OUTRAGEOUS PART FIVE: BROKE
We're halfway through the life of Anna Nicole Smith.
Angels have their demons too! Broke, Anna and Daniel move in with a B-movie director friend in the San Fernando Valley. Anna binges her days away. She alternates between pills, booze, and food but never feels satiated. When she overdoes, doctors doubt she’ll walk again. But Anna proves them wrong. She survives. She checks into Betty Ford and walks out three weeks before her graduation date. She’s found guilty of sexual assault and her breast implant ruptures. Twice.
AUGUST 1995
Anna, 27, sits in court and fidgets in her seat. Lawyers join her at the defense table.
No, this isn’t Marshall vs Marshall, her infamous estate trial. In this court room, she’s the defendant. And she’s guilty. The verdict will make her go all the way broke.
“I’m dismissing your countersuit against Maria Antonia Cerrato on the claims she slandered your name and tried to kidnap your son. Mrs. Marshall, do you understand you failed to comply with the evidence procedure?” the judge asks Anna.
Anna’s mind swirls with images as she disassociates from her body. Las Vegas. Vodka. Tennis on TV. Daniel asleep in one room. Maria in another.
“Yes, your honor,” Anna spits out. “Sorry.”
Anna sits and watches Cerrato, a pretty Latina woman in her 40s, take the stand.
Cerrato speaks in Spanish, but a translator shares her testimony in English.
“Since the incident that occurred in Las Vegas while working for Anna, I’ve attempted suicide three times. I’m not healthy enough to start a new job right now, but I have to provide for my family,” the translator says.
Images from Las Vegas keep interrupting Anna’s ability to stay in the present moment. Cerrato vomits, Anna wraps her hands around Cerrato’s neck. Anna bites off a single acrylic nail so she can slide her finger into Cerrato. Cerrato shakes her head “no.”
We intercut Cerrato’s testimony with Anna's memories.
Cerrato says Anna forced drugs and alcohol on her, then kisses. Then fingering.
“Agresión sexual,” Cerrato concludes. “Ella no me escucharía. Nunca.”
“It was sexual assault,” the translator says. “She didn’t listen to me. Never.”
“Perdon,” Cerrato says. “Una cosa más. Me amenazó con deportarme por no tener sexo con ella.”
“Anna Nicole threatened to deport me for not having sex with her,” the translator says.
We cut to the ruling. With a loud swing of his gavel, the judge finds Anna guilty and says she must pay Cerrato $800,000 for damages.
On the court steps, swarmed by the media, Anna says nothing. She looks vacant. Her lawyer speaks for her: “There is no admission of guilt and we will appeal. Thank you.”
OUTRAGEOUS
A chubby, hairy film nerd sits in LAX traffic. He fusses with the A/C, but it doesn’t work.
This is Ray Martino.
A light turns green and he pulls his clunker in front of the terminal. He spots Anna and Daniel.
“Thank you Ray,” Anna murmurs. “For everything.”
Ray hands her and Daniel each a Big Gulp.
“My first time landing in LA without a limo,” Anna says.
“I’ll look for one at Pick-Your-Parts,” Ray jokes.
A couple dozen miles of traffic and smog later, they reach Ray’s apartment in North Hollywood.
Ray rips off his sweaty t-shirt before he grabs Anna’s luggage. Carries it shirtless.
Daniel, 9, grabs one of the heavy bags from Ray. He takes off his shirt and carries it inside, imitating him.
Anna pops a pill in the passenger seat.
“I’m too hot to move,” Anna says.
“C’mon, the air conditioning works!” Ray calls Anna.
Anna watches out for any neighbors.
“I don’t want to meet your neighbors,” Anna says.
She shoves her way out of the car and into the apartment. It’s pitch black inside -- a sharp contrast from the glaring afternoon sun outside.
The room’s only streak of sunshine floods through a gap in the blinds -- illuminating a movie poster with a giant photo of Anna’s Face -- To The Limit -- directed by Ray Martino.
“You can only push a woman so far!” Daniel reads off the poster.
Anna flops onto the couch underneath the poster and pops another pill.
“I keep the lights off as much as possible to keep it cool in here,” Ray explains. “Valley tip #1”
We cut to Anna the next afternoon, home alone. Anxious and miserable, she binge eats:
Spoons ice cream from the carton and shovels potato chips from the bag.
Microwaves BBQ Beef Hot Pockets while frying grilled cheeses.
Dunks cold chicken tenders into ketchup and washes it all down with chocolate milk.
Before her next course, Anna pauses in hopes of being done, but resumes the binge.
Peels a tangerine. Cuts an apple. Shovels some berries. Sips strawberry-flavored milk.
She just never feels full.
Post-binge, Anna eyes her toothbrush but chews gum in bed instead. Too lazy. Too heavy.
She needs to change her mood. She decides to cum her way out of her post-binge depression.
Anna strips naked and uses a big carrot to trace her nipples. She shoves it inside her.
We pan down her body until we get to her vagina. In a moment of un-reality, her pussy lips spread into Tunnel of Love theater curtains. We enter the fantasy burning between her thighs. Sexual beings of all ages, genders, race, ethnicities and body types touch and admire Anna’s body while she hangs restrained in a sex swing.
Onlookers enjoy concessions in stands, jeering like the crowd at a wrestling match.
