The M.I.L.F. Man

The Torch has been passed...

The big bash I'd gotten all designer'd up for was a "gala" to honor all these incredible women who'd done things like building schools, clinics, houses and even water treatment stations in "underdeveloped" countries--totally humbled me, the honorees.

There were all kinds celebs presenting, so there was all kinds of press at all the rehearsals and little social events leading up to the actual Sunday night broadcast, too. And the whole weekend I felt like E.T. wandering around all confused, constantly wanting to phone home. Or send an "SOS" text to Chas who hung back at the hotel during all the pre-show events.

On Sunday, we spent almost the whole day in "hair and makeup," but I didn't let them paint me a whole new face like they'd done for everyone else pretty much. I've never used a lot of gunk on my face and I didn't see the point, since I wasn't going to be onstage or anything.

I did let them dramatize my eyes and stain my lips. And an amazing hair stylist massaged some magic goo into my hair that made it all smooth and shiny in the lights.

God, those lights—I'd be seeing them in my sleep for weeks after. Cells flashing, TV cameramen and photographers aiming those real bright ones at you and yelling, "Cielo! Cielo!" "This way, Cielo!" "Just one more, Cielo!"

I stumbled and startled, but Ma Mere just danced right on through all the stock stances. A little lean a to the right, hand on hip; a little lean to the left, other hand on hip and then a smooth pivot to show off the back of the dress before strutting on down to do the whole routine again for another mob of photographers and fans.

We were the only ones who heard her muttering "Mon Dieu," (My God) or even "Merde" (Shit) under her breath before turning up that smile to "stun" for the cameras—she hated "the business of show," as she called it.

But she was treated like royalty—it's weird, but there's a caste system in that world. They worship people they can't be like or who seem not to want to be like them. It's why celebrities fight tooth and nail to be invited to events The Royals attend—you can play one on the screen, but you'll never be one in real life.

And Ma Mere actually was "very distantly" related to royalty. Though she was quick to tell you, "Guy's family is far more impressively connected than mine. Though we are in Debrett's..."

That's the society stud book Chas had finally showed me on my school computer at Valencia. It was like a history lesson. They were related to all these famous titled people—couple of kings. The kids started calling him The Duke of Earl, after that 50s doo wop song. He loved it.

Because of that history, we were seated in one of those balcony box seats over on the side, up away from everybody else. And the cameras kept swinging over to get our reactions, too. We'd been warned to stay put because the presenters and hosts needed to be sure that they were gushing over the right person. I think the producer had seating charts or something...

But I had also done something to make sure they watched us. I hadn't meant to. I was just goofing around with Chas during rehearsal when I thought nobody was looking.