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    Hangin' with Bradley Cooper
    Hangin' with Bradley Cooper
    Hangin' with Bradley Cooper
    Ebook299 pages4 hours

    Hangin' with Bradley Cooper

    By Ashley Bradley

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    About this ebook

    A  journalist interviews Bradley Cooper for his latest role playing Meryl Streep in the biopic of her life.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAshley Bradley
    Release dateJun 28, 2018
    ISBN9781386588238
    Hangin' with Bradley Cooper

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      Book preview

      Hangin' with Bradley Cooper - Ashley Bradley

      "O owl! 

      make some other face. 

      This is spring rain."

      -Kobayashi Issa

      Un 1

      Bradley had been up against two major players also vying for the role of Meryl Streep in the highly anticipated Untitled Meryl Streep Biopic: Miley Cyrus and Daniel Day-Lewis. Daniel, with his very dark features so far from Meryl's angelic towheadedness, was a long shot. The producers wanted someone as white as possible. Daniel was too swarthy. He was practically African compared to the woman who not only played Julia Childs in a movie, but was also her in real life. Miley had the acting chops, of course, but she didn't have the girth. The producers wanted someone who reminded them of a chicken. Not neck-wise, body-wise. A chicken sitting on its eggs, warming them. For when humans are ready to cook their young in omelettes and quiches and shit.

      Bradley perfectly fit the bill.

      Cast to play Meryl's husband, Untitled Meryl Streep Husband, was none other than the second most famous e-cigarette smoker after Stephen Dorff, Leonardo Wilhelm DiCaprio. Prior to winning this part, which he had to audition for via a lengthy sexting session with the director, Michael Bay, Leo had been on hiatus from acting. He and his longtime companion Lukas Haas moved to France and bought a farmhouse. Then a bunch of murders happened, Kevin Connolly was killed, things got pretty awkward. The farm life is not for me, Leo told a writer for Teen Vogue, whom he was secret penpals with. Back to the pictures I go! Since no one has referred to movies as the pictures since 1944, everyone thought he was just going to go work the photo center at a CVS or some shit. So, for a while, he had difficulty obtaining employment. Until Michael Bay, whose middle name should be Jesus if it already is not, took a chance on him. He better not fucking screw this up, potato pancake faced looking motherfucker, Michael said sweetly of hiring Leo, during an interview for Rolling Stone that included a page-long rant about how condoms are oppressive, and herpes is "okay now. Like how everyone was afraid of AIDS in the eighties but now it's totally cool because I have it!" 

      ––––––––

      All of Meryl's daughters were combined into one character named Daughtry. The role was written specifically for whoever would be willing to comb the lice nits from Michael's pubes with their teeth. Surprisingly, not too many actresses were interested in this. Then someone nudged Lindsay Lohan awake with their bleeding toe at the crack house they were in and let her know Michael Fucking Jesus Bay was looking for someone to comb lice eggs out of his pubic bush with their teeth. I'll do it, Lindsay volunteered before Bloody Toe could get to the part about how also Michael was casting for a new film. Yeah, sure, whatever, I'll do that, too. Twenty pesos extra, though. Don't try to fuck me over, Brennan. I guess Bloody Toe's name is Brennan?? 

      ––––––––

      Playing Meryl's random son, whom no one has ever heard of or cares about, just like her random irrelevant daughters, was none other than the Hider in the House himself: Gary Busey! Meryl's son in the film would be called Gary, so that Gary would not be confused by people calling him Random Son of Meryl's No One Cares About. That was also just an unnecessarily long character name. Gary was simpler, and it'd remind people of corn and milkteeth, which was definitely the affect production was going for. There was some concern, though, that the name Gary would also call people to think of Spongebob Squarepants' pet snail...Gary. Spongewho Whatpants?? Mr. Bay had done, pretending not to know what Spongebob Squarepants is. No one who watches a prestige Michael Fucking Bay Film knows anything about a talking fucking goddamn loofah! It was, like, so obvious that Michael knew Spongebob was a sponge. He totally just said that loofah thing in a purposefully obtuse sort of doucehaggy older man lesbian kind of way. Like, why would a dude be named Spongebob if he was a loofah? Come on now, Michael. Does that make any catdog damn sense? Someone had said this to him and Michael got an attitude and burned that person with his green apple flavored e-cig that Leo let him borrow. It's weird how e-cigarettes are cigarettes but electronic. Why would you make like an app of a cancer thing? Like an iPad but it's a kidney stone?? Are we so far ahead that we're actually backwards?? Eh, this isn't the time for politics or weird ass inspirational Chicken Soup for the Soul morality questions that just make you hungry instead of, like, wanting to do charity or stop having cancer. Back to the pictures! The story, I mean. The words put into sentences and...maybe, something happens when they're read all together. A story? Perhaps. A fucking catastrophe? Mos def. Who is now going by Yasiin Bey I guess?? Oh, it's his real name. FINE.