The hotties form a line behind Anna and take turns spanking her hard.
Too hard for most people, just right for her.
She smiles through the pain.
She can’t get enough of it. Insatiable.
A butch lesbian smacks Anna’s thighs. We recognize her… that’s Anna’s ex Sandi!
The onlookers sneer and cheer.
Sandi goes down on her. Anna orgasms right away.
The second she orgasms, we snap out of her fantasy and leave the world between her legs.
In bed, Anna grabs a hand mirror and presses on one of her breasts.
“Ow,” she cries as she twists her nipple.
Later, Ray drives her to the hospital. She shudders in pain during the car ride. Mumbles prayers.
In the exam room, Anna disrobes and shows the doctor the grotesque swelling of her breast. It’s purple and punctured and throbbing.
In an operating room, the doctor begins emergency surgery to remove the infection. He digs into her breast tissue like he’s revving a lawn mower. Then he sews her back together.
Afterwards, Anna manages her pain by constantly popping pills while recovering at Ray’s apartment. There’s nothing new about that, but there are stronger prescriptions now…
Daniel watches Anna shake pills into her mouth right from the bottle as they watch daytime TV.
“Do you want some water for your pills?” Daniel asks her.
“How bout some strawberry milk?” Anna asks.
In between pills, Anna sucks on pacifiers.
“Isn’t that a little perverse?” Ray asks. They’re in the living room. “Or at least regressive?”
Anna removes her pacifier in order to respond.
“It’s healthier than smoking cigarettes,” Anna says matter of factly. Still sexy. A forever Lolita. “It keeps my voice open. That’s good for acting.”
Daniel starts school in the Valley. Ray drops him off and picks him up while Anna sleeps all day.
One afternoon, Anna flies around the apartment on a mini-bender. She grabs her purse and opens her wallet looking for a dollar bill.
She finds her dollar. And sees the beloved family photo of her with Marshall and Daniel.
She kisses the picture -- one for each of her loves.
Then she crushes three painkillers and uses the dollar to snort them up her pretty, pink nostrils.
We cut to another binge -- blinds drawn mid-day. Chinese leftovers, cupcakes and salami.
She refuses to pause between bites of each dish and consumes many servings of it all.
She eats until she feels so bad that it feels good.
Her anxiety lessens, even though it feels like she’s spinning. The more she eats, the farther away she becomes from her body. The farther away she becomes from herself.
Anna pops a Xanax and draws herself a bath to force the end of the binge.
She squeezes into Ray’s tub. A tight fit. She closes her eyes and dozes off.
When Anna wakes up in the tub, she sees she’s flooded the room with bath water. She lifts herself out of the tub and scurries off. We expect her to come back with towels but she returns with her hand in a bag of chips.
She plops back in the tub and eats her chips there.
In the morning, Ray greets Anna in bed. She’s staring into her handheld mirror again.
“I don’t wanna be here, Ray. I don’t wanna be alive no more,” she shares. “I hate it here.”
Ray shakes the comment off. He’s heard her talk this way before.
“You won’t be living in the Valley forever, ok?” Ray asks. “Nothing is permanent.”
“That’s the problem,” Anna deadpans. “Everything good that comes to me leaves just as quick.”
“You’re going to London!,” Ray shifts. “A Playboy shoot in London! You’re gonna love it.”
Anna sighs. Ray kisses her goodbye.
“And they’re gonna love you!” Ray yells back.
Anna lays around miserable for a while, then steals a $50 bill from Ray’s sock drawer.
Anna ambles down Victory Boulevard in her pajamas, through the NoHo morning hub-bub.
A gentleman cat calls her (“Good Morning beautiful”) and she barely bothers to blow a kiss back.
“I’m just not feeling like myself,” she tells the hot cement.
When Anna reaches Ralphs Market, she beelines for the alcohol aisle. People watch her.
“Do you have a Ralphs club card?” the cashier asks.
“No,” Anna says.
“Would you like to sign up for one today?” the cashier asks.
“No,” Anna says.
“Are you sure? You’d save… nine dollars,” the cashier says. “Wolfschmidt promo.”
“You want to use my club number?” a chubby mom asks, behind her. “Let me put in my number for you.”
Before she can say yes, the lady punches in her phone number right next to her.
“Would you like to donate to our children’s fund today?” the cashier asks. “To begin, you --”
“No!” Anna shouts. “Just give me my goddamn change so I can leave.”
Anna grabs her coins and plastic bag full of booze and storms out.
At home, Anna finds a Big Gulp cup and pours a couple inches each of Wolfschmidt vodka, triple sec and lime juice into it. She takes a big, warm sip.
She enjoys the burn and then adds ice. Splashes another inch of vodka too.
Later, Daniel and Ray giggle as they walk through the door.
“What homework are you doing first?” Ray asks.
“Writing,” Daniel says. “We have to make up our own story with the vocabulary words.”
“Nice, get started before you turn on the TV, ok?” Ray asks.
“Yep, but I gotta pee first,” Daniel says.
Ray nods and heads back toward the bedroom.
“Anna?” Ray calls.
He opens the bedroom door and finds Anna comatose in bed.
Ray shakes her but she doesn’t respond. He sees a half-drunk kamikaze and empty pill bottle.
