Jason Priestley (5 page)

“You go ahead and push it down to the station. Then you're going to lock it up and come with me. I just ran your plates, and there's a warrant out for your arrest, Mr. Priestley.”

I nearly fell over. “What? Hold on!”

“Let's move it,” he said. All was explained down at the gas station. At least the cop didn't confiscate my bike; he let me lock it up and took me to the Van Nuys jail, where I languished in a waiting room. I had one phone call, so I called my roommate, Dave. With all the overdue fines, penalties, and interest, it was going to cost $283 to get out, a sum that nearly killed me. Dave showed up with three hundred bucks and bailed me out. We then returned to the station, picked up my bike, and filled it with gas. I paid him back with what little money I had in the bank. That was one expensive trip, and I never even saw the girl!

In those days the Sunset Strip was very much geared to the heavy metal rockers. Guns N' Roses and Ratt ruled. All the girls who wanted to hang out with the rocker guys followed them to West Hollywood. Big hair, black leather, spandex . . . that was the look on the Strip at the time. My friends and I weren't those guys; we hung out in Hollywood. We used to drink for cheap at the Sunset Social Club and the Dresden Room. Sometimes we'd go to Prince's club downtown, the Glam Slam, to dance and drink all night. Other nights we would just hang out at the duplex or drive around playing Seatbelt Dummies, which never failed to amuse us.

There was plenty of fun and good times, but work always came first for me. I was out there auditioning every day. I had work papers that were good for a few months, and I needed to beat that ticking clock. I was working hard every night preparing material, then auditioning the next day. I was getting multiple callbacks. The energy was flowing. I was on the cusp of something big . . . I could just feel it.

A
fter a long run on
Dynasty
and
The Colbys,
Stephanie Beacham was shooting a new pilot for NBC called
Sister Kate
. Around the same time I auditioned for the lead in a Disney Channel miniseries called
Teen Angel
. I was on my third callback for
Sister Kate
when I got the news that I'd won the role on
Teen Angel
.

This marked the true turning point in my career; at nineteen,
Teen Angel
was the “big break” I'd been waiting for. Disney had high hopes for this movie; they were really hoping it would be a hit and spawn some sequels. It was in their best interest to ensure that I'd be around in the future. By taking this role, I got a three-year work permit, a huge break for me. Shooting began at once and I was needed on set immediately, so I left right away for location in Arizona.

I played the “teen angel” of the title, a young guy named Buzz Gunderson who had been killed in the late 1950s and had been waiting nearly thirty years for his first assignment. Buzz was sent back to Earth to be the guardian angel for another teenager, a kid named Dennis, who was enamored of the '50s lifestyle. Adam Biesk was my costar. The girl with the lead role was a teenager named Renee O'Connor; she would later become very well known on
Xena: Warrior Princess
.

With acting, it's either feast or famine, so naturally in the middle of shooting
Teen Angel,
the call came in to my agent from
Sister Kate
. The network wanted me back for one absolute last, final audition for the top brass at NBC. We were night shooting at the time, so the producers tinkered a bit with my schedule and arranged it so I could shoot all night and then hop on the first flight from Phoenix for the one-hour flight trip back to Los Angeles the next morning.

I needed a ride from the Burbank airport over to NBC for the final test. Dave was on location shooting a movie, so I called Brad, the only other friend I had who was responsible enough to actually pick me up when he said he would. Sure enough, he met me at the airport in trusty Runaround Sue, drove me to NBC, and waited during my meeting. The audition went really well; after my final test, they told me I got the part right then and there. I went downstairs and gave Brad the good news. The two of us immediately headed out to celebrate.

We pulled into the parking lot of the closest bar we could find, a place called Dalt's. At that time the area was still full of lots of little mom-and-pop establishments: stores, restaurants, neighborhood bars for the locals. Now, of course, it's the heart of downtown Burbank, full of big corporate office buildings with upscale chain restaurants like Morton's and McCormick & Schmick's as the anchor tenants on their ground floors.

