Life with My Sister Madonna (14 page)

The ceremony is conducted by Malibu judge John Merrick and takes five minutes. I am sure the words are moving, but we can't hear a single word of the vows because we are deafened by the racket of the helicopters above us. Madonna and Sean exchange gold rings. Then, to the tune of the rousing theme to
Chariots of Fire
, which I can just about hear above the din, Sean kisses her and we all applaud.

Sean makes a toast to Madonna, but we can't hear it. Then he ducks under her skirt and removes her garter. At one point Madonna looks up at the helicopters and flips them the bird, but I know she doesn't really give a fuck. Fed up, Sean charges straight into the house and gets a .45.

Madonna shouts after him, “What's the big deal, Sean! Leave it be! Otherwise, they'll just get pictures of you with a gun. And they aren't going to go away.”

She's having a good time. But Sean, still in character, remains in a rage and starts firing shots in the air, while Andy Warhol, Steve Rubell, Cher (in a purple spiked wig), the rest of my family, and I watch, kind of amazed.

Fortunately, Sean is distracted by the announcement that dinner is served, and we all file into an open-air tent on the front lawn. Once inside, we are still deafened by the noise of the circling helicopters, but manage to enjoy Wolfgang Puck's menu of caviar, curried oysters, lobster ravioli, broiled swordfish, and rack of lamb, followed by a five-tier hazelnut wedding cake.

However, my abiding memory of the dinner will always be the image of the helicopters circling above us like ravenous vultures. I know that Madonna ultimately got a kick out of the entire media invasion of her wedding. As always, Madonna more than welcomed any media attention whatsoever. After all, media attention is her middle name. And part of the reason she's a star and has stayed a star is because she's always known how to work the media. Sean, of course, doesn't. In fact, the wedding day sets the tone for the entire marriage: Sean running around with a gun, and Madonna smiling radiantly at the cameras.

I
N THE FIVE
months since Sean and Madonna first met, her career has rocketed from triumph to triumph, scandal to scandal, and I sometimes feel sorry for Sean, who, despite his professed horror for the media, still wants to be a star in his own right. Yet the Madonna juggernaut hurtles on, sometimes with him, sometimes without. As soon as he has weathered the nude-photographs scandal, less than three weeks later Madonna loses a court battle to suppress the release of
A Certain Sacrifice,
a low-budget, one-hour soft-core porn movie made by Stephen Lewicki, which she made in 1979 during her early years in Manhattan.

I am about to call her and sympathize, but then I take another look at the gigantic headline on the front page of the
New York Post
, “Madonna Seeks Nude Movie Ban,” and decide that she is probably pleased at all the publicity her suit against Lewicki will engender, and that she may well be suing him just because—with her sixth sense for what the press loves—she knew it would do just that.

In the movie, Madonna is clothed except in one scene, in which she appears topless. But the content is racy. Madonna plays the part of Bruna, a downtown dominatrix who has a stable of sex slaves, and the film also features a rape scene. I'm not in the least bit shocked that Madonna took the part because I understand that she was young then, experimenting with life and doing her utmost to survive in the city. But I know that Grandma Elsie and my father will be horrified by Madonna making such a trashy movie and will wish it had never been publicized. I also feel for Sean. However, none of us ever discuss the movie, which is released later in the year, nor do I ever want to see it.

The fiasco of the wedding behind us, as well as my blood-brother initiation, I decide I really like Sean Penn, my new brother-in-law.

On November 9, 1985, Madonna hosts the season premiere of
Saturday Night Live
and—by parodying Britain's Princess Diana—yet again garners a great deal of press coverage. In Britain, in particular—where, with the release of “Dress You Up” she is about to become the only female artist in thirty years to have three singles in the charts at once—images of Madonna as Princess Diana appear in all the papers. The gods of publicity are clearly smiling on Madonna big-time.

On my next birthday, November 22, 1985, Danny takes me to this French restaurant we always go to on Hudson in the West Village. When we come home to Morton Street and open the door, there are Sean and Madonna and six other people. My first ever surprise party, and Sean, Madonna, and Danny are giving it for me.

Sean and Madonna study my paintings—the religious ones, not the glass ones like their wedding present. Madonna says, “I like them, you should keep on painting,” and her encouragement means a lot to me. We drink champagne, play Ella Fitzgerald, and have a great time.

No one else in our family has ever met Danny, and none of them even know he exists. Consequently, I am estranged from all my relatives except for Madonna, and—until tonight—feel cut adrift from my family. But thanks to Madonna and Sean's throwing me this surprise party, I feel as if they have adopted me as a member of their small family, and for the first time since my mother died I am starting to feel safe and secure.

