He leaned back and probed his cheek with his tongue for a moment. “Let me ask you a question. Have you ever read anything about me passing out toys to sick kids before?”
“No, I haven’t,” I said, shaking my head.
“Do you know how many writers I’ve taken with me to that hospital?” I shook my head and he held up one hand with his fingers splayed. “At least five. Probably more. Writers from Sports Illustrated, ESPN, USA Today… And do you know how many of those writers mentioned my time with those kids?”
“Zero,” I said quietly.
“Zero,” he repeated, rolling his fingers into a fist. “I’ve had writers shadow me at children’s hospitals, homeless shelters, soup kitchens… And do you know why those writers never write about that stuff?”
“Why?” I bit my lip and fixed my eyes on his. I could see a look of hurt in his eyes as he spoke.
“Because Sean Donovan at a children’s hospital doesn’t sell as many magazines or get as many online hits as Sean Donovan drunk in a club with a stripper on his lap.” He picked up his vanilla shake and brought the straw to his lips. “People don’t care about that stuff, Katie. They just want the dirt. What’s that old Don Henley song, Dirty Laundry? Look up the lyrics online. You’ll get what I’m saying.”
“The nurse told me you’d donated a lot of money to the cancer center over the years,” I said. “Care to confirm the amount?”
He picked up a french fry and swirled it around the ketchup on his plate. He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know the amount. And please don’t think I took you there so you can write a puff piece about how caring and giving I am. I really don’t give a shit what the public thinks of me. And I’m not trying to get anyone’s sympathy.”
“Why did you take me there?” I asked warily.
He bit the end off the fry and let his shoulders go up and down. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to make you see that, yes, I’m a hard partier, but I’m also a human being. There are more sides to me than you see on TMZ. The public just doesn’t give a flying fuck about those other sides.”
“And you’re hoping I can make the public see that there’s more to Sean Donovan than just the famous bad boy?”
He looked me in the eye and shook his head. “No. I’m hoping you can see that for yourself.” He pushed the plate back and gave me a smile. “You wanna see who the real Sean Donovan is? Come with me.”
Kate
We left Ernie’s just after three o’clock, and maneuvered our way onto Interstate-95 headed north out of New York City. Sean wouldn’t tell me where we were going. He would only give me a sly smile and say, “You’ll see.”
We chatted like old friends for a couple of hours. I learned everything there was to know about him, from his childhood days in upstate New York to his college days at Clemson to the years he’d spent with the Kings. I grilled him on old girl friends and lost loves, then he turned the tables and started grilling me.
Only he wasn’t grilling Kate Asher
He was grilling Katie Holmes.
I told him my true life story up until coming to New York City, looking to put my journalism degree to work. Everything from that point on was a twisted version of the truth. It made me feel like shit. He was being so honest and transparent with me, but practically every word coming out of my mouth was a lie.
“So, what’s Hef really like?” he asked.
“Hugh Hefner?”
He gave me a sideways grin. “Is there another Hef?”
I giggled like a silly school girl. “No, of course not. Um, yes, he’s awesome. I met Hef at the Playboy Mansion.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there,” he said. “What’s it like?”
“Um… it’s big…”
He chuckled and shook his head. I bit my lip and looked out the window, praying we’d finished the subject. The road sign ahead read “New Haven 5 miles”. Sean slowed and took the exit without bouncing me around the cab.
“Are we in Connecticut?” I asked, alarmed. I turned to look out the window. We were on a two-lane road covered by woods on both side.
“We’ve been in Connecticut for a while,” he said with a smile. “You wanted to meet the real Sean Donovan. This is where you have to go. Relax, we’re almost there.”
I settled back in the seat and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. We drove down the winding road for a few miles, then turned off onto a narrow lane that cut its way through a couple of miles of dense forest. The trees canopied above us, nearly blocking out the sun, making the road ahead look dark and ominous.
“It’s beautiful here,” he said. I glanced over to see him smiling at me. “You’re going to love this.”