COVER STORY CAPTION: JENNIE GARTH, HAPPY RECLUSE
In The Contents:
At home with 90210's little Martha Stewart
Picture Caption: Who recognizes this as Kelly Taylor?
Whatta Chameleon!
Three reasons I expected to hate Jennie (Beverly Hills, 90210's Kelly Taylor, for those of you who have been living in a biosphere for the last two years): 1) She has miniature poodles, 2) I have a serious blond problem, 3) I thought she'd answer my questions about her reputedly difficult costar Shannen Doherty with perky insincerity, like, "Shannen is a delight to work with, the media has blown this out of proportion, and now my manservant Thor will show you to the door."
When Jennie opened the door to her semi-palatial house in the super-swanky Hollywood Hills, I gazed upon the most vanilla creature I'd ever seen. Not bland-vanilla, color-vanilla: Blond-blond hair and super-pale creamy skin. The girl was so white she was transluscent. (Her childhood nickname was Casper.) However, she was not breathtakingly gorgeous. She looked like a Pretty Girl in a suburban high school. I asked her to describe her outfit into my tape recorder. In a soft voice, she reported, "I'm wearing nice, lovely brown clogs with doggie nibbles on 'em, my favorite jeans, my Gap T-shirt, my little Gap shirt [a denim button-down, unbuttoned] and my jacket that I bought for $12, with a beautifully ripped lining and holes in it."
Not exactly beauty-queen garb. Yet pageants were part of Jennie's past (she was a Cinderella Scholarship Pageant fourth runner-up) before she dropped out of high school in Phoenix, AZ, and moved to LA at 16 to be an actress. She left behind six older sibs and her dad (a school administrator), while she shared an apartment with her mom (a retired teacher) and three other people. Two months after she got there, her dad had a major heart attack. Her mom flew back to take care of him and Jennie commuted home on weekends (he's better now but, to her credit, she was not into discussing this). Jennie landed a few small parts in forgettable thingies - including the fantabulous Teen Angel Returns with Mr. Jason Priestley - before getting Bev Hills. It took, like, six auditions. Now she's 20 (she turns 21 on April 3: Happy b-day), makes an estimated $20,000 per episode and shares the demi-palace with her fiance Dan Clark, 24, a drummer in an unsigned band called the Hoodwinks.
To cover that mutual meeting-someone-for-the-first-time awkwardness, I lavished attention on her pets, who were bouncing around dementedly. I was pleasantly surprised that the poodles did not yap at all, and were not obscenely overgroomed like Edward Scissorhands hedges. Cute, even. Cuter still was the new Akita puppy, a gift from Dan. The cat, a black-and-white stray, was named Rhody because Dan and Jennie found her in Rhode Island.
Jennie and I were supposed to go see the Hoodwinks play. But the day before the interview, her publicist called and said Jennie was too tired, having just returned from a publicity trip to Israel with Ian Zierling and Gabrielle Carteris. (90210 is just humongous in the Holy Land.) So we agreed on a backup plan: hanging at her house to bake Rice Krispies treats, one of her favorite indulgences. The publicist said Jennie was a real little homebody. But when said publicist picked me up for the interview, she had a shopping bag full of everything one needs to make Rice Krispies treats. Hmmm. Anyway, after she left, Jennie said, "Um, the problem is, we don't have that much time, and I'm really hungry." Fine, I answered, let's make real lunch instead. "Well, actually, I don't have anything here," Jennie said. In other words, she wanted to go to a restaurant. "Is that okay?" Jennie asked innocently. Well, what was I gonna do, wrestle her to the ground and force her to open the Marshmallow Fluff? "Okay," I said, "as long as you give me a tour of the house first."
Jennie decorated the place herself (she once wanted to be an interior decorator). It was still very bare and new-feeling. Bunches of dried flowers were everywhere. It was high-ceilinged, full of light and lacy things, with a pool and a big deck. She was a housekeeper. Throughout the house were pictures of Dan and Jennie (including a framed clipping from the National Enquirer with the headline, "Jennie Will Wed Quietly on the Beach"), her niece Chelsea, her managers' kids. In the fridge: lowfat yogurt and cheeses, low-cal dressings, unpoppoed popcorn, mustard. I don't think she cooks much. The only evidence of her fabled homebody-ness: piles of fabric next to her Singer sewing machine (she makes rag dolls and pillows as gifts).
