Keith had been with his fiancé JD Barrale for about five years, and if you ask, one will say that they met in a prayer group to cue up the other.
“Yeah, the Praying-to-Get-Laid group,” the other will say. They have that kind of playful relationship, and it’s sweet to see Keith so happy. Still, you don’t just waltz into my life. I have to haze you a little. When they first got together, I would wait until Keith left the room and I would joke, “I’ve got my eye on you.” As I got more comfortable with JD, we would have a moment and I would say, “You know you’re not my real dad. I don’t have to listen to you.”
I had only recently stopped hazing JD when Trump started to surge. Keith and JD each felt strongly that a Trump presidency would be a threat to them and asked me to do something about it. It was gentle nudging at first. Keith would bring him up and say a quiet, “You could stop him, you know.” I always said the same thing: “I don’t think his supporters would care. It’s no secret he’s a womanizer.”
But they amped up the pressure to come forward once Trump chose Indiana governor Mike Pence as his running mate in July. They called me on speaker from L.A. with a laundry list of things Pence had done to make life difficult for the LGBT community in Indiana.
“This shows what Trump really thinks of us,” said Keith.
“Trump could do away with gay marriage,” added JD.
“I don’t think Trump cares if someone is gay or not,” I told them. “Matter of fact, he probably hopes all the guys start fucking each other so there will be more chicks for him.”
I did understand their concerns about Pence—it’s kind of his thing to pick on gay people and get in their business—but Trump wouldn’t care. I told them I would think about it, but the answer was still no. Besides, I was convinced Trump had no real interest in being president. He would sabotage himself without me having to ruin the lives of the people in my family, thank you.
“Are you scared now?”
My friend said it as soon as I sat down. He is a lawyer and a straight shooter, always a good resource as I make business decisions. We had arranged to meet in one of my favorite cafés in Dallas. It was three o’clock and we were the only people in there.
“Why should I be scared?” I asked. It was so hot outside—Dallas in August, no surprise—but the café had the air-conditioning on too high.
“Well, he’s the Republican candidate,” he said. “He’s their guy now. It’s not just him making decisions. And look at what politics have done to other people who knew secrets.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned forward and started reeling off names of people who died mysteriously. Mary Meyer, Vince Foster… he kept going, but I didn’t really recognize any names until he got to Marilyn Monroe.
“What are you trying to say?” I said. I didn’t put any stock in it and rolled my eyes at him.
“Stormy,” he said, “I’m not fucking around anymore. I’m completely serious.” From the look on his face, I knew he was. This was one of the most sober, reasoned men I know, and he was telling me I was a target.
“If you left here right now,” he continued, “and got in a ‘single-car accident’ or went home tonight and had an overdose…”
“I don’t do drugs,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “No matter what anyone said, there’d be a source in the paper saying, ‘She hid her demons so well.’ If you died tonight, no one would be like, Donald Trump or the Republicans did it. But now you’re their problem. They are going to go through his closet, find his skeletons, and get rid of them. They don’t want to, because they were hoping he wasn’t going to get the nomination because they don’t like him, either. But this is a real thing, Stormy. Think of your family. Because if a natural gas leak happens to make your house explode, there’s no grieving husband on the news, either.”
My daughter’s face flashed in my mind, and I shook the thought away quickly. “What do you think I should do?”
“You have to come forward.”
“There’s that ‘come forward’ thing again,” I said. “Why do people keep saying that? Did you all have a meeting and decide that’s how to get me to do something?”
“Okay, whatever the choice of words is, the only way to keep your family safe is for your story to be out there. You want it so they can’t blow up your house or cut your brake lines, because everyone would point at them and say, ‘It was you!’”
When I got out and started the car, I first felt the fear that I still have every single time I turn the ignition. I wait for the boom.
I went home and started down a Google rabbit hole of political conspiracies, starting with Marilyn Monroe. If there’s a mistress who died suspiciously, I read about it, and each one, no matter how far-fetched, fed my fears.
I was so serious about going public for safety reasons that at one point I was even scheduled to go on Good Morning America. I was in L.A. to shoot a movie when I told Keith and JD I was going to… dunh dunh dunh… “come forward.” They were thrilled but got scared once I told them I was doing it for my safety. It had become my obsession. Every day this stayed secret, I felt my family was in danger. I lay awake at night. This is gonna be bad, I said to myself, but if the alternative is my house blowing up…
And no, I still hadn’t told Glen.
On October 21, two weeks after the Access Hollywood “grab ’em by the pussy” tape was leaked, Jessica Drake “came forward” in a press conference with Gloria Allred. She said that while we were at the Lake Tahoe golf tournament in 2006, Trump invited her to the penthouse. Jessica stated that she didn’t feel right going alone and that she went with two other women. “When we entered the room, he grabbed each of us tightly in a hug and kissed each one of us without permission.” She also said that Trump invited her back to the penthouse and she was offered ten thousand dollars for sex. She said she declined, saying she had to get back to L.A., and she was offered use of his private jet. At the press conference, she was wearing a Wicked necklace, as well as glasses I had never seen on her before.
The Trump campaign responded, calling the allegation false. “Mr. Trump does not know this person, does not remember this person and would have no interest in ever knowing her.” I wondered what they would say about me.
Not long after, I was on set in Malibu, directing From This Moment. We had just finished shooting a big rain scene when I got a call from Gina. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure.”
“I need to see you in person,” she said. “I can’t talk on the phone.”
“Well, I’m directing a movie.”
“What’s the address? I’ll come to you.”
“You can’t come to set, I’m directing a movie.” This is my three days a month that I’m unreachable. I call it the Bermuda Triangle. I come out and I literally don’t know what day it is.
“I’m coming right now,” said Gina.
“Fine,” I said giving her the address. What the hell was going on? Was there a death threat against me? Did she get threatened?
She called to say she was parked at the bottom of the hill. “I can’t come up because I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”