PART FOUR
1
AFTER FILMING BOND, I bought a Tuscan-style house in the Pacific Palisades and a dog (I couldn’t wait to own a home with a yard to finally get a dog), a Boston terrier that I named Lucy, so when I came back from Europe I returned to my house. It was an incredible feeling to unlock the door and walk into my home, then wake up the next morning next to the beach, pad around in my T-shirt and pajama bottoms, make coffee, and think about building my life. I wanted to get married and start a family. As Pat and I had gone our separate ways, I did not let being single stop me from going after the things I wanted. I decorated my house and continued working. I filmed Undercover Brother (on location in Toronto), Empire with John Leguizamo in New York, and a few other projects, and I brought Lucy along. I went out with friends and stayed busy. My life felt full. Sure, at times, I wished I had a special someone with whom I could curl up at night and talk about the day or plan my tomorrows, but I didn’t stress about it, relying on friends to keep me from feeling lonely, and keeping the faith that I’d find the right guy. I believed my soul mate was out there and that fate would lead us to each other when the time was right.
A part of me enjoyed the freedom of being single. I didn’t have to worry about answering to anyone other than me. I lived in the moment, and loved it. I didn’t want to be with someone just to be with him. It had to be right, even if it was “right” for only a short time. It had to feel good.
Soon that status changed—and so did everything else, forever—when I accepted a four-episode arc on the hit ABC series Spin City and renewed my acquaintance with that show’s star Charlie Sheen. We’d worked together the previous summer on the movie Good Advice, a romantic comedy about an investment banker who loses everything only to discover what’s really important in life. After I took the movie, Charlie called to talk about the project, and we ended up on the phone for two hours, discussing it and a thousand other topics, most of which had nothing to do with the movie. I was still with Pat at the time and wasn’t romantically interested in Charlie. But we had chemistry right away, and I thought this would be a fun project and he’d be cool to work with.
When I showed up on the Spin City set, we hugged and spent a few minutes catching up. I reminded him that when I last saw him on the movie, he’d just signed on to replace Michael J. Fox on Spin City, and I’d predicted he’d do an awesome job. “And guess what?” I told him. “I was right.”
My guest stint as campaign strategist Jennifer Duncan was part of a larger casting stunt for sweeps that also saw Michael return to the show, along with additional guest stars Farrah Fawcett, Queen Latifah, and Olivia d’Abo. I shot two episodes back-to-back, and Charlie and I flirted the whole time. The chemistry was undeniable. As we said good-bye at the end of the second episode, Charlie suggested we get together outside the show. When I said that would be nice, he promised to call, and a couple days later, he did.
We arranged dinner, but then the day before our date, Charlie called to tell me the World Series was on. He was an obsessive baseball fan and was in a bit of a dilemma. He wanted to go out to dinner, but didn’t want to miss watching the game.
I understood. I didn’t want him to miss the game either. From working with Charlie on the movie and two episodes of Spin City, I knew he was a little superstitious, and I would’ve felt terrible if he missed an important game because he was out with me. He may have taken it as a sign or something, and as I told him, it wasn’t a big deal to me. I really did understand.
“You’re telling the truth?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “We can go out to dinner another time. Don’t worry about it.”
Charlie was silent. I could hear the wheels spinning in his head. He asked if I’d consider watching the game with him at his condo, and he promised to take me out to dinner another night. I said sure, why not? I didn’t see a downside. I saw two fun occasions. Only my dad didn’t think it was a good idea for me to go to Charlie’s house. He advised me to wait until I knew him better. In my dad’s eyes I was still his little girl, and he worried about me. I didn’t listen to him.
Indeed, dinner out became dinner in. Instead of the sexy dress that I planned to wear to the restaurant, I threw on a pair of jeans and a cute top and went to Charlie’s swanky bachelor pad to watch the game with him. He greeted me warmly; he was relaxed and showed me a spot on the sofa in front of the big-screen TV. As much as I like a fancy night on the town, it was actually nice to be at his place—just the two of us, getting to know each other privately.
And Charlie and I did just that. Rather than order in food—looking back, this is kind of ridiculous and very L.A.—I brought over the plastic-wrapped, portion-controlled meal I had delivered to my house, and he heated up a portion-controlled meal of his own from a similar delivery service. I picked up our favorite flavors of Häagen-Dazs, chocolate for Charlie and mint chip for me. I know—low-cal meals and ice cream? Unlike most guys I’ve been around during a game, he kept the volume low enough for us to talk, which I liked. Afterward, we watched a movie that his mom had recommended, and when I got up to leave, we had an awkward little moment by the door. I thought, is he going to kiss me? Do I make a move first? Do we not kiss at all? When he hesitated, I thought, screw it. I’ll be bold and make the first move—and so I planted one on him.