      I was scheduled to meet Bradley at Quiznos to interview him for a profile the magazine I work for, Man's Men, was doing on him. He was to be on the cover. Being cast to play Meryl in Untitled Meryl Streep Biopic was huge. The frenzy surrounding who'd be cast to play her was akin to the search for Scarlett O'Hara. Or a new host for Family Feud after Paula Deen had Steve Harvey lynched for saying he couldn't believe it wasn't margarine. If Bradley wasn't a mega-star before landing the role of Meryl Streep, he was now. Which was sort of insane. The movie was yet to be released, they were barely a few weeks into filming! That didn't seem to matter, though. The world was going crazy just for the possibilities, including Man's Men. My editor, Shawthron Bon Kennedy, who had never been a Bradley fan (too curvy) was mad for him now. Instead of curvy, Bradley was now butter whipped. Because I had become sort of famous for teasing wonderful little surprises out of the most difficult, tight-lipped of celebrities (De Niro, Vanilla Ice) Shawthron decided I was the best candidate for the job of asking Bradley questions, then transcribing the recording of that shit into an AMA-format style essay.

      I was excited about interviewing Bradley. More than I'd ever admit to my editors, or friends, or even Siri. Or Cortana. I put on a false mask of mild to barely there interest in Bradley. He was not the prototypical MAN'S ACTOR. De Niro was the king. Then maybe Pacino, with Mark Wahlberg and The Rock coming in at a very close third place tie, or DDL if you're, like, refined (me). Bradley was maybe twenty-seventh on either list (trash or class), right under Brad Pitt But Only In Fight Club (trash) or Brad Pitt But Only In The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (class). It was not totally acceptable for a cool-looking straight (but classy) dude such as myself to be a super-fan of Bradley's. Yes, I am a super-fan. If I wasn't incredibly maniacally paranoid, and didn't think I was being secretly monitored at all times, I'd sign up for his fan club. I'd even seriously consider running for president. Okay, maybe just vice prez. I don't possess the dickish constitution or enough ego to think I could be the president of anything. I mean, how fucking full of yourself can you be?? 

      Needless to say, I was more than thrilled about receiving the assignment to get to talk to Bradley while staring deeply into the beautiful icy death lasers some might refer to as his eyeballs. Thrilled in a conserved, manly way, of course. I couldn't be wearing Drakkar Noir and squealing like some little girl who just got her first period. I'd spent the week prior to this day preparing myself by watching all of Bradley's films. There was no way I could go into this interview asking Bradley what Renée Zellweger's breath smells like. The Coop wasn't that type of a celebrity. He was an acktore. In order to get deep with him I'd have to foreplay him with discussion of his process or whatever the fuck. Then, probably, while discussing how much he learned from Jeremy Irons while filming The Words (don't), Bradley would have some sort of beautiful breakdown regaling me with memories of the first time he was molested at the tender age of twenty-eight in the bathroom at his dentist's office. I'd ask Bradley if it was the dentist himself who molested him, and he'd go on to tell me some long, seemingly unrelated story about how one time he accidentally smuggled blood diamonds. He won't even say from where to where, he'll just cry about how he should have gotten the lead in Blood Diamonds, not Leo. Then I'll say something like, Well, look at you now. You're Meryl Streep, and he's your random, no one cares about ‘sculpture artist’ house-husband. Then Bradley will smile. I will wipe his single tear away and we will fuck. Hug, I mean. NO, gruffly handshake.

