They Called Us Rowdy Royalty
For about ten years I worked almost every day. Outside of planned vacations and my stints in rehab, I was a busy girl. So getting to that weekly anger management class was hit or miss sometimes. But here’s the deal. It’s real simple. When I go to a pricey restaurant and order a steak cooked rare, that’s what I want. When I have to send it back and you bring me another steak, more burnt than before, now you’re just fucking with me. If GWYNETH PALTROW and her then-fiancè BRAD PITT had not overheard the snooty waiter call me a prima donna, I would have gone to jail that night for sure, along with Desi. Instead, I threw the steak against the wall—my contribution to their art collection—and Gwynnie, with her nose way up in the air, suggested we all leave. They called us Rowdy Royalty in the press the next day. Desi had just arrived in New York. For him it was a fabulous entrèe.