Most Talkative: Stories From the Front Lines of Pop Culture by Andy Cohen

movies based on the insane story of Joey’s teenaged lover walking up to their front door and shooting Mary Jo in the face. The saga of the Buttafuocos and Amy Fisher, the “Long Island Lolita,” was the biggest story going that year, and I was in their living room after courting Mary Jo on the phone for a week.
    It was a satellite remote, and that morning, Mary Jo told me that she wanted to show Paula Zahn the X-ray of her head live on the air. I thought this was a bad idea and called the control room to ask what they thought. “Sure, let’s do it,” they said. Okay, maybe it was more like, “What kind of fucking idiot are you, Cohen? Where’s your news judgment? Show the X-ray, you moron, and then maybe go get YOUR head X-rayed!” That’s the kind of nurturing, mentoring talk I could always count on from the control room, but of course they were right: Boy, was it ever a memorable moment when Mary Jo whipped out that huge transparent film showing the contents of her skull and then waved it at the camera, yelling about the bullet Amy Fish -ah lodged in there. The segment got picked up all over the place.

     
Seven a.m. in the Buttafuocos’ living room
     
    At the time, I didn’t totally understand the complexities of TV as theater. I thought the introduction of a prop like Mary Jo’s X-ray would complicate things and screw up the interview. Of course, it only made it more dramatic. Nowadays, I almost never say no to a prop. When Danielle Staub wanted to bring a dummy head to the RHNJ Season 2 reunion so she could demonstrate how hard her hair was pulled by Jacqueline’s nineteen-year-old daughter, I said, “Please do!”
    One of my favorite remotes was when I was sent to Las Vegas—my very first time in that city. CBS sent me with the sole purpose of making sure Buddy Hackett showed up for a live early-morning interview.
    When I checked in to the Desert Inn, I watched an awesome and informative video on the in-house TV about Suzanne Somers learning to gamble, then I called Mr. Hackett’s room and left him a message telling him I had arrived and would like to buy him a drink before the interview, and that I would be by his room early the next morning, thinking that buying him a drink would be a good way to make sure he actually went to the interview.
    When I showed up at his room at 3 a.m., he smelled of lotion. And though his skin was presumably soft, he was not, and he proceeded to tear me a new asshole. “YOU’RE gonna buy ME a drink? A KID is gonna buy me a drink???” he screamed. “I BUILT this town. I OWN this hotel! Who do you think you ARE, kid?”
    Unsure of how to respond, I laughed, and thank God, so did he. He drove us to the location in his banana-yellow 1970 Buick convertible, which happened to be exactly the car I drove in high school. I wanted to find out what else Buddy Hackett and I could possibly have in common, but all too soon, it was time for his live spot. When the interview was done, I expected to send Mr. Hackett off and to find my own way back to the hotel, but when he asked, “You gettin’ in or what?” I did not hesitate for a millisecond. Instead of taking me straight back to my hotel, he gave me an unforgettable sunrise tour of Vegas, telling me firsthand stories of Bugsy Siegel and the Rat Pack.
    “Hey, kid, ever seen a million dollars in cash?” he asked. Of course I hadn’t. We were in what used to be downtown Las Vegas, off the strip. “Run inside that casino. They have a million bucks under glass in the lobby. Go look!” he commanded, pulling the Buick to a stop right at the casino’s front door. I felt like a boy with his grandpa—or like I might be Buddy’s little buddy! I ran inside and saw the million dollars and got back in the car. “Isn’t that something, kid?” It was.
    Next, Buddy started giving me unsolicited life advice. He told me never to accept offers from people I didn’t trust. He urged me to hold on to my memories. And perhaps by way of