Though it is likely to have painted him in a chivalrous light, Guy Ritchie was discreet enough not to provide his side of the story. Unlike Bird — who discussed the fight with the media — Ritchie kept his mouth shut, which, no doubt, earned him Madonna’s appreciation. About a year later, Guy commented to Steve Hobbs of GQ, “There’s something honest about violence. Some things are just better settled there and then. Of course,” he concluded, “it helps if you are a big bastard.”
Madonna’s Moment
She had become a better person — not only as a mother, but also as a girlfriend. It seemed that by the end of 1999, Madonna’s maternal accomplishments had also influenced the way she related to the man in her life. Now, as a result of dealing with the demands of her child, she was more patient or, at the very least, she tried to be understanding. Of course, it was difficult for her not to act in a self-possessed manner on occasion. After all, she was still a wealthy person who had spent the better part of the last fifteen years a pampered, self-involved star. However, she was now attempting to be a more well-rounded, giving person, not only because of Lourdes, but also because she had learned her lessons with all of those previous dreadful romances. “I finally figured out that if you want to have the right kind of man in your life, you have to be the right kind of woman,” she told Cosmopolitan. Madonna’s relationship with Guy Ritchie was working in ways that simply had not been possible with men like Sean, Warren, John Jr., or even Carlos and Andy.
Guy appreciated it when Madonna spent time talking about his projects rather than only about her own. It made him smile to see her with Lourdes, playing with her, disciplining her or just sharing a quiet moment. She wasn’t as selfish as she had been in the past — though, really, he had never known that side of her. As difficult as it may have been for her detractors to accept — or maybe even believe — “the Material Girl” was now a mature woman, the kind a man might desire not only in his life, but in the life of his child. Certainly, a great deal of emotional baggage came with being Madonna’s consort — there were days when she could be tough, demanding, impossible — but Guy seemed to feel it was worth it, especially when he was at home, alone with the woman he liked to call “the missus.”
To the outside world, Guy and Madonna are an extraordinarily attractive couple, tanned and healthy, lithe and smiling, with the unassuming aura of two who have the best life has to offer. Try as they might to understand each other, their petty arguments and disagreements do mirror those of any normal couple . . . albeit in abnormal situations. For instance, at the end of December 1999, Guy found himself in the middle of a typical Madonna-related drama when the couple spent New Year’s Eve at Donatella Versace’s Miami Beach mansion.
Madonna asked for — and received — a police escort to the Versace bash, so she wouldn’t have to fight traffic getting through the millennium masses crowding the twelve-bedroom, thirteen-bathroom Ocean Drive palazzo outside which Gianni Versace was slain in July 1997.
“Seemed a little extreme to me,” Guy later observed in front of partygoers. He looked dashing, as always, in the kind of “couture” pinstriped suit that certain English gentlemen favor.
“Well, I absolutely detest traffic,” Madonna explained in a petulant tone. She then took off her wrap and, wordlessly, handed it to Guy. Underneath, she wore a pinch-waisted blouse and a 1940s-inspired tailored skirt.
“But you weren’t even driving,” Guy noted as he took the garment. “We were in a limousine.”
“And your point is?” Madonna asked, giving him a look.
“My point is —” Guy began to explain. Stubbornly, he did not seem to want to abandon the subject.
“Oh my God. Guy! Please,” Madonna exclaimed, with a smile. She then grabbed Gwyneth Paltrow’s hand and began walking with her into a crowd of people. (Gwyneth and her boyfriend Guy Oseary — a chief executive at Madonna’s Maverick label — were staying with Madonna in the guest house of her home in Coconut Grove, Miami Beach.) “He has a lot to learn about dating a woman of means,” Madonna said of Guy, a conspiratorial grin taking the edge off her criticism. Smiling, the winsome Gwyneth, in skinny suede pants and a belted leather jacket, wagged an index finger at her friend as if to say, “Now, now. Don’t be incorrigible.”
“A double Scotch,” Guy instructed a hovering waiter. He shook his head, good-naturedly. “No rocks.”
