James Franco Writes Incredibly Graphic Short Story About Lindsay Lohan
James Franco may have propositioned a 17-year-old girl on Instagram, but he's pretty adamant that he never slept with Lindsay Lohan -- despite being on her hookup list. Still, he recounts being curled up in bed with her at the Chateau Marmont -- a story he relates in some serious detail in a new piece on Vice.
Of course, this piece is referred to as fiction, but there's no denying that the character 'Lindsay Lohan' in Franco's story he is referring to is actually Lindsay Lohan. After all, he admitted that they became friends while both living at the Chateau Marmont hotel, where this story, 'Bungalow 89,' takes place.
My phone rang. She let it ring until I answered.
“You’re not going to let me sleep, are you?”
“Do you think this is me? Lindsay Lohan. Say it. Say it, like you have ownership. It’s not my name anymore.”
“I just want to sleep on your couch. I’m lonely.”
“We’re not going to have sex. If you want to come in, I’ll read you a story.”
“A bedtime story?”
“It’s called ‘A Perfect Day for Bananafish.’”
Later in the story, Franco recalls how Lohan came into his room and actually read her the tale:
She knocked on the door. She was in her pajamas. She had bare feet.
Once upon a time a guy, a Hollywood guy, read some Salinger to a young woman who hadn’t read him before. Let’s call this girl Lindsay. She was a Hollywood girl, but a damaged one. I knew that she would like Salinger, because most young women do. I read her two of the Nine Stories, “A Perfect Day for Bananafish” and “For Esmé—with Love and Squalor.” “Bananafish” was great because it has a nagging mother on the other end of the phone line, nothing like Lindsay’s real mother, but still, the mother-daughter thing was good for her to hear.
And while he plainly states that he didn't sleep with her, he reveals some pretty personal (and damaging) information that Lohan supposedly shared with him:
Now we were lying in bed. I wasn’t going to f--- her. She had her head on my shoulder. She started to talk. I let her.
“Before things got bad, I was in New York for the premiere of a film I did with Robert Altman and Meryl Streep. After the movie I took James Franco and Meryl’s two young daughters to the club du jour, Bungalow 8, in the Meatpacking District. It was my place. All my friends were there: school friends, my mother looking her slutty best, bodyguards, and Greeks. We had our own table in the corner, our own bottle.
“I took two Oxycontins and things got bad. The DJ was this bearded dude named Paul. I remember requesting Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believin’.’ I remember sitting back down, and I remember trying to speak up, to talk to that cute boy in a red gingham shirt, James.
“I was slurring. My words rolled around and got sticky and didn’t come out.
“My friend from school kept talking to him, trying to be cute, but she was only there because of me. I told Barry, my bodyguard, to take her away from our table. And he banished her.
And afterwards, he philosophizes about her troubled personal life and career:
I ran my fingers through her hair and thought about this girl sleeping on my chest, our fictional Hollywood girl, Lindsay. What will she do? I hope she gets better. You see, she is famous. She was famous because she was a talented child actress, and now she’s famous because she gets into trouble. She is damaged. For a while, after her high hellion days, she couldn’t get work because she couldn’t get insured. They thought she would run off the sets to party. Her career suffered, and she started getting arrested (stealing, DUIs, car accidents, other things). But the arrests, even as they added up, were never going to be an emotional bottom for her, because she got just as much attention for them as she used to get for her film performances. She would get money offers for her jailhouse memoirs, crazy offers. So how would she ever stop the craziness when the response to her work and the response to her life had converged into one? Two kinds of performance, in film and in life, had melted into one.
PopCrushers, what do you think of James Franco's story about Lindsay Lohan?