Mary Cherry Will Rise Again
So much has changed in the year since I first talked to Leslie Grossman, who plays Mary Cherry on Popular. Her publicist takes my calls now, for one thing. And although I don't have her home phone number (a very wise move on her part, by the way), she has actually started to write me emails from her husband's email account. She has also adopted a Chihuahua who is named Oscar. "Originally I named him 'Gorgeous,' but my husband put his foot down. He was like, 'Look, I already agreed to own a Chihuahua, don't make me run down the street shouting, "Gorgeous! Come to daddy!"'"
Leslie told me I could ask her anything. Her only stipulation was that I wouldn't let her swear. Last time I interviewed her, Leslie's father found the interview while surfing the web and was shocked at the profanity.
Okay, you know those Vanity Fair puff pieces where a writer like Kevin Sessums or Michael Schnayerson just gushes about how Gwyneth Paltrow arrives at his door with take-out from Dean and Deluca -- because she's so sweet and down to earth -- and they walk around Manhattan and shop and she smokes a lot of Marlboro Lights?
Oh, of course. Have you ever read that article in Brill's Content about all those celebrity articles? Every single one of them is the same. The women are described as "down to earth" and "disarming" and the men are all "boyishly charming."
Exactly. So what would you and I be doing if I were writing a cover article about you for Vanity Fair?
You'd come visit me in my trailer in Burbank which smells like a Porta-John. You'd go, "This isn't glamourous!" And I'd go, "I know! It's like living in a Porta-John." And you'd go, "God, I never imagined it would be like this with this orange carpeting." It would be really loud because there was this construction site nearby, and we'd eat Lay's BBQ Potato Chips because that's as fancy as Craft Services gets. And there'd be nobody bringing me a latte. I'd have to go and make it myself in the half-broken machine.
And then I'd write about how disarming and down to earth you are.
And how youthful I look in person despite the fact that I'm 29.
No way! I thought you were a precocious twelve-year-old.
What would you be wearing?
I'd be wearing sweats and a tank top. I dress terribly to work. Everybody does. You have to practically wear pajamas all the time because you're always changing in and out of your costume. I'm just destroying every ounce of mystery about the set. I should be telling you I'm wearing a Bob Mackie gown.