At the dinner for seventy-five in the mansion’s courtyard, Madonna and Guy Ritchie were accompanied by Gwyneth Paltrow, Guy Oseary, Ingrid Casares, Rupert Everett, Madonna’s brother Christopher Ciccone, and Orlando Pita, her hairdresser. Giant plastic tarpaulins had been tied to palm trees on either side of the mansion to block the view of any fans or photographers as semi-clad men served hors d’oeuvres and champagne.
“It was a true night of decadence and debauchery,” Madonna later recalled. “It was the best New Year’s I’ve ever had. There were shirtless men with oiled bodies dancing on podiums and there was a mambo band playing and this really yummy food. People were pogoing, people were jumping up and down on the furniture. I don’t know how many drinks I had. All I know is they kept sloshing out of the glass and pretty soon you have twenty half-drinks . . . I was with the perfect group of friends.”
About half an hour before midnight — as Madonna and party devoured steak and salmon — actress/singer Jennifer Lopez sauntered in, uninvited. Jennifer was in Miami to avoid the media glare in New York following her recent arrest with her boyfriend Sean (Puffy) Combs. A dark mood seemed to envelop Madonna — who was a bit tipsy by this time — as soon as she noticed Jennifer. Standing up, she announced to her friends, “Dinner’s over.” She then walked to a far corner of the patio, dutifully followed by four of her five companions: the two Guys (Ritchie and Oseary), Ingrid and Rupert. However, Gwyneth remained at the table, gazing deeply into an empty wineglass and seeming lost in thought.
It had been a tense New Year’s celebration for Gwyneth, who had recently decided to end her brief relationship with Guy Oseary, saying that he “just isn’t right for me.” However, she said she would keep a promise she had made to him to be his date for the all-important New Year’s Eve.
Earlier in the day, Madonna and her friends had boarded her yacht and departed from the wharf on her property, their destination being Rosie O’Donnell’s Miami home in South Beach, about fifteen minutes away by boat. The yacht was piloted by Madonna’s bodyguard. Once at O’Donnell’s, Gwyneth spent about an hour crying on Madonna’s shoulder about how much she missed actor and former boyfriend Ben Affleck, whom she met in 1997 on the set of Shakespeare in Love (for which she won an Academy Award). Perhaps feeling caught in the middle of a delicate situation — since Guy Oseary was not only a business partner of hers at Maverick but also a good friend — Madonna did her best to be diplomatic and understanding. She cut the visit to her friend’s short, and went back to her own home.
She had flown her yoga instructors to Miami so that she and her friends could relax and meditate. (“I have yoga wherever I go,” she said.) Gwyneth, though, wasn’t interested in yoga at this time and wasted the rest of the day at Madonna’s just moping.
That night, much to Madonna’s annoyance, Gwyneth spent the whole time on her cell phone talking to Ben Affleck, who was in Boston. Madonna was overheard telling Gwyneth, “You are absolutely smothering that poor man. Will you please get off the phone and just enjoy the evening.”
“Oh, but I miss my sweet little Benny,” Gwyneth said, mournfully. According to a witness, Madonna rolled her eyes. “Your sweet little Benny is going to jump ship if you don’t stop acting so needy,” she said. As the willowy Gwyneth sat on the floor hugging her knees, Madonna studied her in a sad way, and then walked off.
There was a great deal of speculation as to why Madonna was so annoyed by the presence of Jennifer Lopez. The truth was that she was angry about comments the singer had made about her and Gwyneth in a recently published interview.
About Madonna, Lopez observed, “Do I think she�
��s a great performer? Yeah. Do I think she’s a great actress? No. Acting is what I do. I’m like, ‘Hey, don’t spit on my craft.’” About Gwyneth, she said: “I don’t remember anything she was in. Some people get hot by association. I heard more about her and Brad Pitt than I ever heard about her work.” Through mutual friends, Madonna also learned that Lopez had made other unkind comments about her, which the published interview did not include.
