Tommy Cruise, magnificent whiner

Hello darlings! Maven here, by the pool as usual. Just got off the phone with dear friend Tommy. Oh, you know which Tommy I mean; most people call him Tom, darlings, but he does respond to Tommy. (But not Thomas or Thom. Never ever Thom. The ‘h’ is silent but I guarantee you he will hear it like a subsonic whistle to a dachsund.)

Poor Tommy is just beside himself with the response to his new film, the poor thing. “Maven,” he said to me in that whiny quiet voice he reserves for his special friends, “I don’t understand; I thought everyone loved me.”

The dear sounded like he was going to cry. He couldn’t, of course. Tommy has a rare genetic condition that prevents him from actually crying, which is why there is always a stunt double on his films specifically to shed tears in his place. (The double’s name is Esteban, and he’s also a dear friend and a simply fabulous crier. He does all of Matty Damon’s tear work too. I hire him sometimes for my parties, because there is simply no better way to get out of an awkward conversation than to have another guest breaking out into tears.)

“Oh, they do love you,” I told Tommy. “Most of the time. But darling, you have simply got to stop with the crazy. Short crazy people can be very alarming to John Q, you know.”

“I can’t help it if I speak the truth and it goes unappreciated,” he declared, getting even whinier. (Tommy is a spectacular whiner. I was there when he proposed to Katie, and it was breathtaking.) “One day they will all understand.”

“Of course, darling,” I said soothingly, “but there’s your problem. You see most people think of themselves as fairly enlightened already. It’s just not nice, going around and telling people you know more about the universe than they do. People don’t want that from their movie stars, darling.”

“It’s not my fault,” he insisted. I could hear him putting on his pouty face. He has only seven distinct facial expressions, and each make a precise sound when he switches from one to the next. “You know I can fly now. Did I tell you?”

“Why yes. We’re all very proud. But-- and I say this for your own good, Tommy--you shouldn’t go about telling people that either. You see, most of us can’t fly, and while I, darling, absolutely positively believe you when you say you can, everyone else you’re likely to tell this to will just think it’s another example of the new you, the freakishly insane you. And we just have to keep that you under wraps for a while longer.”

“I was going to call Oprah next,” he said, oblivious to my very good advice. Tommy is rarely capable of following compound sentences, which I always forget.

“Now’s not the best time to ring her,” I said, looking at my watch. “She’ll be on her third highball by now. You must catch her earlier in the day.”

“I forgot,” he admitted.

“Why don’t you go see Katie and the baby, darling? Didn’t I hear they were just let out of the isolation tank?”

He laughed that charming, manically unhinged laugh of his that I always find so very dear, and agreed that this was a splendid idea. “She might be back to whole sentences soon,” he declared.

“Why that’s wonderful, darling,” I told him. “Keep your chin up, and do call again if you must.”

As I hung up I couldn’t help but feel a touch of sadness for poor Tommy. The less John Q knows about him the more John Q likes him, and that is surely a burden, as it is for many famous people. But not for Maven, darlings. Maven tells all and doesn’t care what you think.

But that’s all for today, darlings. Paco has just mixed a new batch of chocolate mango martinis. Ta for now.