It's 2003. I'm still young and very stupid. Esquire assigns me Colin Farrell in Toronto—my former home—where he's filming. Do I have any ideas for something different? Why yes I do! He's always hitting heavy bags in his movies for no good reason. It annoys me. Can I punch him?
My editor: "Pardon?" I expand. I was boxing pretty seriously. I was also an asshole. Can I take Colin Farrell to my gym, tell him we're just going to spar, but then beat the snot out of him? Anything in the Celebrity Profile Handbook say we can't? My editor: "Um... no?" Great.
Then plans change. Mr. Farrell will no longer meet me in Toronto. He wants to meet in L.A., at the Chateau Marmont. We will have drinks in the garden. I fly to L.A., wondering if he'd found out my plan. He calls me a c*nt within 48 seconds of our meeting. Oh. I guess he knew.
We sit down. A little uneasy. His hair is blond. I go to make fun of him, but he does it for me. "I look like Beaker off the fucking Muppets." We begin drinking. And unexpectedly, I start liking Colin Farrell. He's funny. He's open. Did I mention we're drinking? Now I'm drunk.
All of a sudden, two women approach our table, with a Portuguese water dog in tow. I love dogs. Beautiful dog named Blue. One of the women, maybe 50, is English. And she doesn't know me, but I know her. She's the head of a big, prestigious publishing house.
She kneels on the ground between Farrell's legs and starts making animal noises. She's mewling like a scalded British cat, pawing the air in front of her, licking her hands. I love awkward situations, but even I start paying a lot of attention to Blue.
She looks into Farrell's eyes and purrs. "Oh, you're mean," she says, biting the air. Her teeth clack like Val Kilmer in Top Gun. (MAJOR publisher.) She looks into my eyes and says, "You're creepy!" She goes back to rolling around in front of a beaming Colin Farrell.
Earlier, a stunning woman had made her own approach, and he'd let her down so deftly, I complimented him for it. She'd been rejected for the first time in her life and didn't feel a thing. Now here was a female Austin Powers, shooting her shot. I almost respected her stones.
Her friend is like, This is so embarrassing, and I'm drooling away, talking to the dog. Finally, Colin releases her like a fish back into the water. I kiss Blue goodbye, shining and serene. He glares at me. "Are you still looking for a fight, man? Come on, then. I'll fight you."
He pushes back his chair and stands up. I'm like, What are you talking about? Now? Here? But we had a nice time! You said funny things! There was a Portuguese water dog named Blue! I had you wrong, man. I don't want to fight you. I want you to take me home.
Farrell stares at me with his black eyes, grins, and leaves. I sit alone in wonder. What a lesson—from a master tactician. I'd never seen a man so expert at making people into puppets. He had all of us on strings the entire time, and none of us knew until he decided to pull them.