“Let’s go dancing,” Madonna said, finally. Then, she and her party moved on to Bar Room, one of the nightclubs owned by the entrepreneurial Ingrid (now also a talent manager representing Victor Calderone, a DJ who remixes many of Madonna’s songs). Within fifteen minutes, Madonna found herself surrounded by a crowd of excited people, each of whom was vying for just a single, precious second of her attention. George Cukor once said of Marilyn Monroe that every time she entered a room “it was an occasion.” Certainly, the same could be said of Madonna. Moving slowly and deliberately through the adoring throng, she smiled and greeted people as if the party were in her honor. Soon, she was enveloped by a group of revelers.
Meanwhile, Guy Ritchie sat at the bar, alone.
It had never ceased to astonish Guy, he would say, the way he became practically invisible whenever he was with Madonna in public. Most people just looked right past him to focus their attention on his internationally known girlfriend, and on whatever it was she was doing, and with whoever she was doing it.
“Guy, get over here,” Madonna shouted out at him from the crowd. “I want you to meet someone.”
The weary-looking Guy Ritchie turned to a man he didn’t realize was a reporter for a Miami newspaper. He raised his glass to him before taking a sip. Then, he rose. “Hopefully, next New Year’s Eve,” he concluded, his voice drained and flat, “I will be home, in bed.”
By four A.M., the New Year’s party was in full, chaotic swing. As the hypnotizing strains of pumping techno music filled the room, Madonna jumped up on a table and began dancing wildly to the rhythm. “C’mon up here,” she beckoned to Gwyneth Paltrow with a teasing smile.
After a moment’s hesitation, Gwyneth leaped onto the table to join her friend. Once up there, to the delight of at least partygoers, Madonna and Gwyneth locked eyes and began dancing, both seemingly in a seductive trance, their movements unabashedly voluptuous. With their hands arched over their heads, they teased and beckoned each other as they performed what looked like an impromptu version of a Greek ritualistic dance called the tsamikos (where each dancer clutches the corner of a white handkerchief held aloft — only there was no handkerchief between the two friends).
Though the music was already loud, it somehow seemed to grow louder.
As Madonna danced unrestrained, one can only guess at the kinds of images that may have crossed her mind. It was the end of the millennium. Ever since Lourdes’s birth, she had been feeling contemplative. While blinded by streams of color from dazzling lights, perhaps faces from the past flashed before her — snapshots of Christopher Flynn and Camille Barbone and Dan Gilroy and Erica Bell and Jellybean Benitez and Sean Penn and Warren Beatty and John Kennedy, Jr., and Sandra Bernhard and Carlos Leon and Andy Bird and all the rest — names and faces of friends and foes from years gone by, all charging forward in a nostalgic rush of millennial reflectiveness, evoking feelings easily related to at that time of the year — only perhaps even more sentimental given that it was a unique period, the end of one millennium, the beginning of another.
While Gwyneth Paltrow moved about the table, Madonna circled her, a predator scrutinizing her mouth-watering prey. Just as she had always sized up her career, each challenge viewed as an adversary forced to submit to her will, Madonna looked at Gwyneth with hungry eyes. Then, as if she could no longer disguise her appetite for warm young flesh, Madonna pounced. She grabbed Gwyneth and pushed her backward so that her spine was arched. Forced to surrender to her friend’s will, Gwyneth gave way. Then, as the crowd roared its approval with applause and whistles, Madonna did what she has always done best: she defied expectations. She kissed Gwyneth full on the mouth, letting herself go, giving herself to Gwyneth Paltrow, giving herself to the moment, breathing life into it and then living it for all it was worth.
Joyously lost in Madonna’s Moment, Gwyneth continued moving her body to the music, her face magnificent in its concentration as she returned the kiss. When Madonna finally released her, Gwyneth remained in motion on the table, now with a satisfied smile and never looking more alive, more beautiful. Onlookers continued applauding and stomping in time as they watched Gwyneth become one with the pounding, reverberating music. Her romantic problems, her concerns about this fellow or that one, had apparently been erased, completely eradicated by Madonna’s Moment.
