LARRY FLYNT

The Belvedere

Beverly Hills, CA

February 16, 2013

Photo credit: Larry Flynt

I was meeting friends in Beverly Hills for brunch at The Belvedere restaurant in The Peninsula hotel. Walking in, I passed several luxury cars that were parked out in front—a light blue Ferrari, a Maybach here, a Bentley there. Wait, I've seen that one before. The one with the handicapped parking placard and custom plates that say HUSTLR. That's Larry Flynt’s car.

I didn’t put it together that he might also be in the restaurant I was headed to, but we walked in and there he was. Larry Flynt in the flesh, sitting right there. I could see him from the hostess’s stand.

There weren't many people in the restaurant, and I'd arrived before the rest of my party so I had time to question the maître d’. I started small, asking if Mr. Flynt comes here often, and worked my way up to, "Can I go in to speak with his bodyguard?" They told me to stay put while a waiter went over to kindly inform the giant guy that I wanted to speak with him. They weren't about to let me just saunter over.

The giant guy was big and strong. He was sitting at a table of his own across the room from, but within eyesight of, his boss. He looked like a secret service agent and was very protective of Mr. Flynt. Connected? Probably, but you didn't hear that from me.

With his eyes fixed on me the whole time, he slowly moved out of his bench seat and stood up. Tall and intimidating, he was. I was trying to be happy and pleasant but this was clearly neither the time nor the place for such silliness. And he was certainly not the guy.

I smiled. He didn't.

I said hi. He didn't.

There was no turning back now. I said, "I've got this celebrity photo album, it's just a bunch of pictures of me taken by celebrities and I would love it if he…” it was understood who "…would take my picture."

That felt like the dumbest thing I could have said to this guy.

He hadn't changed his expression at all. And I continued, "Do you think that is something he'd be willing to do?" The language became very formal when referring to Mr. Flynt. "You'd like him to take a picture of you?" he asked. "Yes, please,” I said. "I'll ask him when he is finished eating,” he reluctantly replied, "I'll let you know." FANTASTIC! I was on-call with Mr. Flynt's secret serviceman!! The giant guy went back to his post at table six.

Minutes later my party arrived. As luck would have it, we were seated at the large table next to Mr. Flynt. I made a point of it to sit where I could see him, though I made no motion in his direction. Larry Flynt did not exist until the big guy said he did. That was clear.

So, I had brunch.

About an hour later the big guy was summoned by Mr. Flynt. He came over to lift and help adjust Larry Flynt in his seat, and then he whispered in his ear. The big guy looked at me. I started to stand up thinking this must be the time but he slowly turned his head from side to side as if it hurt to move. Now wasn't the time. The big guy went back to his table and I went back to my mimosa.

About five minutes later he was summoned again. His wife had already left the table, and Mr. Flynt was ready to go. This time, the big guy whispered whatever he remembered of my idea. As Mr. Flynt considered it, his eyes drifted slowly in my direction. I smiled as we made eye contact to confirm that, yes, I was the girl with the odd request. They decided I looked harmless enough, and Mr. Big Stuff motioned me over. I had checked out from the conversation my group was having long ago. Now it was all about the miniature movements between me and the guys at my neighboring table. I don't know if my people were hip to my intentions but, with one little head nod, I stood up and walked over.

I greeted Larry Flynt as if he were royalty. I practically curtsied.

In regular life, the self-proclaimed King of Smut isn't someone respectable girls like myself would normally seek out to take their picture, but nothing about this situation was normal. This guy was sitting in a gold-plated wheelchair with a red velvet seat.

He couldn't move very easily so I had to position myself in front of him. Also, out of respect, I wanted to physically lower myself to his level. So, after I politely asked and was granted permission, I sat in the seat where his wife had been.

Then I asked Mr. Larry Flynt if he'd take a picture of me. He smirked. There wasn't much talking. These guys seemed to communicate telepathically. I slid my camera over to him like I was pushing stacks of chips across a roulette table. He snapped a picture and passed the camera back with a smile in his eyes. I'm not sure what the big guy told him but Mr. Flynt seemed to like it.

I said thank you and went back to my table. No outward celebration just yet but there was a big party going on in my mind. It was like I’d just met the Pope. The Pope of Porn.

That was amazingly cool. Thanks so much, Mr. Flynt. I am honored to have you as one of my celebrity photographers.

On the way to my car, I saw this amazing shot through the window.

Photo credit: Me