“Anna?!” Ray shouts. Hoping she wakes.
He rushes to close the door but Daniel sneaks in and rushes to his mom’s side.
He places his hands on her heart, waiting for it to beat.
“Mom!” Daniel shouts. Louder than we’ve ever heard him before. “Her heart’s not beating! Mom, wake up! Please!”
An ambulance siren wails. Anna lays in a coma at St. Joseph’s in Burbank. Paparazzi stalk the ICU. Nurses monitor her.
In the hallway, a doctor explains the severity of Anna’s overdose to Ray.
“We still can’t say... there’s no promise...the likelihood is split… she may not survive, and if she does pull through, she will likely have permanent brain damage,” the doctor tells Ray.
Daniel sits an aisle away with Ray’s Walkman on. He pretends to listen to music but nothing plays. He listens to every word the doctor says:
“She will most likely be unable to walk. The combination of drugs and alcohol in her system is severe. We just don’t know.”
Ray darts outside and sobs. Attempting to hide his reaction from Daniel.
Daniel traipses over to the bathroom, slow and controlled, then vomits all over it.
Anna lays motionless on her breathing machine.
Alone in the hospital chapel, Daniel kneels in prayer.
“Please God, help my mom,” Daniel says. “Please keep us safe, healthy and OK. Just OK. That’s all we need, please.”
Suddenly, a chaplain appears and asks Daniel if he’d like to talk about anything.
Daniel shakes his head “No.”
The chaplain asks if he’d like to pray with him.
Daniel bolts out of there before the chaplain can blink.
After many quiet days in the hospital, Anna wakes up from her coma. Finally!
“Where’s Daniel?” is the first thing that falls out of her mouth. She can talk. Phew.
“How long have I been laying here?” Anna asks Ray.
She swings her legs out of bed and tries to stand. Ray catches her as she falls flat to the floor. She can’t walk. Yikes.
Anna starts feeling the sensations of her body. Tingles. Tight throat. Pounding heart. Falling tears.
“What the fuck happened to me?” Anna asks her doctor when he visits.
“You ingested a potentially lethal combination of drugs and alcohol,” the doctor says. “You’re quite the lucky lady.”
Anna glares at him like, “Oh, really?”
“I’m not an addict,” she says. “I gotta have huge tits for work and they hurt my back like crazy.”
Fresh out of a coma, Anna’s already spinning her defenses.
“I understand you experienced an infection in your implant recently, as well as a significant amount of private struggles--,” the doctor begins.
“I lost my husband,” Anna says. “The only person who ever loved me.”
“I want to recommend that you speak to a psychologist about the grief and stress in your life,” he says.
“There’s no point, ok? You can give me his number,” Anna says. “But I’m not gonna call. I’m not one to open up.”
Anna looks and feels like shit but kind-of eye fucks her doctor.
“At least not that way,” she adds.
“I’m going to get out of here and let you rest,” he says. “I’m happy you’re up. We’ll get into the details of your rehabilitation tomorrow.”
The next day, some hospital staff watch a local KTLA report on a small TV in the break room. On screen, Larry Bloustein, a spokesperson for the William Morris agency, speaks to the press.
“Anna is in ‘pretty good shape’ after recovering from an adverse reaction to prescription medication,” Bloustein says. “This was not in any way the result of a drug overdose. The hospital is just being overly cautious, and we’re glad. William Morris wishes Anna Nicole a speedy recovery.”
The staff eye one another like, “Oh please.”
Over the course of the next two weeks, physical therapists help Anna practice warming up her atrophied muscles. Daniel leads her through the exercise in bed.
Later, she practices walking down the hallways of St. Joseph’s. Moves feebly.
As her release looms, Anna’s doctor visits her room to urge her to consider rehab.
“In medicine, you can’t deny the power of luck,” the doctor says. “Do you realize how lucky you are to be able to walk again? How close you got to never walking again?”
“Stop,” Anna says. “Don’t even talk about it. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I think it’s important you do, Anna. You have to consider treatment options,” the doctor says. “You won’t always be this lucky if your behavior doesn’t change.”
“Watch how good I walk now,” Anna interrupts him.
Anna manages a demure catwalk strut for him. Her favorite nurses cheer. The doctor smiles. Her charisma is back like it never left, hospital gown be damned.
That night, Anna enjoys pudding in bed. She passes Ray her tray of hot food.
“I think the hospital stay is making me skinny. This could be good for me,” Anna says in reference to her coma-induced weight loss. “Good for work.”
“Have you eaten any real food lately?” Ray asks. “I only see you eat pudding.”
“My nurses bring me double because they know I love it,” Anna says. “I love them.”
“I don’t envy their job,” Ray says.
“Nobody’s taken care of this well in my whole life,” Anna says. “I know what a luxury it is for someone to give a shit about you. They’re like my real moms. ”
Anna sucks on her pudding spoon sadly.
The next day, Anna’s doctors gather to discuss how serious her situation is.
“You’ve got to keep in mind that we’re still monitoring you for permanent brain damage,” the doctor says. “Just because you're walking well does not mean you get to resume your former lifestyle, by any means. Ever.”
“We’re not trying to scare you honey, we just want to keep you safe and healthy,” a nurse adds. “When someone suffers a traumatic injury to the brain and survives, as you did, the brain becomes more vulnerable to future health events, like another overdose or coma. Does that make sense? Once you’ve had one, you’re more likely to experience another.”
