After James Franco published his fictional account entitled "Bungalow 89" where he claims he didn't sleep with Lindsay Lohan, just read her a bedtime story about bananafish, Lindsay countered with a short story of her own:
James Franco says we did not have sex, and one of the things I learned growing up in a family of chaos was to respect other people's truths, even if that truth is something they made up driving home wasted in an Escalade that I frickin bought. Anyway, since he has shared his version of events, I think it's only fair I shared mine.
It was a few years ago. I don't remember if I was sober or not. I think I probably was. I actually never even really drank that much, and as I told Oprah, I only did coke 10-15 times, so statistically, the chances are good I was not wasted when this happened.
I was wandering around the Chateau Marmont, which is a hotel. I will say that I do like the Chateau because there are lots of beautiful flowers tended by people who care as deeply about tending flowers as I do about my passion, starring in films.
I had just taken a swim in the pool where, per the advice of several therapists, I had taken some time to imagine that I was one of any number of various sea creatures.
Afterwards I had taken a leisurely shower and then put a deep conditioning pack on my hair. So I was just walking around inhaling the scent of night blooming jasmine and my deep conditioning pack when one of the bungalow doors opened.
This guy stuck his head out. I didn't know who it was. In fact at first I thought it was this guy who worked at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Beverly Hills and I was like, what is he doing here? "Hey," he said.
As I got closer I saw that it was that actor who always wants people to think that he's smart but I still couldn't remember his name.
"What are you doing?" he said.
"I'm deep conditioning my hair," I said.
"Why?" he said. He said it in this really challenging way, like deep conditioning your hair was against the law.
"Uh, because it has a lot of split ends from being so color treated and all the extensions that I have used over the last few years, being an actress who cares about my craft, the way that Chateau Marmont flower-tenders care about flowers."
He shook his head. He was kind of good looking I guess but there was something about his face. He looked so serious, like he had just finished reading 1000 books and had to read 1000 more or he was never going to get to watch TV again.
He said, "Have you ever thought about all the time you spend deep conditioning your hair? Have you ever thought about the expectations that society places on you as a celebrity and how you exploit yourself by responding to them?"
I said, "Duh, that's all I think about. But deep conditioning my hair is one of the ways I find my center."
"That's beautiful," he said. He actually got a tear in his eye. Then he said, "I'm sorry, it's just that the intersection of the banal commercial world with narratives about inner peace triggers a conditioned, sentimental response in me that produces something like actual feelings."
It was all clear now. "You're James Franco," I said.
He asked me to come in and I did. I sat in a chair.
"Can I read you a story?"
He said it was called A Perfect Day for Bananafish. I don't remember very much about it, except at one point, he stopped reading and started to explain to me that it should really be called something else gross and dumb because of something about the fish being phallic which personally I feel like he made up. I can't really remember. I was so tired, but somewhere, a little voice piped up and let me know there was actually a really brilliant way to get through the next hour of my life without having to walk all the way back to my room, and I was like, "If I have sex with you, will you stop talking?"
I am a lady, so I don't want to tell you what happened next.
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