      ––––––––

      Untitled Meryl Streep Biopic was on hiatus while Leo lost the weight to portray Untitled Meryl Streep Husband in his older years as a man aging gracefully. So Bradley was pretty much freed up to do whatever. He decided for our interview that we would road trip from New York to some random house in Detroit for "Ry and her and their kid's" birthday party. I had no idea what that meant, but I was excited. A road trip? With Bradley Cooper? He'd be in my Fiat? His man smell would permanently stain my seats? This was amazing. And not only were we road tripping to some random shitty kid's birthday party in Detroit, we were going gift shopping for it together! This profile would surely net me a Pulitzer. Who the fuck else has ever been taken random kid gift shopping before by a (respected) celebrity?? NONE. None one. 

      We agreed on Quiznos as the meet-point because B said he wanted a sandwich. Also for some reason he knew a Baby Gap was located next door. The kid is like six but they should have some fucking little toy thing in there for him, oui? Bradley had asked me on the phone while we made arrangements. Why is the party in Detroit? I answered back. But Bradley said he had to go poop. It was his scheduled pooping time and he didn't have a minute more to spare for your nonsense. I laughed, but I knew B wasn't joking. I had upset him and it scared me. After he hung up to go take a dump I sent him a text saying that For sure, Baby Gap def has some little toy shit the brat can play with. Smiley face. Bradley text me back that he doesn't text. I cried myself to sleep that night but in the morning Bradley called me to say thanks for confirming his notion that Baby Gap would have some little toy shit for some dumb ass little kid. He'd see me later at Quiznos. Bring an extra pair of underwear and a toothbrush. I thought it was cute how B was already looking out for me and also that he thought I was an idiot who didn't know how to pack for a road trip and also displaying his own self as a bit of a dummy because you need a few more things than an underwear and a toothbrush!!

      While I was waiting at gross Quiznos for my angel B to appear, a handsome, but slightly off-looking fella approached me at my weird too-high stool table thing. I had ordered a simple turkey sandwich but for some reason it tasted like something that took hours to make, in a bad way. Tell me, how do you fuck up mayonnaise? Are you Izod? the beautiful, sort of killer doll-eyed man asked me. Was this a process server? Some dude I trolled in AOL chatrooms fifteen years ago here to toss battery acid in my face? Khan_Kock6969?? 

      And whom may I say is asking? I said with my poshest voice. I hoped I'd come off too pompous to be attacked. 

      I am Alessandro, the man said, and I steeled myself for the initial sting of the acid's splash. Instead of tossing acid in my face, though, he offered me his hand to shake, Shake my hand. He smiled but it was weird. It made me feel sad but also like I wanted to fuck. Not a person, though. 

      I'm sorry, I said, focusing my eyes on my gross ass sandwich, but I'm not sure I know who you are. I quickly glanced up at him, attempting to portray I was unafraid, or at least not sexually attracted to a sandwich I wouldn't punt in a homeless person's face. 

      Excuse me? he demanded, retreating his unshaken hand. Did Bradley not inform you of my impending arrival? 

      I perked up at the mention of B's name, Bradley? Are you his bodyguard? 

      "Do I look like his fucking bodyguard?" this Alessandro person asked me with a bit of an attitude. 

      No, Alessandro did—Actually...if Bradley was to have a bodyguard it would seem he'd pick someone like Alessandro, who was short and unimpressive body-wise, over the more obvious choice of a big dude who actually looks like he could protect you. But I knew saying this to Alessandro, who had eyes like that one stuffed teddy you have that you're sure has a video-camera inside it, was not the move. So I shook my head and said, No, you don't look like his fucking bodyguard. But I realized maybe that sounded like I was trying to be a smartass or get brolic with him or something, so I added a splash of false laughter. Alessandro would know it was false, which I wanted him to. You're scaring me, I hoped to successfully convey without actually screaming it, which I sort of wanted to. But we weren't in some dark alley. We were in Quiznos. Warm and toasty. Had we been in Subway, definitely I would have screamed. No one would have helped me, but at least I wouldn't be out of place screaming in a Subway. Eat fresh? I don't fucking think so. 

