During my multi-decade career working in Hollywood as an entertainment reporter covering celebrities, I’ve written countless articles that I’m proud to claim as my own. Very personal profiles that received accolades not only from my editors, but also from the town’s top publicists and the stars themselves. But you won’t find any of those happily-ever-after stories in this book. Rather, within these pages are my missions that, for one reason or another, went horribly wrong.  Typically to blame was the cavalier bravado I displayed while investigating morally questionable leads, pursuing controversial angles or asking probing questions that I thought might be of interest to my readers, but were regarded as overly invasive or unnecessarily rude by my subjects.   

         Take for instance Bruce Willis, who threatened to burn down my house, many years after little Drew Barrymore left the message “I’m going to fucking kill you” on my home answering machine.  

         Ellen DeGeneres told me, “I don’t like you so much,” while The Nanny’s Fran Drescher gave me a rather aggressive verbal spanking.

         Beloved Mary Poppins icon Dick Van Dyke prodded his TV star buddy Andy Griffith to give me a good smack in the face, while Star Trek’s Leonard Nimoy took me to task over a casual question I posed about his Spock ears. Another of my sci-fi idols—Bionic Woman Lindsay Wagner—greeted me at her father’s funeral with a soul-crushing “Fuck you,” which was really nothing compared to being dragged away by security from John Candy’s private entombment.

         Desperate Housewives star Teri Hatcher put a period on our years-long friendship by telling me “you will (one day) look up at your reflection in your coffin and not like what you see.”  

         I accidentally terrified a pair of child stars on Halloween and sent an actress from Lost fleeing our interview in tears.  

         Gorgeous Dallas star Victoria Principal—a longtime object of my near stalker-like obsession—threatened me with legal action, which was preferable to being roughed up by a three-time Emmy-winning ’90s sitcom star outside his home.  

         Then there was the time I landed a spot on the Scientologists’ “suppressives” list after an innocent misunderstanding with the late, great Kirstie Alley. And in his autobiography So Far…, Alley’s Cheers co-star Kelsey Grammer called me out by name as “a despicable piece of flesh” whom he invited “to burn in Hell!!”  

         Oh man, I’m outta breath.

         While the words and actions of those peeved celebrities may have been justified at the time, please believe me when I tell you I’m really not as bad as all that makes me out to be. It’s true though. There’s no denying that over the years I’ve done many things of which I’m not proud. For me, the process of accountability and redemption that inspired me to write this book has been slow and continuous. As you’ll discover, my irreverent sense of humor and the questionable fact-finding tactics and sweet-talking skills I fostered at the National Enquirer followed me upon graduating to my role as a “legit” celebrity reporter for such respected publications as USA Today, the Los Angeles Times, People, Entertainment Weekly and TV Guide. Quitting tabloid journalism didn’t necessarily mean its mindset and methodology had quit me. What it did offer was extraordinary access to A-list talent I never in a million years expected I’d have an opportunity to interview. The very same publicists who would hang up the phone or threaten my life when I called as a representative of the Enquirer, were now contacting me to offer up their talent for intimate 1:1 interviews to be conducted in private dressing rooms, on the closed sets of major film and TV projects, backstage at concerts or even in the celebrities’ homes. 

         The pandemic provided me the time I needed to meticulously comb through the dusty reminders of my past, reflect on all I’d experienced, process what I’d learned and discover what I wanted to say about it all. Ultimately, I decided to confess everything—holding nothing back.  I’m owning up to my most grievous lapses in judgment, confessing my most mortifying blunders, revealing the embarrassing sex stuff and also taking the opportunity to share a few valuable insights I gained along the way.  

         While everything is naturally told from my perspective, I fully understand there are always at least two sides to any story. In some instances, a few of those mentioned in the book have chosen to contribute their side, or speak on behalf of a former co-star. A couple others, such as Victoria Principal and Batman star Burt Ward, requested minor changes be made that had no significant impact on the stories being told. But I assure you, there’s not a word in this book, to the best of my memory—well-supported by an extensive archive of article clippings, my original reporter notebooks, tape-recorded interviews and photographs—that isn’t the God’s honest truth. How I uncovered some of these tabloid truths, however, did at times require me to employ imaginative means, often by accessing my inner thespian or undercover spy.  

         This is the story of how I infiltrated the secret worlds of the rich and famous, while privately struggling to come to terms with secrets of my own. So—if you think you can handle it—pick up your CSI blacklights and join me as I pull back the soiled sheets and expose the bizarre, sometimes ugly and always entertaining life of a reformed and deeply repentant tabloid bad boy.