It was spectacular. Definitely butterflies. Then I went home. By the way, the game was great! And his team won!
Few things are as exciting as meeting someone you like. Life is just that much better. It pushes the boring stuff into the background and fills every moment with excitement, especially the beginning. The newness is just wonderful. You think about a million different things, all involving that new person. Well, at least I do. No matter the time of year, every day smells fresh and springlike, ripe with possibilities: nothing is as intoxicating as love. A few days later, he kept to his word and took me out on a dinner date. I got my makeup on and did my hair. A friend came over to help me pick out something to wear. That was fun. We decided I should look cute, but sexy, without trying to look sexy. We came up with black Theory pants and a sexy top with Jimmy Choo heels. If only he knew how many outfits I tried on before he got to my place.
Oh, another thing that impressed me: Charlie picked me up! I know it’s a small favor, but it doesn’t happen as often as you’d think because L.A. is so spread out. Ordinarily, when you live thirty or forty minutes from each other, as Charlie and I did, you meet at the restaurant or a guy will send a car to pick you up. Given that Charlie had a bit of a schlep, I thought he was quite the gentleman to pick me up (now, having been married to him, knowing he hated to drive, this was a big deal). My dad was also impressed.
He took me to the restaurant at the Hotel Bel-Air, one of my favorites. It’s secluded and stunning. We strolled through the lush gardens, across a bridge where we stopped to look at the swans nesting beside the pond. Even at night, it was gorgeous and romantic, as was the restaurant, where we were seated at a corner table. Conversation with Charlie was effortless and I enjoyed talking to him. Aside from his being incredibly handsome and sexy, I loved his openness. He was confident without being cocky, and self-deprecating. Believe it or not, I also saw an endearingly shy, sensitive part of Charlie.
He made no attempt to avoid his issues with his three years of sobriety, which had been, as he noted, chronicled in the press. I had no experience with addiction, and in hindsight I was quite ignorant about it, but I admired his strength in getting sober, his determination to stay sober, and the effort he made to work on himself. Getting through all of that and being so humble about it impressed me.
As dinner progressed, I liked Charlie more and more. People have said that I’m attracted to so-called “bad boys,” and I’ve done a lot of thinking on that subject. In fact, I have gotten defensive in the past. The truth is, I don’t like “bad boys.” I like calm and stability. I grew up in that kind of stable and traditional home, with that kind of father. My dad was home for dinner at six every night. When it comes to men, I’m attracted to a guy who has lived and enjoys life, someone who is strong. He’s not surprised or overwhelmed by life; he appreciates the good times and digs in when the going gets tough, and he doesn’t run when difficult issues come up. Doesn’t that sound better than a “bad boy”?
Okay, confession: during our dinner I had a premonition that I was going to end up with Charlie. It was surreal. We were on our first real date, but to me it seemed like the start of a lifetime (shit, little did I know). I honestly pictured him as my husband. I can’t explain it further. I’d never had such a strong and clear premonition. It made me feel good. My mom always said, you’ll know when you know. After dinner, we strolled around the hotel grounds and shared a passionate kiss in front of the beautiful swans. It was a prelude to a wonderful, romantic night back at his condo.
When I left the next morning, I was a teeny bit embarrassed to walk through Charlie’s lobby while wearing his T-shirt and carrying my high heels in my hand, but I knew it probably wasn’t the first time the security guards had seen a woman leaving Charlie’s place like that. And, hey, if every girl left with a shirt of his, he probably wouldn’t have had any left! I knew I was special.
2
AFTER OUR ROMANTIC rendezvous, it was time for me to return to Spin City and finish my remaining two episodes. Charlie and I decided to keep our new relationship under the radar. Let’s play it cool, we told each other. We were just friendly costars. But then there was reality. When I got to work, a magnificent arrangement of roses was waiting for me in my dressing room. The card read, “Welcome Back,” and it was signed, “Mr. Green,” Charlie’s alias at the time. After breathing in the sweet scent, I walked into makeup with a big smile on my face. As I said, I loved that feeling of my heart opening up to someone new and being full of anticipation of what was going to happen next. I was happy to be there again.