Anna nods.
“This is already your second time overdosing, and as you can see, the second was much more severe than your first,” a doctor adds.
“That first time barely counts, jeez. I’ll be alright,” Anna says. “Don’t you worry about me you guys. I’ll be just fine.”
“Take care,” the doctor says as the nurses all hug her goodbye.
“I’ll miss you,” Anna says. “And I love you all.”
We cut to Anna alone in a limo as it whirls past the Palm Springs windmills at sunrise.
“It looks like the Flintstones,” Anna tells the driver. “I’ve never been out here before.”
“It gets hot,” the limo driver says.
“I heard it’s full of gay people,” Anna says. “Gay people love me.”
The limo driver just nods. God forbid Anna admits she’s a gay person.
Finally, they reach the Betty Ford Clinic. 14 acres of green lawns framed by purple mountains.
From far away, as if we’re looking out the limo window, we watch Anna enter the clinic.
The next morning, we hear the alarm in Anna’s room go off at 6:00 a.m.
Before she can even remember where she is, all three of her roommates flip their lamps on.
A plucky red-head with blonde roots turns Anna’s light on for her and gives her the rundown:
“We have 10-15 minutes to get ready, pray, whatever, before our therapeutic duties begin. First we make our beds, then we do the communal laundry, set the table for breakfast and dust and sanitize common spaces before our morning lecture.”
Anna wants to kill her so she just says nothing.
“These chores help us become part of a community again,” the redhead explains.
The other women make their bunks and change clothes.
“You probably won’t get this yet, but we’re like, your ‘therapeutic family’ now,” she tells Anna.
“I hate mornings,” Anna says. “And I hate my family.”
She turns her light off and gets back into bed.
Later, in group therapy, Anna sits circled up with other patients. Smiley rehab minions. To her, they look like robotic cult members.
“I’m recovering just like you are,” the therapist says. “As addicts and alcoholics, we are never recovered. We can never just put this behind us. We are all recovering. Forever.”
The group nods their head in agreement, Anna stares off like she’s not supposed to be there.
“Let’s start with introductions,” the therapist says. “I’ll let the blonde begin.”
Anna waits for a blonde to speak. Waiting. Waiting.
“Oh, you mean me?” Anna asks. “I’m Anna or, uh, Vickie, Anna. I seem not shy but I am. I can’t do this. I can’t open up.”
“Sure you can, Anna,” the therapist says. “This is a space where we relate to each other, peer to peer, and learn to identify and express our feelings in appropriate ways. When we abuse drugs and alcohol, we are usually looking to suppress certain feelings. Here we can just let them out.”
Anna purses her lips.
“But I don’t abuse drugs and alcohol,” Anna says. “I’m not an addict.”
“Growing up, was it safe to express your feelings at home?” the therapist asks.
A memory flashes. Anna hiding in the closet as a kid, quiet, scared. Then found, smacked. Silenced as she tries to speak.
“I don’t know,” Anna tells the therapist. “I guess so.”
“Ok,” the therapist says skeptically.
We cut to Anna at an in-clinic AA meeting, gathering snacks at the coffee and tea table.
“Is there any hot chocolate?” Anna asks a male patient making a drink.
“I don’t think so,” he says. “You’re not a coffee drinker?”
“No, I’m not a grown up,” she flirts.
He steps closer to her and whispers.
“I’m also a sex and love addict, so I shouldn’t be saying this,” he coos. “But I would love to fuck the shit out of you.”
“Thank you,” she giggles, used to it. “I hate it here.”
“I’m never gonna talk to you again,” he says. “Too risky. But I just had to say that.”
He winks and walks away.
Anna finds a seat and crawls out of her skin listening to the AA speaker.
As the speaker describes his own rock bottom, Anna darts up and out into the hall.
“Bathroom break?” a rehab personnel asks.
Anna nods in agreement but blows past the bathroom, practically running down the hall.
“I’m going out for a cigarette!” she roars and flings the heavy doors to the outside open.
“No one gets priority treatment here ---” she hears as the doors close behind her.
She sees a half-smoked cigarette on the floor and a pack of matches on the railing.
She lights up someone else’s cigarette and smokes. Fuck it. There’s no pacifiers here!
On day six, Anna calls Daniel on one of the rehab phones.
“Hi pumpkin! I’m sorry they wouldn’t let me call anyone for five days,” Anna says. “How are you doing? I love you so much. So much baby.”
“I'm doing good mom,” Daniel says. “Are you OK?”
“They don’t let me watch TV,” Anna says. “But I really like it here. I’m getting strong and healthy, so I can come home soon.”
“Good,” Daniel says. “Do you think you’ll come home before Christmas?”
“Oh, of course sugar pie. I would never miss Christmas with you,” Anna says. “Do you miss me?”
“Of course, mom,” Daniel says. “I miss you.”
“I miss you more,” Anna says. “We’re gonna go see Santa together.”
“I love you mom,” Daniel says. “I’m glad you like it there.”
“Thank you angel,” Anna says. “I’ll call you again as soon as I can. Tell Ray I called.”
Anna hangs up the phone, picks it back up and punches in a number. The call fails.
