Introducing: Mr. Hollywood

Healing with Mr. Hollywood 

Mezcal, a mansion in The Hills, and a man the whole world thought they knew…but only I could truly see.

The funny thing about successful (single) men is that they are often the loneliest. 

From the outside, it looks like they have people flocking them at all times, but at the end of the day, when they go home, they’re all alone. 

And the silence can be haunting.  

Enter Mr. Hollywood. 

Mr. Hollywood was one of those names and faces that everyone knew. A real-life, bona fide household name with more than a few awards on his bookshelf. 

As a woman in my late twenties, I was accustomed to having to figure out where I stood with guys. 

But Mr. Hollywood was a man. He made it clear from the beginning. No games. 

We met at a watch party on set for a show I was working on. 

He was friends with (and a fan of) ████ █████, the host of the show. 

I was the only woman on the host’s team. Being in a room full of men was nothing new for me. It comes with the territory when you’re a tomboy who chose the career path that I did. 

The team for the show was small. Me and a handful of guys. 

We’d often host watch parties and events, and these were my people, so I had no problem showing up alone. 

The host was a living legend and often attracted big names, so it was no surprise when Mr. Hollywood was there. He was just one of many icons in the room that night.

Typically, the energy between me and these men was pretty casual. I was just one of the guys. 

I could always tell when someone was trying to get to know me beyond that, but I wasn’t open to that dynamic at these events. I was a professional and kept my romantic and work lives separate. It was hard enough to be taken seriously as a beautiful woman in an office full of men without sleeping with the guests who came to set. 

Mr. Hollywood wasn’t shy about showing interest, but he was sweet about it. 

Instead of incessantly hitting on me (which had happened plenty on set), he had kind of a puppy energy. Innocent curiosity and quiet excitement.

He kept coming up to me just to check in. He giddily showed me his fake tattoos that were still staining his skin after filming a role that required them and wanted to compare them to mine. He wanted to know my thoughts on anything and everything. 

By the end of the night, we’d discovered we were neighbors — me at the bottom of the hill on Hollywood Blvd., him at the top with the other superstars. 

My car was in the shop, so I’d Ubered to the party. 

When he heard this, he offered me a ride home. As we approached the turn-off for my place, it was still early and I was hoping he would ask me for my number or to keep hanging out. Sure enough, he did. 

The car slowed and he asked the driver to pause. Looking at me with a sincerity that caught me off guard, he asked, “Can I keep getting to know you?” 

“Sure,” I said, asking what he had in mind. 

“Let’s go talk at mine and I’ll drive you back in an hour.” 

His house was incredible. A stunning, modern mansion at the top of the Hollywood Hills with a view of the entire city. 

The front door opened to a sleek, open living space with sharp angles balanced by warm wood and organic features. On the far side of the house, floor-to-ceiling glass walls revealed palatial views that smacked you the second you crossed the threshold into the home. 

He led the way to his massive back patio that, in addition to an infinity pool with a sunken fire pit overlooking the city vista, had a sprawling lawn and outdoor kitchen complete with its own sitting area. 

He gave me water, poured a glass of the mezcal he’d been hyping up all night, and switched on the fire pit. 

An hour flew by before he asked if I wanted him to drive me home. I’d forgotten about the deal we’d made in the car. As much as I wanted to stay, it hit me that I didn’t actually know this man. 

I accepted his offer to drive me home, expecting to never hear from him again. 

There’s a stereotype around men like him. Handsome, successful, known around the world. And I was the girl who wanted to call it a night. 

For context: my faith in men was at a low point when I met Mr. Hollywood. I was coming off a massive heartbreak and had been scarred by someone who crossed a line they couldn’t go back from.

So, I projected assumptions onto him based on the stereotype of the A-List men in Hollywood and on the fragile place I was in. 

I assumed he’d expect me to spend the night with him, so when I didn’t, I figured that was it for us. That we’d shared one beautiful, unexpected night of connection, and that would have to be enough. 

He proved me wrong. 

The next morning, he sent me a voice note thanking me for spending the evening with him and requesting my time again sometime soon. It was a welcome surprise. I didn’t have the energy to play the usual games of seeming busy. It also didn’t hurt that we lived minutes apart. 

I told him my schedule was flexible. 

He called me immediately to ask if I would get dinner that evening at this place he’d been dying to try. The new it restaurant that wasn’t yet open to the public. 

It was exciting and fun and easy. All things that I’d lost sight of. That became the theme for us: exciting and fun and easy. Three things we both could use more of. 

Mr. Hollywood was exactly what I needed and was completely unexpected. 

I never told him about the traumas I had endured just months prior, but I think he could sense it. 

They say actors are perceptive. Years studying human behavior to tap into deep emotions for their craft. And he had decades under his belt. Maybe those skills helped him to see what I was hiding from everyone else.

He created a space where I could just be. 

It wasn’t all about me, though. 

Mr. Hollywood was dealing with his own troubles. 

He never spelled them out in full, but there were moments. A pause in the middle of a laugh, the way his eyes lingered on the horizon at night, the way he trailed off when talking about certain moments in his career. 

These all told me he was carrying things. 

I think that we were good for each other because neither of us judged the other. When we were together he wasn’t his characters or his awards. He wasn’t █████ ████ — the iconic actor of a generation. He was simply █████, a regular guy who just wanted to share a human moment with someone.

We started spending most of our time together. 

He had a beautiful, fully-loaded home gym that he encouraged me to use. He took me on the secret trails that he and other A-Listers hiked when Runyon was too busy. He took me to dinners and events. He showed me consistency. 

At a time where I expected the worst in people, he showed me that it was possible to hope again. That I wasn’t too broken to be cared for. 

The moments that meant the most to me were simple: sitting around talking, watching sports, laughing, just being normal together. 

It created a stability that I’d been afraid had escaped me forever. 

He rescued me without even knowing it. 

He healed, too. 

I could see his inner-child coming out again. 

I never Googled him (pro tip: as much as you might want to, don’t) but I could see the weight he carried on his shoulders when we first met. 

Over the time we spent together, I saw that weight lift. The joy return to his eyes. A lighter way of moving through the room, a laugh that came more quickly, moments of innocent silliness. 

It’s a beautiful thing, getting to see someone heal in front of your eyes. 

The first night he had opened up to me about the loneliness that was a symptom of his way of life. 

The same assumptions that I had made about him were not unique to me. Most people make them. Apparently, I was one of the few who didn’t let them harden into prejudice. 

I remained open to seeing who he was beyond my assumptions. I got to know the man behind the name. 

To his credit, he was so honest and open from the beginning. It’s hard to say what made him open up to me, perhaps it was a shared recognition of someone who just wanted to feel safe to be themselves in the company of another person. Because, I too, had become lonely in my guarded little life. 

Mr. Hollywood healed me. I will always be grateful to him for that. 

Every Mister is part of a bigger picture. If you’re new, here’s why I started opening my diary: Why Write This?