Even though Charlie and I tried to play it cool on the set and keep our interactions appearing professional, I’m sure the cast and crew knew something was going on. We were emitting sparks whether we liked it or not; plus, during lunch, I snuck into his dressing room—and snuck out looking disheveled.
C’est la vie.
After my episodes were finished, Charlie and I continued our romance. Though we weren’t “out” publicly as a couple, we moved forward at high speed. I met his parents, Martin and Janet, who couldn’t have been nicer, his brothers and his sister, and also his then-sixteen-year-old daughter, Cassandra. My parents lived two hours away, and we hadn’t yet had time to make the drive down the coast to see them. Then, one morning, Ryan Seacrest interviewed Charlie for his morning radio show on KIIS FM, and he asked the usual personal questions, specifically, “Are you dating anyone?” Instead of skating around it, though, as is normal practice, Charlie said, yes, he was. Ryan asked who, and Charlie said, “Denise Richards.” It may sound like high school, but we hadn’t talked about our dating and keeping it quiet. Given people’s obsession with celebrity relationships, it was something we needed to discuss. Or maybe we didn’t need to. Maybe it was best that it happened just like the relationship itself, spontaneously. After the interview, Charlie called and told me that he’d “outed” us as a couple on the air and hoped I wasn’t upset. I was taken aback by it, but, really, I was pleasantly surprised and happy that he was confident enough early in our relationship to do that. “No, I’m not upset,” I said. “I think it’s great.”
We ate Thanksgiving dinner with our respective families and then met up later that night at his place. The next day we flew to Hawaii, our first trip together. You can tell a lot about a person when you travel with someone, especially whether you’re compatible. Charlie and I traveled well together. During the trip he gave me a present, a little blue box that was unmistakably Tiffany. I couldn’t believe it. Inside, was a heart-shaped diamond necklace. I was speechless—and touched that he didn’t just get me a beautiful gift, he actually went to the jewelry store and picked it out. He put thought into it, and that’s what meant so much.
Later, we went to a luau at the hotel, and a personable young couple who explained they were newlyweds asked if they could take a picture with us. We said sure, and lo and behold, a few weeks later, those pictures showed up in Us magazine. The couple had removed themselves from the photo. It was really uncool, but we shrugged it off. You can’t go around not trusting people.
We returned more in love than ever, and we decided to take a drive down for Charlie to meet my mom and dad. It took about two and a half hours to get to their house from L.A. We loaded Charlie’s Mercedes with my four dogs and headed down. I noticed he was a bit quiet on the drive and seemed nervous. He kind of made a joke that he didn’t meet too many girls’ parents. I reassured him that my mom and dad would love him, but he still seemed nervous.
An hour into the drive, his car locked up and stopped right in the middle of the freeway, and he had a panic attack. I thought, shit, I have all these dogs in the car, we’re going to get rear-ended on the freeway, and he is panicked. The excursion was not going well. Before Charlie’s superstitious mind convinced him that this was a sign from God that he wasn’t meant to meet my parents, I switched places with him, got the car unlocked, and took off down the freeway again.
There was a charm to Charlie’s nervousness. He may not have thought so, but I did. Likewise, when he finally met my mom and dad. I can’t speak for how Charlie felt, but he looked at ease, and they did, too. They liked him immediately. People have often asked if his past concerned me, or if it concerned my parents (if it did, they didn’t say anything to me at the time), and the truth is, no, my parents were great about it, and so was I. As far as I’m concerned, the past is what it is—the past. You can only judge a person by their actions in the present, and the man I met didn’t show any signs of the past.
3
RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, I got a phone call at 5:30 a.m. It was Charlie. He’d been nominated for a Best Actor in a Comedy Golden Globe for Spin City. It meant a lot to him, and he was genuinely excited for everything it meant. It was validation of all his hard work professionally and personally. I couldn’t have been happier for him. I felt blessed to share it with him.
Right after Christmas, Charlie and I left on a romantic winter holiday getaway to the Miraval spa in Tucson, Arizona. Going to this spa for a week of pampering was a dream vacation. Oprah had been to the Miraval spa. And I was thrilled to have met a man who loved the idea of massages, facials, herbal wraps, and healthy foods as much as I did. What woman’s heart wouldn’t melt when her man asked, “Are you going to try the body scrub and a seaweed wrap?” After we arrived, and a few minutes later, as we checked into our room, unpacked, and slipped into our pajamas, I noticed Charlie seemed distracted, and I wasn’t sure what was going on.