Jennie's mammoth walk-in closet ("Isn't it the best? This was the I-want-to-move-into-this-house room!") was full of long floral dresses, thrift-store coats, flannel shirts, crocheted sweaters, Suburban grunge. In good taste. "I have a kind of Imelda Marcos thing happening," she added sheepishly, pointing to a wallful of shoes. In the corner, a stack of bridal magazines. As we leafed through them, snorting at the hideousness of most of the dresses, I checked out her engagement ring (her cousin Tammy picked it out, but Dan paid). It was really pretty - an antique platinum setting with a medium-sized diamond. Unlike Ms. Doherty's big fat boulder. "I'm just starting to get serious about the wedding," Jennie said. "We're thinking about June," when 90210 is on hiatus.
Jennie's near-empty bookshelf contained a few acting books, some Reader's Digest Condensed Books, Iron John, Stephen King, a book on codependency that her mom gave her. "Does she think you're codependent?" I asked. "Um, she just doesn't want me to be," Jennie answered. "Is she nervous about you settling on one guy when you're so young?" I asked. "Yeah," Jennie replied. "But they like him."
She and Dan met when she saw him play an acoustic gig at a coffee shop. (He was in her friend's band.) "To see him up there singing and playing - I really got turned on by his talent. And his love for it; he was so passionate about it. We were definitely attracted to one another, but we'd both just been in two-year relationships and didn't want to jump into anything. It just sort of happened. I tend to take things too seriously 'cause I'm a perfectionist, but he makes me laugh. We're both Aries, though, so we get in each other's faces, throw things..." Like the TV clicker, which Jennie had just broken in one hurl.
We got into Jennie's corvette to fulfill her salad craving. At my request, she popped out the Bob Dylan CD and put on Dan's band. "Their music is bluesy, it's not Pearl Jam, so it's not what everyone wants to hear right now. But this stuff's coming from their souls, ya know?" she said. Practical Jennie was acutely aware that total artistic integrity doesn't always sell.
I wondered, since her career is farther along than Dan's, if they're competitive. "I'm the one that's bringin' in the bread right now, but next month I could be out of a job and he could be making his first record and paying the bills. It's a team effort. Some people are like, 'What are you doing! You're supporting him!' But, I mean, why don't they say that about a woman living off a man?" A valid point.
It was pouring, so we made a giggling dash for the restaurant. I was aware of everyone staring at Jennie, but she seemed oblivious. Getting mobbed by 10,000 screaming fans at mall appearances can't be pleasant, but she accepts it. In fact, she said, the 90210 mania was worse in Israel. "We couldn't leave our hotel room for coffee. It was like the Beatles' second coming or something." Did she have thoughts on, say, Palestinian statehood? Jennie was pretty upfront about not having a solitary clue. "I don't really have a grip on things politically at this point, you know? I'm still forming my opinions on all those things." She is, however, pro-choice.
As we dug into our mammoth salads, I asked how Gabrielle Carteris's wedding was. Jennie isn't a big wedding nut like some of us; in fact, she couldn't even tell me what Gabrielle wore. ("She had a dress on. A white dress, obviously. A wedding dress.") "Was the wedding small?" I asked. I was so-subtly fishing for information on Shannen Doherty's absence, but Jennie saw right through my little ruse. "Not really. Most of the cast was there. Everyone but Shannen." Did she not come or was she not invited? "Not invited." Hee!
And will Jennie invite the entire cast? "Probably. Because at one time or another we've all relied on each other in some way. As far as Shannen - that's what we're talking about here - we're definitely not buddies. But there have been times when I'm fighting with Dan and I'm working with her, and I'm crying, and she's there for me. And I just want you to know that Kevin Costner has just sat down right behind you."
I started to turn around and Jennie freaked. "Oh my God, don't. Oh my God, he's so cute! I just want to keep eating. Oh my God." Such enthusiasm was most un-Kelly-ish. Jennie is so star-struck she was hyped to meet John Ritter backstage at the Emmy Awards last year. John Ritter?!
But getting back to Ms. Doherty. Did she not boycott the Emmys over having to present an award with Jennie? "I stay out of the politics of the business," Jennie answered. "I didn't know anything about it until the day my manager and publicist were like, 'Shannen's not coming.' Um, she said the reason was the rest of the cast wasn't invited. I said, 'Look, I can't believe you're saying that.'"
