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sexuality, getting in touch with it, breaking down the destructive barriers in her psyche. Brittany, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call an actor.” Brittany, ladies and gentlemen, was what I called a n exhibitionist.
     
     
    I quit Gerald Clarke’s class—he wouldn’t refund my money, the bastard—and told myself to go back to my roots, stick with what I knew, rely on the skills that had served me well in the past, before Jack Rawlins (or, as I had come to refer to it in this dismal period, “pre-JR”).
    I also told myself that I didn’t mind dropping down a rung on the acting ladder by auditioning for commercials again. As Mickey said, I’d be keeping the cash flowing in while we waited for the movie and television people to come to their senses. Commercials were a sure thing, we agreed—a needed boost to my fragile ego.
    The first commercial I went out for was a national spot for Tide. I was supposed to play a young mom who does the laundry, dresses her kids for school, hands her husband his neatly folded shirts, and then says, with a big smile, “We’re a Tide family. Shouldn’t yours be, too?” It was dopey in that way that a lot of commercials for household products are dopey (why would a young mom be excited about her stupid laundry detergent?), but I was just the hired help, so it wasn’t my place to judge. The main thing was that I was a shoo-in for the job. The entire creative team led me to believe I was. But when they showed my tape to the client, he nixed me for the part. Turns out I reminded him of his dreaded ex-wife. No Tide commercial.
    The second commercial I went out for was another national spot, this one for Midol. I was supposed to play a hip young woman who’s sitting in a restaurant with her friends, doubled over because she’s been stricken with horrendous menstrual cramps. As the camera comes in for a close-up of her face, she winces in pain, turns to one of the friends, and says, “If only I’d brought my Midol.” As I’m pretty good at wincing in pain, I got the job. Unfortunately, on the day of the shoot I was in a nasty fender bender en route to the studio and ended up wincing in pain for real. Not only did I arrive at the shoot over two hours late, but I arrived with a neck that was so whiplashed I couldn’t make it turn the way it was supposed to. What’s more, the two Percocet I popped wreaked havoc with my speech and instead of saying, “If only I’d brought my Midol,” I said what sounded like, “If only I’d brought my doll.” Yup, I lost the job. And to add insult to my pathetic injury, the person they replaced me with was none other than Brittany Madison.
    The third commercial I went out for was a national spot for Tic Tacs. I really wanted this one, because it was a cute spot, a funny spot, a spot that would showcase my comedic flair. I was up for the part of a bride who’s standing at the altar during her wedding, about to be kissed by the groom in front of a church full of family and friends, when she stops, stares into the camera, and says, panicked, “Does anybody have a Tic Tac?” The minister reaches into his robe, pulls out his Tic Tacs, and hands her one. She swallows it, smiles gratefully. The minister says to the groom, “You may now kiss the bride,” at which p oint the bride and groom suck face.
    The ad agency had already cast the actor who was playing the groom, so they brought all the actresses in to read with him—and to kiss him—to determine which couple had chemistry. He was a great-looking guy—sort of a young Mel Gibson—and I had no trouble getting in touch with my sexuality where he was concerned. Consequently, I won the job. The Saturday before the shoot, I went to the beach with Maura to celebrate. It was a relaxing day, during which we read, talked, napped, people watched. Big mistake. Two mornings later I woke up with a huge and thoroughly unsightly cold sore on my upper lip. Was I pissed! I had applied and reapplied the