A moment later, I found out. Charlie had something special on his mind. “I can’t wait until New Year’s,” he said as he got down on one knee in front of me and asked if I’d marry him. At the same time, he opened a box and handed it to me. Inside was a gorgeous 4.5-carat, round diamond ring. I’d never imagined getting proposed to by someone wearing boxers and a T-shirt while I was in a tank top and pajama bottoms, but I swear to God, I couldn’t picture a more romantic moment. Of course, I said yes!
“I was going to wait until midnight on New Year’s,” he said. “But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hold out.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I said.
I woke up the next morning and called my parents with the news. Surprised, they offered enthusiastic and what I took as genuine congratulations. Despite the whirlwind courtship, my parents never questioned our getting married so quickly. I’m sure they had conversations with each other privately. But they knew me well; I was an adult, and when I made up my mind, that was it.
Over the next week, as the rest of the world learned about our engagement, I enjoyed this new chapter in my life. I constantly held my hand in the sun and looked at my diamond sparkle. I loved my ring. I loved what it meant. I was a fiancée. I couldn’t wait to be married to Charlie. I felt unbelievably fortunate to have met him at this time in his life. As he told me, in battling his problems he’d evolved into a healthy, open, and humble person. His career had taken off again. He had confidence. And now he was in love. Life was working out for him, as he’d been told it would if he got himself together. I felt similarly about myself. I’d turned thirty and knew I’d found the man with whom I wanted to build the rest of my life. As touched as I was when Charlie shared his dreams and made me a key part of them, I was equally gratified at how easily he fit into my dreams. Our compatibility seemed to underscore my belief that fate truly did connect soul mates when the time was right. You just had to be patient and ready.
In January, we attended the Golden Globe Awards. I found a classic gown by Giorgio Armani and got my hair and makeup done at Charlie’s condo. It was fun getting ready together and sharing this moment that meant so much to Charlie. It was also the beginning of our moments as a couple; in our first public outing, we proudly walked the red carpet at the Beverly Hilton, holding hands, posing for photos, and answering questions from dozens of reporters. Yes, we were engaged. Yes, we were in love. Yes, things were great. Charlie’s father and sister went with us to the Globes. Martin, who was also nominated in the drama category for West Wing, exuded proud father when he looked at his son.
Inside the ballroom, Martin sat with the West Wing cast and Charlie and I took our seats at the Spin City table. Ironically, given events that would take place in the future, I sat between Charlie and Bon Jovi guitarist Richie Sambora, who was married to Charlie’s costar Heather Locklear. It was my first time meeting Richie, and that’s all that happened. We said hello and not much else that evening. I was head over heels in love with Charlie, who won that night and told the world in his acceptance speech that he loved me, too. It was a magical moment.
To the press, our relationship was a great story. Charlie was the comeback kid, and with me on his arm and a diamond ring on my finger, it looked like the classic case of the good girl reforming the bad boy. Except that wasn’t the case. I didn’t have to reform Charlie. He was already reformed. As I said, his past was his past and I wasn’t judging him for it. I believe our experiences make us who we are, and Charlie’s past appeared to have made him a wiser and better man. He was in a good place, and he was grateful to have been given a second chance at life.
Following the Golden Globes, life was sublime. We alternated nights between his place and my place in the Palisades. In our free time, we watched movies, sports, and had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant near the beach. We had the best times just sitting in bed and eating ice cream and talking all night. When I’d turned thirty in February and a girlfriend gave me those flowers with that card that said the best times were ahead of me, I nodded in agreement. It seemed they were, starting with our wedding.
Charlie and I were in sync on that, too. Both of us wanted an intimate wedding for family and close friends. We didn’t want it to be huge. We wanted it to feel more like a fun, elegant dinner party where we’d be able to talk to each guest. We decided eighty guests was the perfect number.
Once we picked a date, we decided to hire a wedding planner to coordinate the arrangements. I interviewed a handful of planners and picked my favorite, Mindy Weiss, who then met Charlie. He approved, too. Mindy, who became a close friend, had done the most spectacular parties and weddings. She was easy to talk to, a great listener, calm and sweet, she thought outside the box, and she seemed unflappable. She clued straight into us when I explained the most important part of our wedding was the food. Charlie and I wanted great food. Mindy had some suggestions for a caterer, but we wanted our favorite restaurant, Giorgio Baldi, to make the meal. Unfortunately, they didn’t cater events. Mindy stepped in, and I don’t know what she said, but they changed their mind, and not only were we thrilled, we knew Mindy was perfect to steer us into our wedding day.