I also can't deny that I am now not only relishing that I am part of Sean and Madonna's family, but that my sister is fast becoming one of America's most famous women. All the star power surrounding Madonna is addictive. I get into restaurants and bars and clubs just by mentioning her name, and when I do, I am treated as a member of royalty. So far, at least, for me there is no downside to Madonna's fame. Nobody bothers me excessively. Photographers call out my name; Madonna's fans all yell, “Christopher, Christopher.” My only problem related to my sister's fame is that Danny still isn't won over by her and is continually alienated by all the hysteria and attention that accompany her every move or utterance.

Aside from resenting the ripple effect caused by Madonna's stardom, Danny also loathes sharing me with her. Then, and throughout our relationship, he demands 100 percent of my attention and resents anyone else receiving even a modicum of it. In an uncanny way, Danny resembles Sean. Like Sean, Danny hates throwing dinner parties, hates going to clubs, and prefers to hide away with me alone at our home.

And perhaps it isn't surprising that Madonna and I—being brother and sister, being so close—have chosen to share our lives with such similar men. But while Madonna's relationship with Sean is destined to founder and die, mine with Danny will endure for over a decade, primarily because he will always play Henry Higgins to my Eliza Doolittle. When we meet, I am a twenty-three-year-old hick from Michigan who is utterly at sea amid the sophistication of Manhattan. Danny, in contrast, is the quintessential New Yorker—urbane, cultured, streetwise. During our years together, he teaches me about good living, Pratesi sheets, Christofle silver, beluga caviar, and Cristal Champagne.

And despite his distaste for Madonna, his resentment of the sway she holds over me, once he gives up his Fiorucci job, he becomes my right hand and takes care of everything at home, so I can concentrate on my job. Moreover, he makes me feel safe, protected—and then there is the high-voltage sexual chemistry that consistently sizzles between us.

 

O
N
J
ANUARY
8, 1986, Sean, Madonna, and I fly from L.A. to Hong Kong to start preparation for the filming of
Shanghai Surprise
, for which, reports claim, they are each being paid $1 million. We check into a hotel on the Kowloon side of the bay. I immediately go out onto the balcony and admire the flickering lights of Kowloon harbor. I photograph the scene and send the picture to my father, telling him it reminds me of the Asian scene that used to hang in the Formal Dining Room of our home in Michigan. Another way, I suppose, of telling him how far we've come, my sister and I.

However, in broad daylight, the scene is not so enchanting. The bay is filthy, and a young woman bathes her baby in it as a dead rat floats by. I take a walk around the city, which seems dominated by fluorescent signs, lighting and advertisements, and evokes one big, brassy red-light district for me. The entire city has the air of a massive shopping mall, only it's far dirtier than the average shopping mall. In fact, Hong Kong is the dirtiest city I've ever known, with big rats skulking all over the place. In retrospect, perhaps I should have realized that those rats were probably an omen.

When I read the script, I understand why Madonna has taken the part of missionary Gloria Tatlock;
Shanghai Surprise
is modeled on the screwball comedies of the thirties—the kind of movie Jean Arthur, Jean Harlow, or Judy Holliday might have made. Where exactly Sean fits in is a bit of a puzzle for me. The part of con artist Glendon Wasey is just not a Sean Penn part, but is flimsy and not in the least bit challenging. I conclude that he has only taken it because Madonna wants him to be in the movie with her and needs him by her side when she makes her debut starring in a big commercial movie. He has agreed to appear in the movie as a gift for her, and I am touched. I'm also hugely impressed when I discover that he's mastered Mandarin—just to prepare himself for his role. Then I realize that his erudition has been slightly misplaced, really, because his character is an American.

Madonna is excited to be visiting another continent—and one so far away from America and Europe. Above all, she is thrilled to be making her first major motion picture. Watching her hang on Sean's every word as he analyzes the character of Gloria Tatlock, I suddenly grasp another reason my sister fell for him: having a Method actor on her team ready and willing to give her acting coaching is clearly yet another good career move for her. I sometimes wonder why my sister doesn't take up chess, because I know she'd become a master.

It's clear to me that she is now driven to prove herself as an actress, to be taken seriously. She has conquered the music business. So her sights are now set on conquering movies. She desperately wants
Shanghai Surprise
to be a colossal success—but not enough to drop her glamorous image and dye her hair brown, wear thick pebble glasses, and go without makeup in all the scenes—which would have been far more in character for her part as a missionary. Instead, she makes certain she looks flawlessly beautiful in every single shot.