She dials “0” for the operator.
“William Morris please,” Anna says into the phone. “No, the agency, not a person.”
She gets connected and a receptionist answers: “William Morris.”
“This is Anna Nicole Smith,” she says. “Get me anyone on my team.”
She gets transferred and waits for someone to pick up. Waits some more. Bites a fingernail off.
Finally, her agent picks up.
“Anna, darling,” he says. “You doing alright in the desert?”
“You told me this was an elite desert oasis! You told me it was spa-like!” Anna spits. “It’s a hospital full of winos and meth-heads in the middle of fucking no where! It’s worse than jail!”
“If you don’t get sober you really could end up in jail,” he says. “And then you will know how crude your comparison is.”
“They treat me like shit! Like nobody!” Anna imparts. “Why the fuck are you making me play family with these people? I thought this was a celebrity center.”
“If you want a celebrity center, become a scientologist,” the agent says. “Just kidding. Don’t do that. But seriously, WMA is gonna drop you the minute you leave rehab early. That’s a promise. Just stay put! You know I love you --”
“I miss Daniel. I hate these people,” she says. “And I haven’t even met Betty Ford.”
“Keep your head up kid,” he says. “What’s a star’s story without a trip to the sanitarium?”
A staff member silently signals her phone time is up.
She hangs up. Just another five weeks…
We cut to Anna a week later, in a one-on-one therapy session.
“I don’t know,” Anna tells her therapist.
“What were you feeling right before the overdose?” the therapist asks. “Or in the days before?”
“I don’t know,” Anna says.
“Do you think you used drugs and alcohol to avoid certain feelings?” the therapist asks. “Or even memories? Experiences?”
Flashes of her own childhood abuse distract Anna:
The wack of a police baton. Girlish screams. Bloodcurdling yelps. Forcing her body off a man. Another man. A woman. Another man.
“I don’t know,” Anna says.
Not confused. Just controlling the situation.
“Do you think you chase highs?” the therapist asks. “Seek thrills? To compensate?”
Anna’s mind pulsates with fragments of her constant consumption -- sex, sex, sex, food, pills, drink, food, pills.
“I don’t know,” Anna says.
“Anna, it’s normal to want to protect yourself,” he says. “But your healing is on the other side.”
“Why do we always have to focus on the bad?” Anna says. “I’ve made mistakes but I love my life. I’m a good person.”
“Is that how you felt before your overdose?” he asks. “You told Ray you were sick of living.”
“Whatever you do,” Anna says. “You’re not gonna get my demons out of me. I guarantee it.”
Anna sobs in bed after her session, alone for once. Her wails come from deep inside her.
She continues to weep as her roommates arrive for bed.
She cries herself to sleep.
The next morning, Anna stares into the mirror. No makeup. No jewelry. Brown roots.
She pinches her lips until they darken with color. She comes alive. Blows a kiss into the mirror.
“Today I’m wearing blood red, Max Factor,” Anna deadpans. “No, excuse me, Chanel.”
Her lips give her a new buoyancy as she strides to use her weekly phone privileges.
Anna sits and dials. She seems a lot more “on” than when she usually calls Daniel.
“Hello,” a woman answers. The screen splits so we see them both on the phone.
It’s Anna’s mom -- Virgie -- still in her same ol’ police uniform. Still miserable.
“Hi,” Anna says.
“Who’s this?” Virgie asks, gruff.
“Vickie,” Anna says softly. “It’s me, Vickie.”
“Oh, hi,” Virgie says. “What’s going on?”
“I just -- “ Anna starts. “I’m good. I was working too much, so they sent me to a rehab to relax.”
“Oh yeah?” Virgie says. “So you’re a drunk now too? Or is it drugs? Crystal? I knew it.”
“Well, I had to get so many surgeries and was in so much pain,” Anna begins.
“You should never have gotten plastic surgery in the first place,” her mom interjects.
“I know it’s been years,” Anna starts. “But I’m doing really well now and want to see you.”
“You wanna see me?” Virgie snorts. “I’ve never heard you say that before.”
“I could get you a plane ticket to LA and a driver to the desert,” Anna says. “For Thanksgiving.”
“What’s that mean, the desert?” Virgie asks.
“Palm Springs,” Anna says. “Movie stars love it here. Marilyn was discovered at the Racquet Club here. At least that’s what they say. There’s more to that story, I’ll tell you in person. I’ll get you a hotel with a pool and everything.”
“I’m not much of a swimmer,” Virgie says.
“It would be really nice to spend a holiday together,” Anna says. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Will Daniel be there?” Virgie asks.
“Yep,” Anna says. “Of course. He wants to see his grandma too.”
“Ok, then,” Virgie says. “Fine by me. Let’s do it.”
Back in a solo session with her therapist, Anna sits quiet. Stunned.
“When you’re used to others violating your boundaries, it can become normal for you to violate other people’s boundaries,” the therapist says. “Have you ever violated someone’s boundaries?”
Too many images overload Anna at once. She sits quietly and then just gets up and leaves.
On Thanksgiving morning, Anna watches as other patients’ families arrive.
A friendly nurse tells Anna to let her know when she can meet her mommy. Anna nods “yes.”
When Ray and Daniel arrive, Anna squeezes Daniel forever.