I showed her the I Hate Brenda Newsletter, the brilliant zine dedicated to the revilement of you-know-who. "Oh my Lord!" Jennie gasped three times. "A whole newsletter! Amazing!" I read aloud: "Every time [Shannen] picks up that Mattel figurine of herself, she is reminded that she is hideously deformed." Jennie squealed gleefully, then seemed to feel genuinely bad. "But how would you feel if this was you? 'Cause, that could've easily been me. My character looks like a bitch, you know." I cried, "Jennie! You know this is not about her character!" It's not. It's her. The Republican convention, the star trips, the wooden acting. Her Shannenality! "I have to have this," Jennie demanded, clutching the newsletter. "You're gonna give it to me, right?"
Moving right along, I asked about the other cast members. "I respect Jason on a professional level. He's always strong, a great person, very lovable. Ian always makes me laugh, and again, very pursuant of professionalism. Gabrielle's got it together - she's done this before, she's married, she's happy with herself. Luke's a cowboy - he rides bulls. He's very smart. He has a girlfriend he's very in love with, which hardly anyone knows. Tori's got wonderful timing." Unable to restrain myself, I interjected. "Even if she wouldn't have gotten where she was if her father weren't - " "Who gives a shit?" finished Jennie. "She's good at what she's doing." I agreed. I worship Tori. By the way, Jennie confirmed the realness of Tori's breasts (see "Say What"). "I call 'em her little missiles," she said sweetly.
At this point I was lovin' Jennie, I must say. We commiserated about how unrealistic it was for Brenda, Kelly and Dylan to become buds again after all this two-timing. But I told her she and Luke seem to have really good chemistry. "And we know it. And his girlfriend knows it and my boyfriend knows it. But we work together, you know..." She also said that she's sorry Kelly's gotten less bitchy, because it was fun to play. "She's likable now, because we've looked at why she grew up this way [her mother's coke, drinking and marital problems]. Kelly's been through so much; it makes people sympathize with her." I was struck by how few Kelly mannerisms she had - no eye-rolling, no obnoxious, clipped vocal ticks.
Jennie had to run a dress-fitting for the Golden Globe Awards. Awards seem to be the only starlet thing she does. She doesn't really hang with the cast socially and she doesn't go clubbing. (No slapfights with aspiring actresses at Roxbury in her future.) She just goes to hear Dan's and his friends' bands in small venues. Jennie generously paid the check, leaving a 20-percent tip.
What struck me most about her was how unnervingly sane and rational she was. It's like her workout video. Though it's pretty boring (but that also means easy to follow and not too dance-y), there's a meticulous warm-up and a really good talk about how she used to let the scale dictate her self-esteem until she chucked it. At the end, she says something like, "You need 1,000 calories a day just to sit and breathe," and there are numbers to call if you have an eating disorder. Responsible. And she doesn't look like a little stick - she looks healthy. Incidentally, it's the top-selling video as I write this.
Jennie drove home like she was in the Indy 500. "I love driving - it's the one thing I can control," she said. Yeah, she's a pushover. Like at the cover shoot, Andrea and Karmen found her...opinionated. She wanted her hair tousled, she wanted the makeup to give more contour to her cheeks, she didn't want to smile for the camera. "They had a vision about what they wanted, but I don't like to put out an image that's not really me. I mean, the hippie outfit, that's something I've done several times - let's braid our hair and put on hippie clothes! But, um, it was fun. It was very nice." My feeling about her assertiveness is hey, more power to her. We tell you guys to show some spine, so why diss her for having one?
I asked what she'll do after 90210. "I'm not into doing any more television. Films, if they come my way, great. If not, I'm on to children. My goal in life is to have children. Isn't that sick? I wanna be a housewife, a household engineer. Take care of the checkbooks. Gotta go, gotta take the kids to Little League."
We pulled into the driveway and Dan came up from practicing his drums downstairs. He was a big guy in a flannel shirt. He looks like Jennie (long blond hair and eyelashes), but she's cuter. Dan's kind of moonfaced. She ran over to animatedly show him the I Hate Brenda Newsletter. As they pored over it, Jennie half-sat on Dan's knee. They weren't disgustingly lovey-dovey, but they were clearly a couple, comfortable with one another. Then, late for the dress-fitting, they hurriedly said goodbye and drove off. Alone in the living room with the housekeeper, I sat down on the white couch to wait for my ride. A poodle jumped in my lap.
From Sassy, 4-95, p.44.