      Alessandro took a seat at my high ass table. He didn't like me, but at least he didn't have any battery acid. His khaki leggings and thin burgundy sweater were too tight to be concealing any sort of...battery. Or vial or whatever. Also his khaki leggings had fake pockets. Front and back. Don't ask me why I was looking this fucking hard to see all of that. So Bradley didn't tell you about me? He looked sad, but I decided this was some sort of ruse. He wanted me to hug him so he could clandestinely shank me in the stomach so none of the brain-dead Quiznos patrons would see. There were like two other people besides us in the restaurant: an old woman who appeared to have actually ordered that broccoli and cheese soup, and the Quiznos worker guy, Deltron, who was playing Katy Perry's Prism album super loudly in a not at all ashamed way. Behind the counter he was dancing pretty hard to Birthday. Like, really hard. It looked like it hurt, like he wanted it to. 

      Um, I picked at my sandwich, no. Bradley...didn't—Was he supposed to? 

      Alessandro somberly shook his head, He was supposed to tell you about me. 

      I immediately went back to thinking maybe I'd be seriously harmed up in here, up in this fucking Quiznos. No, Alessandro didn't have any pockets, but maybe he'd concealed a letter opener or nail file in his underwear, under his penis. I'd done it before in my college days while wearing a lacy thong, so I knew it could be achieved. He'll kill me, I thought, if I don't play this right. But how would I play this? Alessandro had the upper hand in that he knew me, but I had no idea—Wait. You look familiar, I said, sort of smiling: my go-to flirt move.

      This angered Alessandro. He leaned sort of aggressively forward, "Oh, I do? I look 'familiar' to you??" 

      I should know him, I thought. But I didn't. And Bradley was supposed to tell me about him, but he didn't. But if Bradley was supposed to tell me about him, why—Wait. Wait. Wait, I squinted my eyes, are you...you're an actor! 

      My excited tone angered him further. And then I felt really dumb for even saying that, because I couldn't place him specifically in anything. I couldn't be like I loved you in_______!!. I guess I could say I thought he was great, but that would clearly be a lie and maybe he'd punch me? Thank god for my Zack Morris-esque, bell-shaped angel, who saved me from Alessandro's intense geese-shit green eye lasers by casually striding into Quiznos wearing a too-snug robin's egg blue cashmere sweater and the exact same khaki leggings as Alessandro. Maybe Alessandro was B's stylist who sometimes made cameos in his movies...??

      Writer from Man's Men Magazine! Bradley cheered but not in a gay way. It's good to finally meet you in person, buddy! He enveloped me in a warm, toasty, Quiznos-esque embrace. Over B's shoulder I could see Alessandro glaring at me. From my vantage point snuggled securely in B's arms, Alessandro looked like a jealous lover. My hair is so much better than his. 

      After B pulled away from the hug, I felt like crying. To compensate for my crushing sadness, I smiled really wide. Thank god I just got my teeth double-whitened yesterday after an emergency call to my dentist, who has never molested me, but would if I let him. I'm so pumped for this road trip! I said like an idiot. But B gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Good job, it spoke to me, for daring to be you in this world full of so many not-yous.

      "Bradley," Alessandro had the audacity to demand, from his position at the bottom of the caste of life, Bradley's heart, and Quiznos. Despite his obvious low-ranking, however, Alessandro still managed to capture B's attention. Bradley turned to the troll and smiled, but not like how he smiled for me. That smile was special, reserved. 

      Less, Bradley said. My pal! 

      Oh my god, I thought, forcing down my cackling howls. B's nickname for this AOL chatroom plebeian was Less!! It was too perfect. Or I thought it was too perfect until B followed it up with my pal!. Oh, man. How do you get friend-zoned as a friend? What is that even called? Is it even a thing? Less, unintentionally, had become a pioneer. 

      You didn't tell him I was coming, Less Than Zero snapped.

      Then Bradley said something to him in French. It was intense. He grabbed the meaty part of Less' upper arm and spoke at him en Français. I had no idea what he was saying, but it made tears come to Less' eyes. This took only a few moments, but it felt like a lifetime. After it was over, Bradley turned to me, I forgot to tell you Alessandro was coming with us. My apologies. 

