. Warren Beatty hugged me on the set—an awkwardly long hug. He didn’t say anything. I laughed nervously. He was the producer. Robert Downey, Jr. was in a kissing scene with me, or rather, I was in his kissing scene. I keep thinking these are my movies, even if I have only five lines. People like Hall and Oates would show up on the set and visit us. I shamelessly took pictures with every famous person I could to add to my wall of fame. When I first got the part, I went to my pastor and asked him if a Christian should play a “bad girl” in a movie.
    I told Pastor Lane, “My role doesn’t require cursing or nudity, but I don’t know if I should play a bad girl.”
    He nodded kindly. We were sitting alone in the wooden pews of the Gothic cathedral, First Baptist of Pasadena. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows. I looked up at the ceiling. It