“Mom, you’re smothering me,” Daniel whines.
She lets go and he kisses her cheek.
The three of them find their assigned picnic bench on the grass. Ray praises a Thanksgiving with the hot desert sun.
“We made butter at school for Thanksgiving,” Daniel says.
“What?” Anna asks. “How?”
“We put cream into empty film canisters and shook them,” Daniel says. “Then put some salt.”
Anna listens to Daniel and pets his arm but her eyes search for Virgie.
As the midday sun drips toward golden hour, a staffer reminds Anna meal service ends soon.
“Go ahead and eat,” Anna instructs Daniel and Ray. “I’m gonna wait for her.”
The boys return with heaping servings of stuffing, potatoes, turkey and more.
Anna eyes the food with jealousy.
“I always love to eat,” Anna says. “But I really love to eat holiday food.”
She excuses herself. Runs to the phone. Calls her mom. It rings, but no answer. Tries again.
We see Virgie alone at home. She eats Boston Market takeout in front of the TV.
As the phone keeps ringing, Virgie turns the volume up on her TV and ignores it.
Back at Betty Ford, Anna returns to the table with Daniel and Ray with a big plate of ham.
“80 patients on 14 acres,” Anna boasts. “Not bad right?”
The sun sets over the San Jacinto mountains. The light paints the sky pink and orange.
Daniel plays lawn croquet as Anna and Ray sit and talk.
“I’ll never see her again. My mother will never come to my side until I die,” Anna says. “You’ll see, my whole family will come out of the woodwork then.”
“Don’t say that,” Ray says.
“I wouldn’t if I didn’t know it was true,” Anna says.
After the holiday, we join Anna for another group therapy session. Her body language shows her misery.
“Is there anything you don’t enjoy about this group session?” the therapist asks the group.
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like we get enough time together,” one sweet patient says.
Anna groans.
“Is there something you don’t enjoy about this group session?” the therapist asks her.
“I don’t enjoy it at all,” Anna says. “Except when it makes me feel less screwed up, hearing how screwed up you guys are.”
“What do you find the most challenging about participating in group?” he asks Anna.
“Listening to everyone’s depressing stories,” Anna says. “Giving a shit.”
“Do you think your son is happy you’re here?” the therapist asks. “Is he proud of you?”
This disarms Anna.
“No, he’s not happy,” Anna says. “He wants me home with him.”
“Do you all believe you’re helping your families by being here?” the therapist asks.
Everyone nods in agreement but Anna. Oh, and the one debilitatingly shy girl.
“Anna, you can’t do it alone. Neither can I. Nobody in this circle can maintain their sobriety alone,” the therapist tells her. “Nobody in this world can maintain sobriety alone.”
“I know, we all need each other,” Anna barks. “You’re just mad I won’t join your cult.”
“Do you really think meaningful, interdependent relationships equate to that?” he asks.
“Families are cults,” Anna says.
“Can I say something?” a German girl, Kaya, asks in English.
The therapist motions for her to go ahead.
“I think you’re really good at protecting yourself, but you can trust us enough to let your guard down. Until you can learn to let people in, you’re gonna be lonely,” Kaya tells Anna.
Anna puts every effort she can into not breaking down, saving face.
“We all see so much good in you, at least I do, but you play with pennies when there’s gold inside you,” Kaya continues.
Anna’s feelings boil over. She shakes. Avoids eye contact in the circle. Tears in her eyes.
Being naked in a room full of people is hard enough. Being emotionally naked? Way harder.
“Do good things happen as a result of this behavior?” the therapist asks Anna.
Anna snaps. Her anger flares as her tears fall.
“Don’t you think I wish I could trust people?” Anna asks the group. “Don’t you think I wish I grew up normal? Don’t you think I had some beautiful, happy family? That someone was always there for me?”
“You can depend on me Anna,” the therapist says. “And in this community.”
Members of the group agree aloud.
“Thank you,” Anna chokes out. Losing it while letting it all in.
Her therapist looks at her with great pride.
“Celebrate today,” he tells her. “This is a major breakthrough. And you’re only half-way through.”
“Just wait,” he continues. “This is only the beginning. Isn’t that exciting?”
Anna nods in somber agreement.
We cut to Anna as she leaves Betty Ford the next day -- sauntering out in full glam and a gown.
She ducks into a white stretch limousine one pump at a time, looking like a million bucks.
Inside, she pours champagne. Kicks up her heels. Zooming through the desert. Freedom!
“What’s today’s date?” Anna asks the driver.
“December 7, 1995,” he answers.
This is weeks before the completion of her program.
“I’m not a junkie,” Anna says. “I knew what year it was.”
As the driver reaches LA, Anna wants to score.
She craves a taste of her favorite drug. Fame.
She rolls down her window and directs him to the Chateau Marmont.
“Got any money?” Anna asks him.
He laughs. She looks into her evening bag and sees no money. No ID. Just lipstick.
“I mean, you’re gonna get paid for this,” Anna asks. “I’m gonna need to charge your tip too, because I don’t have any cash. I’m sorry. Really.”
“Please don’t worry,” the driver says. “If you want the bank, I’m happy to stop. But no need.”
“You get it. Look where I’m coming from, right?” Anna asks.
She bats her lashes and sips champagne.
“I’ll get your money to you somehow,” Anna says. “Promise.”