      Fuck. It's no problem, I tried to say as casually as fucking possible. I really wanted to come across as feeling this was no big - or even small - deal, at all. Even though it was. Even though I wanted Alessandro nowhere near my fucking Fiat, with his tears.

      I know it's not a problem, Bradley smiled. I'm just courtesy apologizing because I'm a good guy.

      ––––––––

      Deux 2

      I found out Ry and her were the Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes when Bradley was sneering at all the offerings next door at the Baby Gap. I didn't even know Bradley was friends with them. "We became very tight on the set of The Place Beyond the Pines, B snapped at me when he saw the initial incredulous thoughts flash across my eyes. I tried to recover by saying I thought Place Beyond was a very good movie, almost a classic. Bradley winced at that, then said he would have been nominated for an Oscar for that film if not for that fucking dumb ass cop haircut in Part 2. Fucking Cianfrance." I nodded. It was a pretty terrible haircut, and not in an appropriate way like Javier's in No Country for Old Men. It wasn't iconically terrible. Just Nicolas Cage's half-weave in Next bad. 

      I can't walk up into Ryan and Eva's rented dilapidated Detroit mansion with some fucking shit from the fucking Baby Gap, Bradley said, tossing a stuffed lamb thing back into a cuddly pile of other stuffed lamb things. What the fuck was I thinking? There was an awkward silence. It seemed Bradley wanted someone to tell him what the fuck he was thinking. "Alice, Bradley barked at Alessandro in a controlled, White Movie Starish kind of way. What the fuck was I thinking?"  

      Alice had his arms crossed in a petulant manner. He'd maintained his attitude from Quiznos the entire time we'd been in Baby Gap, which was going on two hours now. An impressive feat considering everything in the store was an obnoxiously The Beauty of Spring, The Birth of Jesus pastel. His pout and scowl in essentially a store-shaped Easter basket was almost laudable. Bradley had just called him Alice, yet he remained unbroken. The worse-than-Less moniker almost seemed to fortify him. He stood a little straighter. I don't know what you're thinking, Bradley. Are you under the illusion I am able to read minds? Do I look like a fucking Avenger to you? 

      What Avenger can read minds? Bradley asked. 

      Alice scrunched up his little face, I don't know! I don't watch that mess! 

      Me either, Bradley shrugged. "I was genuinely asking. What does the one do that Jeremy plays? Can he read minds?" 

      No, uh, Alessandro was softening, I think he just has an arrow. 

      What? Bradley laughed and he got those little eye crinkles. "That's Jeremy's power?? He has an arrow?" 

      Alessandro dropped his hands from their protective stance crossing his chest; he was laughing as well. Yeah, and he got the same exact eye crinkles on his face, that's it. 

      "I thought you didn't see The Avengers," I said at Alice. 

      He immediately went back into defensive mode, folding his arms across his chest as if he were a big-breasted woman being cat-called on the street, "I act in plays, I don't watch fucking superhero movies." 

      I guess that's why I don't know who you are, I smiled. 

      Meow, Bradley meowed, clawing playfully at Alessandro's face. Alice gingerly smacked his hand away but you could tell he meant it forcefully. 

      So you're proudly admitting you only watch superhero films? Alessandro lasered at me. I really thought I had him with that line about how I don't know who he is. But he came back at me hot with that so you only watch shitty movies line. Game, set, match. Or...check mate? Choose your own adventure!

      Bradley screeched at Alessandro and I to cease cat-fighting like little cunts, we had stupid random fucking kid gift shopping to do, and then we were to hit the road to make it to Ry and her's house by midnight before Ry puts the pie away and goes to bed. I had no idea what that meant, but I was excited about the prospect of possibly spending the night at Ryan Gosling's...rented Detroit home. The party was tomorrow but B wanted to get there a bit early to help out with setting things up; also it just would have been really awkward to wake up at like two in the morning and then drive ten hours straight just to go to some kid's birthday party. Even if it was Ryan Gosling's kid. I was still unclear, however, on why Ryan and Eva were living in Detroit. I assumed they were in town filming something, but just as likely, they genuinely lived there. Rented there. It was the newest rich hipster thing to slum in very terrible cities that don't possess the gravitas of a Brooklyn or Chicago. Rich hipsters were flocking in droves to

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