The bar was cool and dark and quiet in the late morning. Brad and I sat at the bar and did one celebratory shot, toasting to my success. It was great to have a buddy who was genuinely happy for me. Then it was back to work. He dropped me off at the airport, and I hopped a plane back to Phoenix to finish the shoot.

The assistant director on
Teen Angel
was a British guy who was returning to England as soon as production wrapped. He drove a very cool Alfa Romeo Milano that I loved. “Hey, Jason, I have to go back home. I'm going to turn in my car,” he told me. “Unless you want to take over the lease?” I said sure and took over his lease. This was quite a step up from my Honda Interceptor, or Bernie's Coupe de Ville that I occasionally drove. Definitely a step up from the rented Yugo. Bernie usually didn't drive, as he couldn't be bothered to get a license or insurance—again, very Bernie. We drove him to his auditions, or if no one was available, he would drive himself.

I had one show wrapped, a pilot coming up, and a blue Alfa Romeo Milano.

S
tephanie Beacham was certainly the hottest nun I'd ever seen. In the
Sister Kate
pilot she played a brisk, no-nonsense nun who was put in charge of a bunch of orphans at a Catholic home called Redemption House. Besides being beautiful, Stephanie was funny and charming and an incredibly talented actress. She was just coming off a highly successful run as Sable on
The Colbys
and had decided to take a chance on a very different kind of show. Instead of a glamorous role on an Aaron Spelling nighttime soap, she'd be the star of a standard sitcom surrounded by a whole bunch of kids.

Right after I shot the pilot, I got some good news:
Teen Angel
had done well enough in the ratings to merit a sequel. I flew out to Salt Lake City for the shoot.

I was fooling around just before I left and for some reason punched a wall. No real reason, just doing stupid shit like young guys do. I wound up with a boxer's fracture, which the doctor wanted to put in a cast. I couldn't do that, because I was leaving the next day to shoot
Teen Angel Returns
.

“Come on,” I told the skeptical doctor. “I'm leaving for Salt Lake City to shoot a movie. I can't have my hand in a cast!”

He shook his head but gave me a removable cast with Velcro fastenings to wear whenever I was off-camera. Unfortunately for me,
Teen Angel
's Buzz was a very active guy. I had to jump in and out of cars and do all sorts of minor stunts, all of which were agony. I could barely even drive my own car with its stick shift.

Still, the cast gave me a bit of a bad-boy aura, which was fine with me. That was what was cool at the time—everyone wanted to be bad. Smoking, drinking, sullen expression like you were sucking a lemon, filthy ripped jeans . . . that was the look of the day. Girls liked “bad boys.” As far as girls were concerned, no one could ever say I liked a particular “type”—I liked all kinds! There were some cute girls on this set, including a blonde named Jennie Garth, who played the lead's friend. But as soon as I laid eyes on Robyn, it was all over.

Robyn Lively had reddish curls, sparkly brown eyes, and freckles sprinkled over an adorable face. A couple of years younger than I, she still lived at home with her parents in Northridge and was doing quite well with her own acting career. It was the oldest story in the world: Robyn was dating Rick Schroeder, whom she'd met on
Silver Spoons,
when she and I hooked up on location in Salt Lake City. You know the story: young actors, working together, away from home . . . one thing most definitely led to another. Our clandestine little affair was going great until Rick stopped by for a visit. I was on the outs with Robyn for a few days when Rick rolled into town, but after he took off, I was back in. It was all very cloak-and-dagger.

Soon enough, of course, we all returned home to L.A., where Robyn and I continued to see each other in secret. Rick was no fool; he had sensed something going on in Salt Lake City. Rick was friendly with my roommate, Dave; the two of them had worked together in the past. Next thing I knew, Rick started coming by the house, oh so casually, supposedly to see Dave. “Hey, Dave, what's going on, man? Thought I'd drop by and see what was happening.” And then . . . “Oh, Jason.
You
live here?” Surprised look. “You guys are roommates? That's awesome.” It was so transparent. There was some sneaking around, some hiding of cars, and even during one particularly close call, a night when Robyn had to hide in the closet. Dave was not happy.