At the Chateau, Anna lingers on the porch instead of walking inside.
Knowingly, she stands near the gate on the right that leads to the bungalows.
She bums a cig she doesn’t light to buy herself time.
She is gorgeous and towering, but feeling chubby, broke and nervous too.
An employee swings the gate open. Anna plays like a hotel guest and makes her way through it.
Through the hotel’s fairy-like garden, she finds Jim Belushi hosting an art party by the pool.
Between the naked models swimming and movie stars congregating, Anna feels invisible.
But of course, that’s impossible...
She follows someone into a bungalow, where she scores champagne.
She recognizes a drug dealer in the room. He hugs her too tightly but palms her a pill.
Back outside as her high kicks in, Anna locks eyes with a young, brunette actor.
Keanu-esque? No, it’s Keanu.
“Didn’t his brother die at this hotel?” Anna asks the star.
“In this room,” Keanu tells her.
“Well I’m scared of ghosts, so stay close to me please,” she says. “They always want me.”
“Who could blame them?” he asks.
“I loved that movie where you drive all fast,” she says. “It was so intense I could hardly watch.”
“I love that compliment,” he says. “Unwatchable.”
She lays her hand on his arm.
“No, believe me, I’m the one in unwatchable movies,” Anna laughs. “True pieces of shit.”
“You? Unwatchable?” he asks. “Never.”
They grab for each other and kiss. Making out. Sneaking around the property. They find endless places to fuck.
Despite everything...in these moments...under the stars…with him…She feels more like a starlet than ever.
Snap back to reality. Back at Ray’s apartment, Anna adjusts to life after rehab.
There’s a big red bow above the To The Limit Poster. It’s Christmastime!
Anna watches hours of TV with Daniel in a great malaise. Seasonal depression despite CA sun.
On the phone with her agent, Anna inquires about work.
“I thought I had gigs lined up with Playboy and Dr. Pepper,” Anna says. “What happened?”
“Uh you got high and blew them off,” he bawks. “We’re all about to shut down for the holidays.”
“I need to make some money before that,” Anna says. “Or my son’s gonna have the worst Christmas of his life.”
“I’m sorry Anna,” he says.
“He’s already had the worst year of his life, ok?” Anna asks. “He needs his Christmas.”
“I hope we can work together in the new year Anna, I really do, but I’m not sure...” he says.
“You’re still mad I left that place early?” she asks.
“It’s bigger than that,” he starts. “You breached our agreement --”
She hangs up.
She crushes a pill with her finger then snorts it off a single, red acrylic nail.
Later that day, she sobs in a realtor’s office, Daniel at her side. Ray too.
The realtor describes the buyers ready to take over her ranch in Texas. They want a quick sale.
She asks Anna if she needs any help finding new properties in LA.
“No,” Anna snivels. “I don’t have money to buy anything.”
At home, Ray tries to make Christmas Eve nice for Daniel and Anna.
Home Alone blares and he leads them in stringing popcorn.
“Tonight would have been my rehab graduation,” Anna says. “I’ve never graduated from anything.”
“That’s ok,” Daniel says. “You’ll get to go to my high school graduation. And college too. In fifth grade, we have to call it commencement not graduation.”
Anna says nothing. Gets up and goes to the bathroom and finds her bottle of vodka there.
“Whipped cream-flavored, for Christmas!” Anna says to herself, fake jolly.
We cut to January 1996.
It’s the new year and a new era of Anna’s estate battle.
Anna arrives at federal bankruptcy court and files for bankruptcy.
Speaking to the press outside, Anna’s lawyers blame her financial woes on Pierce Marshall.
“Pierce Marshall withheld Anna’s piece of the estate intentionally,” attorney Ron Rale says. “And participated in forgery, fraud and deception in order to control his father’s estate against his will.”
Back in Texas, Pierce sues Anna for defamation.
“Pierce Marshall did no such scheming. Defamation is the only word for what Ms. Smith’s legal team did to my client,” Pierce’s lawyers tell the press outside the courthouse in Texas.
Like a tennis match, we return to Anna in CA filing a tortious interference counterclaim against Pierce that seeks one half of her late husband’s billion-dollar fortune.
“Pierce Marshall tortiously interfered with my client receiving the gift she expected from his father at the end of his life,” Ron Rale says. “It’s not just that Anna Nicole expected this money, it’s the fact that J. Howard Marshall very much wanted and intended to give it to her.”
Anna wears a smart white suit and large Wayfarers as she nods along to Rale’s words.
“We’re going to win back my diamonds” Anna promises the paparazzi.
We cut to another day in Anna’s life swarmed by paparazzi. But this time, it’s Oscar’s night!
Anna parties at DRAIS during the actual 1996 Academy Awards then heads over to Spago.
She wears a long, velvet gown in turquoise. She pulls at her dress as if to indicate its loose tailoring is the explanation for her larger frame.
“I’m not fat!” Anna slurs to the cameras on the red carpet.
“I’m not fat!,” she insists up and down the red carpet.
“We heard you the first time!” a pap jokes. She poses for his camera.
Even at her worst, Anna’s charisma radiates through the paparazzi’s lens. But so does her vulnerability…her smeared lipstick and bleary eyes show her disarray.