Even though there are some things I don’t agree with in the Church, I still wanted to have a Catholic ceremony. Martin introduced us to a friend of his, Father Michael Kennedy. According to Catholic tradition, we took pre-cana classes, which I loved. Taking them privately, we filled out a questionnaire about our beliefs and goals, and our methods for handling conflict, and the process made me feel even closer and more deeply connected to Charlie. We were also happy Father Kennedy agreed to marry us outdoors instead of in an actual church and told us it would still be recognized by the Church; at the time, it meant a lot to me to have a Catholic ceremony. As for my wedding dress, several designers offered to make it. That kind of generosity was beyond my imagination. But I had my heart set on wearing one particular designer, Giorgio Armani, and he wasn’t among those who’d offered. Nevertheless, I asked my publicist if she could ask if Armani would be interested in making my dress. I knew it was a long shot. I mean, who gets her wedding dress designed by Giorgio Armani?
I did! Not only did Giorgio Armani say he would design my wedding dress, he also wanted to make dresses for my maid of honor (my sister, Michelle), my mother, as well as tuxedos for Charlie, his best man (his closest friend, Tony Todd), and my father. I was blown away. I’d expected him to politely say thanks but no thanks, but instead this was way more than I would’ve dared to dream. However, there was a condition: Mr. Armani also wanted us to fly to Italy and meet his design team and asked if we would attend his fashion show as well. Some condition!
Of course, I said yes, and then I called Charlie. He was excited for me and knew for a girl that it was the ultimate fairy tale.
3
AT THE END of March, after Charlie wrapped Spin City, we got on a plane for Italy. This really was a fairy tale for me—flying to Italy to meet Giorgio Armani and have him design the most special wedding dress a girl could ever hope for. Once there, we met Mr. Armani at a villa where his design team was waiting for us. Again, fantasy time! Mr. Armani was stunningly handsome in person, and a gentleman. He couldn’t have been any nicer. He didn’t speak much English, but through his translator, he mentioned that since we didn’t want Charlie to see my dress, they were splitting us up. Then the fantasy really took off. The men’s team ushered Charlie into one part of the villa, and I followed Mr. Armani and the women’s design team into another room, where they showed me numerous sketches they’d already done and then tons of fabrics they’d pulled for me to look at.
I was honored how hard they had been working on my dress. We narrowed the sketches down to a dress that was more form-fitting and simple instead of a full skirt at the bottom. They suggested a beaded, long-sleeved, lace jacket to wear over the dress for the ceremony, and then I’d remove it during the reception. We also went with a veil that was quite long, almost a train. I listened, nodded, looked, and tried to picture it all put together, and at first I thought it might be too much for our smallish wedding. However, once I saw everything, I knew it was absolutely perfect. During my fitting, a gentleman brought me a note from Charlie saying he was thinking about me. I didn’t think the day, already surreal, could get any better, and yet it did.
After our fitting, Mr. Armani invited us to his personal villa for lunch, and Casa Armani, as you would expect, was exquisite. It was perfect. Charlie and I felt like the Beverly Hillbillies. We traded nervous glances through the meal, fearful we might break or spill something. But we had an amazing time, enjoying good food and conversation together. The meal couldn’t have been better. The art was museum quality. Even the air had a unique fragrance. It was the quintessential once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The next day Charlie and I attended Mr. Armani’s fashion show, and in keeping with the theme of the trip, we were dressed head to toe in Armani, which had been sent to our hotel. It was Charlie’s first fashion show, and he was excited, and cute. Right before the show, Sophia Loren was ushered in. She stopped to say hello to Charlie, who had met her through his father many years earlier. I was in awe. Meeting her, the most beautiful woman in Italy, was the icing on the cake.
We were lucky to spend a few days in Paris, where Charlie had an event at Disneyland Paris. The two of us ran around the theme park like a couple of kids. I still have a picture of us on a roller coaster; Charlie’s face is priceless, and to this day our daughters love that photo. Once back in L.A., the vibe changed slightly when we got the news that Spin City had been canceled. We knew the realities of the TV business: ratings were everything, and Spin City had struggled to keep viewers. But we were surprised. Charlie took it hard. I couldn’t believe it. Only two months earlier he’d won a Golden Globe. We hugged and talked, and I was glad I could be there for him, offering support and comfort. Hopefully that took some of the sting out of disappointments such as this one. I knew he’d be there to help me if the situation were reversed. We had each other now. We were a team. We’d figure things out. Charlie was talented, and I knew more work would come his way. We were getting married in three months. We had a wedding to plan. We had our lives to live together.
