Paris: The Memoir(9)
“Max! Max!” I sat down on the driveway, sobbing.
Max looked over his shoulder at me and came waddling back. I scooped him up in my arms and kissed him and told him I wasn’t mad. He seemed deeply embarrassed about the whole incident.
Rats are so sweet. I should get another rat.
(Note to Carter: Birthday rat.)
Sometimes Nicky and I got to visit Dad’s office in Century City. (Later he and his partner, Jeff Hyland, moved to Canon Drive in Beverly Hills.) The energy of ringing phones and clattering fax machines made it feel like great things were happening, and Dad’s secretary, Wendy White, kept it all humming without a hint of chaos.
You know how Batman has that brilliant old guy with the charming accent who looks out for him and makes sure the Batcave is in good working order? For as long as I can remember, that person in my father’s life has been Wendy White, an extremely proper South African lady who tolerates no nonsense from anyone. She likes to remind people of that.
Wait. Maybe she just likes to remind me.
“I’m very strict, Paris. I don’t take any crap.”
Anyway, because she’s saying it with her exotic South African accent, it really hits home. Wendy was always happy to see Nicky and me. She’d set us up with paper, pens, markers, and scissors so we could create collages or Christmas cards. I loved doing any kind of art, especially forms that challenged the flat concept of “coloring.” I had a huge cache of supplies with which I created 3-D family photo displays and BeDazzled picture frames. Nothing was safe from my BeDazzler, a gadget you could buy off an infomercial and use to clamp rhinestones and fake gems onto virtually anything that didn’t move. Now you can get them online. (Shout out to whoever invented the BeDazzler!)
I loved creating collages, sitting on the floor in Dad’s office, surrounded by magazines, scissors, and glue. The endless depth and variety of the ad campaigns in Vogue and Vanity Fair gave me the same kind of buzz I got from good music. I could live in those layered images for hours. That’s how my mind works best—free-associating bits and pieces. We usually made a huge mess that mushroomed out of control until Wendy got stern and made us clean it up.
Later on, as Nicky and I grew up, Wendy swooped in to facilitate whatever needed facilitating. She wrangled unhappy landlords, manifested plumbers and landscapers as needed, ordered unwanted houseguests to leave, and provided clarity whenever one of us was overwhelmed by the task of adulting. She’s pragmatic, but she believes in love.
The day Carter and I were married, Wendy said, “Remember, life is a journey with all its ups and downs. Stay true to each other.”
Again, with the accent. I will love Wendy forever, even if she someday gets the memo about retirement meaning you don’t work anymore.
In 1989, I was eight years old and Nicky was six. The Berlin Wall came down, The Simpsons debuted on Fox, and my adorable little brother Barron Nicholas Hilton II was born. We loved him intensely. He was almost as good as a puppy. (Joking! Love you, Barron!) Mom was a 1990s power mommy, running the household and a business of her own, making sure everyone was well fed and properly groomed. She had a boutique on Sunset Plaza where she sold gifts, accessories, and antiques that reflected her impeccable taste. It was called the Staircase, which I love, because it was her way up.
Bethenny Frankel, a friend of Aunt Kyle’s, was our nanny at the time. I think they were both around nineteen or twenty. Mom was running the store, so it was Bethenny’s responsibility to collect Nicky and me from Lycée, the bilingual school where we studied in French and English. Nicky liked to go to Rampage—a Hot Topic/Forever 21–sort of store in the mall—but I always begged Bethenny to take us to the pet store in Westwood to visit the tropical fish, mice, and parakeets. Sometimes we’d meet up with Kyle and go ice-skating or get candy from the Mobile Mart.
My mom and her sisters worked as models and actresses from early childhood through their teen years. Grandma booked photo shoots and small parts for them on a ton of different television shows. Mom was the prettiest brand of pretty by 1960s standards: half Irish, half Italian, hazel eyes, blond hair, porcelain-doll complexion. Mom was a Gerber baby and did early commercials for Barbie dolls. She had small parts in Bewitched, Nanny and the Professor, Family Affair, and The Rockford Files. When she was eighteen, she played a backup singer for Leather Tuscadero (played by Suzi Quatro) on Happy Days in an episode called “Fonzie: Rock Entrepreneur Part I.” She and another girl did the choreography in their ballet flats, stepping back and forth, singing “oooooo” and “da da da” as Richie (Ron Howard) wailed on an alto sax and Fonzie (Henry Winkler) looked on hungrily from a booth at Arnold’s Diner.
Mom went to Montclair College Preparatory School in LA, where she was besties with Michael Jackson, one of the many hardworking industry kids in her class. Meanwhile, Aunt Kim and Aunt Kyle were both in Disney’s Escape to Witch Mountain, and Kyle had a recurring role on Little House on the Prairie. All three sisters worked consistently through their teens. I always thought it was a positive experience, but there must have been something not great about it, because Mom felt strongly that Nicky and I should not get into modeling or performing. We did a few mother-daughter fashion shows for charity, but nothing professional. Just for fun. My dream was to become a veterinarian when I grew up, and my parents encouraged that.
Nicky and I weren’t allowed to wear makeup or revealing clothes. Our mom was strict about that, which was fine with me. I wanted to be comfy. Shorts, tees, tracksuits. Always ready for action. Our mom valued modesty and grace. We didn’t talk about things she considered private or gross or unseemly. I still have trouble with that myself.