Hours later, Ray answers the phone and hears a voice he doesn’t recognize:
“You need to come get Anna,” the voice says. “She’s passed out.”
Ray pulls up in his shitty car and lines up behind all the limos and their drivers, all smoking cigs.
Ray helps her leave. She loses balance and shoves him down instead of plummeting herself.
Soon after, back in Ralph's by Ray’s apartment, Anna feels warm liquid on her stomach and lifts up her sweatshirt. She checks herself out in the reflection of the frozen foods aisle.
That’s when she feels it -- blood. Oozing out of her implant. It burst. Again. She faints.
“How does it just explode out of nowhere?” Anna screams to the paramedics.
They gurney her out of the supermarket.
Back in Burbank, Anna undergoes emergency reconstructive surgery.
As she recovers, Ray fills a huge order of her painkillers at the pharmacy.
The next day, still under observation, the phone rings in her hospital room. It’s her agent.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “It’s over. We don't represent you anymore. Your team no longer exists.”
“But I’m in the hospital,” Anna whimpers. “You can’t do this.”
“I’m glad you’re doing ok,” he says. “But we tried calling you at Ray’s every day last week to do this then. I know you were dodging me. Oscar night was a mess. It’s been fun, Anna. Be well.”
“Fuck you, you fuckin--,” Anna starts.
He hangs up.
“Good news,” a peppy nurse pops in. “You’re infection free and free to go home soon.”
“Home to what?” Anna wonders.
We experience a montage of Anna trying to get her career back, which she believes means getting her body “back.” An all-amphetamine diet, long, winding walks, sketchy supplements.
After a few months of starvation and mania, a slim Anna slides into a skirt suit then into a taxi.
The yellow cab cruises down Rodeo Drive and stops at a small law firm.
Inside, a team of dorky partners greet her and welcome her to the company.
The youngest man in the group stares at her like a fan. He never takes his eyes off her.
This is Howard K. Stern, 29-year-old UCLA Law School graduate and LA native.
Anna steals looks back at him while his more senior colleagues discuss her signing their deal.
“Wanna go to Coffee Bean?” Howard asks as the meeting ends. “Right now?”
As they walk to Coffee Bean, they discuss what they’re going to order.
“Here’s the order. This is the best order here. A large half-vanilla, half-mocha Ice Blended, with a shot of espresso and extra chocolate covered espresso beans mixed in. Trust me with this order and you’re gonna want to trust me with everything. Not just your career. Everything.”
“How old are you?” Anna asks.
“29,” Howard answers.
“You’re cocky for a youngin,” Anna says.
“I didn’t think you of all people would age shame,” Howard says.
Anna laughs.
“Are you gay?” Anna asks.
“No,” Howard says. “Are you?”
Anna laughs more.
“You’re funny,” Anna says.
“That’s why I became a lawyer,” Howard says. “It’s like acting but with a purpose.”
“You didn’t get your law degree online, did you?” Anna asks.
“I graduated from UCLA Law School two years ago. Did my undergrad at Cal. Valedictorian at my high school,” Howard says.
“Ok, ok,” Anna says. “Time to order.”
Anna finds a little table outside and Howard brings out their drinks.
On the sunny Coffee Bean patio, they slurp whip cream in unison.
“You’re a phoenix rising from the ashes,” he tells her.
“I’m Anna Nicole Smith,” she proclaims.
“Yes, and your best is yet to come,” he says. He raises his Ice Blended in a toast.
“The media wanted another Marilyn Monroe story and that didn’t happen, so I just want to say, ‘Haha,’” Anna tells him.
Howard looks at her lovingly, not with the professional distance of her other lawyers.
“Are we gonna be new best friends?” she teases him.
“I hope so,” Howard smiles. “Whatever you want, Anna.”
ONE YEAR LATER
Anna and Howard lay on the couch together and watch a marathon of the E! Network’s first hit:
“E! TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY”
The Dominique Dunne ep becomes the River Pheonix ep becomes the Brandon Lee ep…
Finally, it’s time for the premiere of a brand-new episode. Guess who it’s about?
“E! TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY: ANNA NICOLE SMITH”
Stern flicks the lights off.
“Vickie Lynn was always---” a talking head from Mexia starts on the show.
The words don’t register. Anna trips out, mouth agape.
“I can’t believe the whole hour is about me,” Anna says. “On TV!”
Anna curls up and shovels popcorn, like she’s watching a horror movie.
As the episode comes to an end, Anna listens to the narrator’s hanging question:
“Will Anna Nicole become another dead Hollywood blonde, like all the ones she’s made from?”
Stern flicks the lights back on.
“I hate E!,” Anna says.
“The exposure could still be good,” Howard offers.
“The only people who think all press is good press,” Anna says. “Have never had great press.”
We end on Anna and Stern on Valentine’s Day 1998. Anna and Stern entertain a gaggle of paparazzi as they exit a bar on Hollywood Boulevard.
We see them from the paps’ perspective, through their long lenses and video cameras.
Anna savors the attention, poses for pics, signs autographs and flirts with her fans.
She slurs as she introduces Stern to her old street friends: “This is Howard, he’s my lawyer, so y’all better watch out!”
She cackles and signs autographs until we fade to black.
OUTRAGEOUS: THE ANNA NICOLE SMITH STORY