Madonna jumped off the table to watch as the perfect, pristine prototype of the new generation of blonde, sexy icon, the sweet and innocent and naive Gwyneth Paltrow, danced on a tabletop — having just been kissed by another woman. Who knows what Gwyneth was thinking, or how her own life would be informed by the moment, if at all. However, for Madonna, it had been just another act of complete and typical disregard for anyone else. If anything, it had been a kiss that demonstrated a wonderful permanence about her personality. Yes, she’s changed. Yes, she’s mellowed. But Kabbalah or no Kabbalah, at the core, she’s still who she always was — a woman at her best when creating outrageous moments and then giving herself to them completely, and forcing everyone else to participate as well, like it or not.
As Gwyneth Paltrow continued her one-woman show on the tabletop, lost in her own pleasure, Madonna nodded in approval, her eyes flashing. Then, she hollered out, raising her voice above the strident din and employing her best Austin Powers impression. “Yeah, baby,” Madonna shouted out at her friend. “Yeah, baby!”
Music
By the year 2000, Madonna had been a certified, card-carrying icon for almost two decades. In the universe of pop stardom, she’d truly done it all. Out of nowhere she came — not on the back of a celebrity mentor or as any famous person’s protégée, but on her spunky, anonymous own — to make a single record that soon morphed into a catalog of international, multimillion sellers.
She’d done concert tours around the world, becoming a captivating performer in the process. She’d developed into both a capable songwriter and record producer. She appeared on film, on Broadway. She formed companies, generating millions of dollars for herself and her entertainment conglomerates, as well as the individuals surrounding her. She made at least one comeback of sorts, the Grammy Award – winning Ray of Light. By the onset of the twenty-first century, it would seem that Madonna the pop star had done it all as one of the most controversial as well as most emulated female performers in show business history. After proving herself in nearly every category she tackled, there was really only one goal to which a self-respecting pop star could now aspire: make another hit record.
Equally as challenging as attaining pop stardom is maintaining it, a fact to which any million-selling artist will attest. By the latter part of the twentieth century, Michael Jackson — the only other pop star in show business as commercially and artistically successful as Madonna — had seen his career slip significantly. Of course, like Madonna, if Jackson never made another recording or never stepped onto another stage, his legend as one of the greatest entertainers of all time would still be assured. Still, his inability to keep pace with the ever-changing, trend-driven world of pop music became embarrassingly apparent in the late 1990s with the release of HIStory: Past, Present, and Future, Book I, a two-disc set of new and previously released material. The CD’s disappointing sales could not be salvaged, even by a manic, supercharged duet between the King of Pop and his sister Janet called “Scream.” In recent years, Madonna’s peers Prince and Janet had also seen their record sales slip, the CD sales of both superstars certainly not what they were in their salad days.
By the late nineties, and into 2000, Madonna, the aforementioned artists, the music industry at large
and in fact the entire contemporary pop music world had been taken over by what will probably be a fleeting trend for “boy bands” and sexy, teenage female bubble-gum artists, the craze’s front line of offense being the million-selling Backstreet Boys, N’Sync, Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. Still, it wasn’t as if Madonna’s career was in the doldrums at the beginning of the new year. Ray of Light had sold millions of copies worldwide, the project having been hailed as bold and refreshing. However, some of Madonna’s critics viewed Light as another calculated ruse on the part of the artist to exploit rave-inspired electronica music, which was mostly off mainstream pop’s radar until Madonna got hold of it.
Madonna’s detractors didn’t understand that Ray of Light was actually where Madonna’s personal tastes were at the time — she wasn’t just exploiting a new sound; it was a sound she had studied and enjoyed. Being a mature pop star with a wide range of professional experiences has not diminished her appetite for adventurous new music. While she still loves listening to songs like “Singin’ in the Rain” from classic Hollywood musicals in the personal confines of home and office, Madonna relishes the works of alternative artists and eclectic musicians practically unknown by the masses, such as Anoushka Shankar, daughter of Indian music legend Ravi Shankar.
Madonna Page 40