I didn’t think three months was much time to plan a wedding, but if anyone could pull it off, Mindy could, and indeed she had everything under control. Anytime I worried about something, she calmed me down. Mark’s Garden created gorgeous flower arrangements for the tables, with lots of red roses and some champagne grapes, and since I love gardenias, he suggested a large gardenia in front of each guest’s place setting, which was just the kind of little touch I loved. Our favorite part was picking out the wedding cake; a large box of samples was delivered to our home, and we picked through the different flavors. Mindy helped us with the seating, and that left just one detail—our first dance.
Neither of us danced, and the idea of a solo in front of our families and friends made us wish we could find stand-ins. But that wasn’t an option. We decided to take private dance lessons. Since we had no confidence in our abilities, we hired the best teacher we would think of, famed choreographer Debbie Allen. She was great, and learning with Charlie was new and fun and lots of laughs. I found myself looking forward to our lessons. “See, I told you,” said Debbie, who put together a romantic routine for us.
One night, Charlie came home and said he had a surprise for me, but he wanted me to guess. He wouldn’t give me any hints other than to say he’d seen an old friend. He was smiling ear to ear. I couldn’t figure out what kind of surprise he meant. Then I saw his wrist was bandaged. “You didn’t!” I said. He nodded, his grin growing even bigger. “Yup.”
I knew instantly. He’d gotten a tattoo. I couldn’t believe it, if only because he was getting three lasered off. He removed the bandage and there it was, my name, freshly inked and shining in the light like baby skin. I let out a big “awwww.” I think a tattoo can be sexy, certainly intimate, and meaningful, and Charlie’s was all three. No one had ever gotten a tattoo for me. I jokingly said he should’ve kept the tattoo on his ankle, the letter D, with a pair of angel wings, which he’d gotten for his first wife. As I told him, he got lucky marrying two girls in a row with the same first initial.
Well, being that I didn’t have any ink on my body and had never planned on it, I quickly decided to follow his lead. I was going to get a tattoo (perhaps I should’ve followed my gut; it’s the kiss of death to get someone’s name imprinted on your skin, trust me). At the time, I thought, how could I not after his grand show of affection? I eventually did get a tattoo, but I waited until after we were married. I had other matters on my calendar—such as my final fitting for my wedding dress. Mr. Armani’s team flew out to L.A., and my mom came with me to this one. I’ll never forget her face seeing me in a wedding dress for the first time. She stared at me from across the room, smiling, as her eyes filled with tears, and then suddenly she was crying. “I’m just happy,” she said. I’m sure I’ll do the same when my girls get ready to walk down the aisle.
I was ready when the big day finally arrived. The night before our rehearsal, the press learned the wedding was going to be in the lush backyard of Spin City creator Gary David Goldberg’s Brentwood home, and in a last-minute change of plans we staged the rehearsal in our condo’s banquet room. Everyone piled in and we went through the motions as best we could, sharing nervous laughs about having to be there because of paparazzi. Father Michael had both families sit in a circle and asked each person to say something they were grateful for and then offer us a wish for the long journey that would be our marriage. Hearing all those loving thoughts turned me into a sniveling sap. It was beyond sweet. Then all of us retreated to a fabulous dinner at the Hotel Bel-Air, the place Charlie and I had our first date, and finally, late that night, Charlie and I went our separate ways. I wanted the next time he saw me to be when I walked down the aisle.
I woke up the next day feeling rested and full of anticipation, yet determined to enjoy every moment, and I did, especially spending it with my mom and sister. I went over to Gary’s house early, bringing a gift for Charlie—a watch engraved on the back with our wedding date and the words “Time stood still.” Once he arrived, my dad took it to him. We got ready in separate rooms. I don’t know where the time went; it certainly didn’t stand still. Though the day was spent getting ready with my mom and sister, I had no idea where the hours went when I finally got in my dress and heard the music playing outside. Peeking outside, I took deep breaths and felt my heart thump excitedly in my chest. Everything felt good and perfect, as I’d hoped. I couldn’t have been happier. Neither, it seemed, could my parents, whose mix of excitement, jitters, and unabashed love for me was adorable. I gave my mom a kiss and then held my dad’s hand until it was time for us to walk down the aisle. At that point, I went into some kind of parallel universe where I simply counted my steps, smiled, made eye contact with Charlie, who looked dashingly handsome, and thought, “Oh my God, I’m getting married.”