“Dude. This is not cool,” he would tell me every few days. “This can't be going on here in our apartment. You guys gotta deal with this, man. Tell him. This is so not cool!” Dave was a laid-back surfer kind of guy; he didn't want any drama. The other thing was, Rick was a good guy, and I liked him.

The situation was all quite highly charged for a while, until Robyn came clean to Rick in a big cathartic scene—which I was nowhere near. When all the dust had settled, Robyn and I emerged as an official couple. What more can I say? We were so young, and it all meant so much at the time.

T
he
Sister Kate
pilot aired in September of 1989. Next thing I knew, the show was picked up and I was headed to New York for the upfronts to promote the show. Being part of the upfronts—the lavish preview of their season's offerings networks put on for advertisers, press, and critics—marked a whole new level for me in terms of career advancement.

Stephanie Beacham and I, along with one of the younger kids and some production staff, sat in a hotel suite on the day of our appearance waiting to be briefed. I was beyond thrilled to be there. Brandon Tartikoff and Warren Littlefield were running NBC at the time, and I was awed by their programming genius. Under their stewardship, NBC was an absolute ratings juggernaut. Nobody could touch them for years and years. I was truly humbled by this opportunity and determined to make the most of it.

The executives arrived to fill us in on what was happening that day, what to expect when we made our appearance, talking points to mention to the press, their hopes for the show—just general background preparation that I, for one, greatly appreciated. I was happy just to be in the presence of these guys. These powerful, intelligent, game-changing executives really were changing the face of TV.

Life could not have been better. In addition to a new apartment and a role on a network series lined up, Robyn and I were living out a true storybook romance. Everything just clicked; we were a perfect fit. Our ages were compatible: I was twenty to her eighteen. She was a talented actress, working on series like
Twin Peaks
and
Doogie Howser, M.D.
She had come from Powder Springs, Georgia, originally, a real girlie-girl who was ultraromantic. She wanted to do things like exchange cards on our anniversary every month. My friends all loved her too; they thought she was just a doll. Dave, Brad, all the guys—without exception, every friend I had said to me, “That girl's a keeper.” Believe me, I knew it.

Robyn's parents were good people. She lived at home the whole time we dated, so I got to know her mother and stepfather quite well. Robyn's stepfather, Ernie, was a former actor who ran a highly regarded acting school. Both he and her mom, Elaine, liked me, and I liked hanging out with the family and their adorable baby daughter, Blake. It was clear I was crazy about their older daughter. Why wouldn't I be . . . she was beautiful, smart, and successful. Truly, we should have starred in a teenage love movie, as our relationship was everything that young love should be.

Sister Kate
was filmed at the ABC lot on Prospect, directly across the hall from
Mr. Belvedere,
a popular show about a proper British butler living with a typical American family. The two shows shared the same writers and show runners. I kept my head down, did everything I was asked with a smile on my face, and tried to show I was a team player.

Sister Kate
was my first big multicamera, American-style sitcom, and I learned how to deliver a very specific kind of sitcom comedy. The experience was invaluable; not to mention, it was fun. Stephanie was wonderful to work with, and we were glad to have each other as we were the only two adults on the show. Everyone else in the cast was a young kid . . . meaning stage parents galore!

When I was a kid actor, my mom used to drop me off on the set and pick me up at the end of the day—that's what people did in the 1970s. I had never seen the kind of nonsense some of these parents were pulling on little kids. To be fair, I saw both ends of the spectrum: kind, loving parents who were there because acting was their kid's dream, and they were on set to support them every step of the way. Then there was the other, much more disturbing kind of parent: adults pushing their kids mercilessly when it was clear who really dreamed of an acting career.

The kids on the show could, by law, only work eight hours a day, so the producers would send them all home at the end of the day. Stephanie and I would stay late at night, and the writers would quickly rewrite anything that wasn't working with the kids so that Stephanie and I had their lines instead and we could get those scenes shot that night.