A PICTURE SPEAKS A THOUSAND WORDS

I Had a Love Affair With Richard Simmons

Spoiler: I was ghosted in the end.

In an old print photo from the mid-1990s, I am bursting with unfiltered joy as his body pressed tightly into mine.

His perfect California tan was emphasized by the brilliance of his white sneakers and signature short-shorts. The curls of his slightly receding hair had the sheen of an anti-frizz oil and his eyes danced with an impish delight.

With the evidence of this particular embrace, I also recall the smell of his aftershave, the bagginess of my own men's-style pants and cropped white tee, and the brush of his breath upon my face.

Yes. This surely had to be love.

Malone, NY — Spring 1988

It was my senior year of high school. I had been staying home from school — for what ended up months — following a bad car accident. As it was easier to pass my condition off as nerves rather than test me for the reasons why I couldn’t stop throwing up and whatnot, home with my mom watching The Young and the Restless and eating buttery english muffins every day it was.

Other popular activities during this time involved reading vats of thriller genre books (Dean Koontz, etc.) and entertainment rags like Us Weekly and People.

Even still, I was sick not dead, so things could get pretty boring.

One day, for reasons only the Universe knows, as I was flipping through an Us magazine for probably the 12th time, I came across a photo of him.

The black and white image accompanied a brief article on Richard Simmons’ newest venture.

Wait — Who Is Richard Simmons?

Oh, how to put this into words….

Richard Simmons is an American pop-culture icon who probably reached the height of his popularity in the 1980s. He was an exercise guru of the late 1970s, and because of his flamboyant, outgoing, engaging personality, he quickly moved on to becoming a television and entertainment celebrity with his own shows and significant appearances — always in “character” and almost always in his signature candy cane short-shorts, red tank, and white sneakers. Several years ago he “disappeared” — never making appearances at his Beverly Hills studio again or out in public at all raising suspicions about what happened to him. Despite claims that he is just choosing to live the remainder of his life out as a hermit in his own home (paraphrasing), conspiracy theories continue to range from he has a terminal illness to he transitioned sexes to his live-in maid has him imprisoned and brainwashed.

I ran to the junk drawer and pulled shit out on the counter until I came across a pair of scissors and tape. Ignoring everything I’d pulled out, I ran back to the living room and grabbed the magazine, and cut the photo out.

Giggling, I brought the masterpiece upstairs and taped the image to the outside of my mom and stepdad’s bedroom door.

Hollywood, CA—1995

I have always done and have been different things. I still do.

When I moved to Los Angeles in 1994, it was with the intent to pursue an acting career. I quickly landed a temp job at the CNN-Los Angeles bureau where I had a part-time job as an assistant. This job quickly became permanent full-time, lasting over ten years, and I eventually grew beyond that first position to the news desk and finally as a producer.

One thing about living in Los Angeles and working in the entertainment and/or news industry is that you kind of become desensitized to seeing celebrities. You mostly don’t care unless it’s someone either totally random or someone you’ve loved your entire life. Additionally, in my case, I usually don’t recognize anyone anyway — a celebrity could slap me across the face and I’d be like, do you know who I am?

The celebrity guests were usually booked on Larry King or Showbiz Today. I only got really excited about three of them. Duran Duran, Rob Reiner, and Richard Simmons.

Duran Duran — that’s a story in itself. Rob Reiner — as an aspiring actress, I went heavy on my stalking routine—this involved walking the hallway (a big circle) non-stop in hopes of “oops!” bumping into him so he could “discover” me. He was being filmed in the newsroom so he had plenty of chances to see me pass by. Spoiler: I was not discovered by Rob Reiner.

For Richard Simmons, divine intervention was involved.

I had been asked to fill in to work the teleprompter that day. Not a complicated job, but always fun to go hang out in the operations room, especially during a live show. When I saw his name on the board in the newsroom as a guest later in the day, I think I may have peed my pants.

From the time I taped his photo to my mother’s bedroom door, he became a thing. A symbol. That photo created a special bond between my mother and me for sure — and it created laughter during what was a very difficult time in my life. After that, I’d always pay attention to his goofy appearances on late-night talk shows like David Letterman and on Howard Stern and appreciated his self-deprecating sense of humor and awareness. As a flamboyant theatre actress myself with a quirky personality, I suppose he appealed to that part of my deep-fried brain.

I floated around all day with my cheeks hot and flushed like I was waiting for my grade school crush to walk into our class reunion. I told everyone how excited I was and shared the backstory. When the time came, I made sure to get to operations early.

I was preparing the teleprompter when the door slowly creaked open.

“Hey Kristi, someone wants to meet you.”

Before I had a chance to turn and respond to my co-worker Gene, I felt a pair of cool hands cover my eyes as a very recognizable shrill voice loudly sang, “Helllll-ooooo beeeeeeeauuuutiful!”

My normally cool demeanor cracked into…well, not-so-cool theatre girl demeanor. I beamed and responded with an equally enthusiastic and musical “hiiiii!!!!” — our personalities aligning for the brief few moments we spent together at my teleprompter. When I told him I was a theatre actress, that shut the whole thing down. He threw his arm around me and burst into song.

I think I could chalk this moment up as one of the more surreal moments of my life — sitting in the operations command center of CNN belting out show-tunes with Richard Simmons as we giggled and cuddled together.

Granted, this lasted all of five minutes. If that. But someone ran and got the polaroid camera from the makeup room and snapped a photo of us together. I’ve not ever been one to care enough to get photos with celebrities, but I could not let this moment go by without getting a picture with him for my mother.

I never saw Richard again. He faded from my life as quickly as he burst through door #2 — but we’ll always have CNN.

My mother and I have a complicated relationship. I’m not as open and affectionate as she wishes I would or could be. I also live across the country. But miles aside, this is just who I am and I can’t change it. Whatever it is in my psyche, I’m just not overly warm and fuzzy or touchy-feely. This doesn’t mean I’m not loving, thoughtful, and giving — I’m an introvert. From the time I was a girl, we battled. Partially because there were aspects of our personalities that were so different, but also because there were aspects that were so much alike.

My mother never realized the admiration I had for her growing up. She modeled independence and strength during a time when it was still taboo to be a divorcee. She went on welfare to put herself through nursing school so she could provide for us. Whether I liked it or not didn’t matter. The situation she was in with my dad was not good for her and she did something about it. And the truth is, their toxic relationship had been affecting me as a child and manifesting itself both physically and mentally. Once I was old enough, I understood.

But you can love and admire someone and still have a complicated relationship.

When I was sick after my car accident in high school and home all those months, my mom spent so much time nurturing me and doing what she could to make me feel better. Again, both physically and mentally. For me, the little photo that I put on her bedroom door is symbolic of that time we shared and the bond we grew. Even this Christmas she sent me a Richard Simmons bobblehead. I mean, please don’t misread this. I’m really not a Richard Simmons groupie or fanatic. Not at all. All of this really has a deeper meaning to me.

And wouldn’t you know? It does to my mother too. After well over 30 years, that black and white now naturally age-filtered photo of Richard Simmons is still on my mother’s bedroom door.

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