Charlie and I exchanged vows under a magnificent old tree festooned with more than two thousand red roses that appeared to the eighty guests as if they were floating in the nighttime sky. I’ll never forget the intoxicating smell of the roses combined with candles everywhere.
Indeed, when I took a moment to survey the scene, it looked gorgeous and magical, like the fantasy I’d envisioned, and I couldn’t have felt any more beautiful than I did in my antique-satin gown and high-heeled Manolo Blahniks. It was all perfect: the string quartet, my bouquet of white and ivory roses, the snippets from our love letters that Father Kennedy read during the ceremony, and finally our parents lighting a candle for us. We created a wonderfully romantic day, and we shared it with the most important people in our lives. We were able to indulge, but you don’t need a lot of money to accomplish the same thing. It’s the spirit that matters and provides the memories. After we kissed, I surprised Charlie. A gospel choir filed in wearing black baseball caps embroidered with the initials CD and sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” He loved it, and it got everyone in a party mood. As our guests filed in to the reception, Charlie and I snuck off by ourselves to have a moment to soak it all in. We were married. It felt surreal and wonderful. I loved him so much and was honored to be his wife.
The rest of the night was pure fun. Our first dance, to Journey’s “Open Arms,” was special, and I have a beautiful picture of Charlie kissing my hand and dipping me. We fed each other cake; I tossed my garter, and guess who caught my bouquet? Charlie’s teenage daughter! Later that night, Charlie and I checked into the Beverly Hills Hotel. He carried me through the door. Our limo driver captured the moment with one of those inexpensive throwaway cameras. While cheap, it did the job and caught a special moment on film.
After spending two days in the hotel, we flew to Anguilla for a picture-perfect honeymoon of sun, sand, and sightseeing. One day, we took a boat ride, and when Charlie introduced me to the captain as “my wife, Denise,” I melted. I loved the way that sounded. I couldn’t believe how drastically my life had changed in the eight months since our first good-night kiss. It kept getting better and better, like the best dream ever.
4
ONE OF THE first things I did as a newlywed was to change my last name to Sheen. I decided to use my maiden name only for work. I also sold my house, gave all my furniture to my parents, and moved into Charlie’s house. I’d stayed there countless times before, but something was different, permanent, and hilarious when I pulled into the driveway with all my clothes. I turned to my four dogs in the back and said, “Well, we’re home.”
Even though everything in the house was done in black, from the marble floors to the carpet to the kitchen, I made the transition easily. Charlie thought it would bother me to live in a home that had the look and feel of a busy bachelor pad, but other than wishing for a little more warmth, I was fine. As I repeatedly told people who asked that question, including my husband, the past was the past. I’m someone who’s able to start fresh, whether it’s moving on after a disagreement or moving into a new home. It’s healthier.
I did encounter some strange features, such as the bedroom door that was bulletproof. A fire pole was in the closet (which one of our cats fell through, but he was okay) in case a quick escape to the ground floor was necessary. And the house had a panic room. But with the right attitude, I saw these as perks. Hey, I’d never felt safer when I slept. The home itself, though, was great, and we could stay there in plenty of comfort until we saved up enough money to move. I know hearing me say that we had to save might sound strange. But we were like anyone else. We had to watch our pennies and put money in the bank if we wanted to move into a home that would be ours.
I’d heard and read and been warned that the first year of marriage is the most difficult. I also talked to my mom about the issues she and my dad had when they were starting out, at ages seventeen and twenty-one, with a baby, and compared to them, I counted my blessings. But the truth was, Charlie’s and my first year of marriage was the best and easiest and the only good year. I thought, “Well, if this is the toughest it’s going to get, marriage is going to be a piece of cake.” I was naïve.
But couplehood did seem to suit us. That year, I worked on a few different projects, including a small part in Richard Curtis’s charming romantic comedy Love Actually, and Charlie took meetings for new projects. After a few of them, he zeroed in on one specific TV series, a new CBS sitcom called Two and a Half Men. One day he handed me a script and asked for my opinion. I curled up in a chair, started to read, and an hour later declared it a no-brainer. “This is a gem,” I said. “You have to do it.”