The weather is cold, wet, and windy—a drawback because the movie takes place in summer. As a result, Madonna will spend most of the shoot shivering in thin summer dresses. And in the final cut—because the movie was shot in cloudy weather, but the location was lit for summer—Hong Kong and all the other locations look decidedly fake.

In the end, we might just as well have shot the entire movie on a Hollywood soundstage, but then I would have missed the amazing experience of being on location in Hong Kong with Madonna and Sean.

My job turns out to be part assistant, part traveling companion, setting up meetings and shopping for whatever Madonna needs—usually American potato chips, which she craves but can't find in Hong Kong. I end up with little to do but to sit in the location limo and make satellite phone calls to Danny back in Manhattan.

Madonna, Sean, and I are invited to a couple of Hong Kong restaurants, but the Chinese food is far removed from any we've had in Manhattan, smells and tastes different, and we don't go back. Instead, most nights we eat at an English-owned Italian restaurant.

Madonna and Sean, along with former Beatle George Harrison, are executive producers of the movie. That Madonna and Sean have chosen to work with a British production company, Hand-made Films, and with George Harrison, is a testament to the professional respect they both have for George and for British movies in general. Madonna is also fully aware that—apart from the negative reception she and Erika and I all had in London and Manchester only a few short years before—Britain is one of her major markets, and her popularity there is at the first of a series of peaks.

In approaching
Shanghai Surprise,
from the first Sean's Method training comes into play. So although Hong Kong is doubling for thirties Shanghai, as we are unable to shoot there, Sean decrees that we go to Shanghai anyway, before shooting starts, to get a feel for what it must have been like there during the thirties.

Madonna, Sean, and I fly to Shanghai together, accompanied by three Chinese government escorts, who monitor our every move. There, we stay at the Metropole, a thirties art deco hotel where the silk drapes are so old that when we pull them, they literally fall apart in our hands.

Madonna and I start each day with a jog, which is unpleasant because the temperature is seven below zero. We are the only people around who are jogging. It is so cold that most of the newly washed clothing people have hung out on sticks in the street to dry is frozen in midair. Everyone else around is bundled up and on bicycles.

After breakfast, we walk all over the city, exploring. Although Madonna isn't known yet in China, passersby still stare at her, simply because she is blond. We look around us and realize that everyone on the street is wearing a green, calf-length, quilted coat with a fake-fur collar, while Madonna and Sean and I are wearing blue ones that have been allocated to us by the government. What with our wearing different-colored clothes, us all having Caucasian features, and Madonna being blond, we must look like freaks to the Chinese.

We wander into a park where some old people are doing tai chi. One of them comes up to us and says, “New York, New York,” over and over. We smile; he's the first person in the park to speak English to us.

In the evening, we all go to the Bund, an art deco riverfront area. There, in a sixth-floor restaurant, we discover that the place is divided into a Chinese bar and an American bar. We peep into the Chinese bar and see that everyone there is drinking orange juice. So we go into the American bar, which is out of bounds for the Chinese. The whole room is dark. We pour ourselves some drinks, then finally find the light switch. The entire bar is covered in dust. Late-seventies disco music is playing. We ignore the dust and quirky American decor and dance. I feel as if I've walked straight into a scene from
Empire of the Sun.

After a few days in Shanghai, we return to Hong Kong, where Liz Rosenberg joins us. She and Madonna and I take a day trip to Macao, traveling there on a motorized junk. The trip takes around four hours. On the way back, Madonna and Liz spend most of the time throwing up in the bathroom. A couple of days later, all three of us get throat infections. We aren't surprised, though, as there were open sewers in Macao. Down the line, filming will move there, but fortunately I am not required to come along.

 

B
EFORE FILMING STARTS,
Madonna is still hanging on Sean's every word of advice concerning her acting. But as soon it begins, she stops playing a scene from
Educating Rita
and decides she is Meryl Streep instead. Meanwhile, it is starting to dawn on Sean that he has been cast as Norman Maine, the hapless washed-up star of
A Star Is Born,
destined to be forever upstaged by his wife. It comes as no surprise to me when Madonna and Sean butt heads. Sean is an experienced actor and proud of it, but Madonna is fast becoming a global phenomenon, a brand. Madonna believes she is a talented actress; Sean views her as merely a singer. Conflict continually erupts on the set as to how she should play her part, how he is playing his, her character, his character, this scene, that. Madonna and Sean are about the same height, and when they stand, eye to eye, face-to-face, each trying to win every argument, each trying to get the better of the other, the tension is palpable.