Charlie agreed and shot the pilot, which I thought turned out exceptional in every way, from the writing to the on-screen chemistry Charlie had with his costar Jon Cryer. The network thought so, too. Just before CBS’s midsummer announcement that the show would be on their fall lineup, Charlie went to work on Scary Movie 3 in Vancouver. In June, he returned home for our one-year anniversary, and we celebrated with a romantic three-day retreat to the Montage hotel in Laguna. A few weeks later, I visited him in Vancouver. The next day after our reunion I woke up with a surreal yet strong premonition that our romance the night before had left me feeling something I’d never experienced.
That’s right. I had a sense that I was pregnant. Since I’d never been pregnant before, I had no idea what it would feel like, or if at this early moment, it would feel like anything at all. Nevertheless, I felt something, not physically, just a gut feeling. But I shrugged it off and went about my business, which is indicative of my personality. I told myself it probably wasn’t anything other than my imagination.
After Charlie finished the movie, we squeezed in a getaway to Turks and Caicos. Pining for some relaxing alone-time before he started production on Two and a Half Men, which we knew at the outset would require long hours, we spoiled ourselves with spa treatments and workouts. I got massages, took yoga classes, and did Pilates, though instead of feeling rested and invigorated, I felt the opposite, queasy and light-headed. I wanted to blame it on the heat, but a little voice in my head said, “It’s not the heat”
I ended up opening my laptop, searched “early pregnancy,” and read the symptoms.
Bingo.
I had every symptom except puking. Thank God!
I didn’t tell Charlie yet, but when we got back home, I called my sister and asked her to send me a pregnancy test. If I went to the store and bought one, it would end up on the front page of Us magazine. When the test arrived, I took it in the bathroom, and waited. Within a few moments, I saw an extremely faint line, indicating positive. However, since the line was barely visible, I didn’t believe it. Too impatient to wait for my sister to mail me another one, I hurried to the pharmacy and bought ten tests. Yes, I bought ten. I peed on all of them, too. And guess what? I saw the same damn faint line in every single one.
Why was it so faint?
Why not one way or the other? Why did it have to be wishywashy? I wasn’t a wishy-washy person. I was a one-way-or-the-other person.
Frustrated and anxious for clarity, I called the 800 number on the back of the box and explained the situation to the woman who answered. Without pausing to think about possibilities, she said it was positive—even if the line was faint. A line was a line, and that meant I was pregnant.
“Even if I can barely see it?” I asked.
“Yes, even if you can barely see it,” she said.
“It can’t be negative? How can it be positive if it’s barely there?”
“Ma’am, even if it’s barely there, it’s positive.”
I still wasn’t convinced. After hanging up, I thought, what does she know? I needed a second opinion—I took the pee tests, lined those fuckers up, and I called in Charlie, who saw the pee tests set up across the bathroom counter and funnily enough didn’t think I was nuts for having so many of them. Like me, he held each one up to the light as I filled him in on my conversation with the woman from the 800 number. Then he turned to me and nodded. The next day, my doctor ran a blood test and confirmed what the 800 lady and Charlie had already acknowledged. I was pregnant.
It was great news, but completely unexpected, and it took me a bit to get over the shock. I left the doctor’s office and went straight to an audition. In fact I had to hurry there, so I wouldn’t be late, which was typical of my tendency to overbook myself when I should probably be canceling appointments. But I was in such a daze from the news that I still can’t recall what I auditioned for. My head was up my ass and, needless to say, I didn’t get the part.
But sitting in traffic gave me time to actually process that I was pregnant, and I’ll tell you what, I got excited—and not just because I would soon be able to drive in the car-pool lane. I believe things happen for a reason, and even though we didn’t set out to have a baby at this time, it was obviously meant to be, and I was thrilled. I was suddenly part of something much bigger than myself. I believe children pick their parents, and I was so happy that this unborn soul was choosing Charlie and me. I was also surprised at how easily I got pregnant. I guess it’s true what they say—it can happen the very first time!
And how did Charlie feel about becoming a daddy again? Of the two of us, I was the more spontaneous, the one who didn’t always plan every hour of the day, the one who could roll with the punches. Charlie balanced me. He was the voice of reason, the schedule maker, and the one who had everything in order. I don’t know if he had a touch of OCD—okay, he was OCD—but whatever I lacked, he had. For him the pregnancy was a shocker, and though it was a serious left turn from the few years we intended to spend before thinking of starting a family, he came around, flashed his trademark smile, and let me know he was excited that we were going to be parents.