Jason Priestley

by Jason Priestley

  In those days the Sunset Strip was very much geared to the heavy metal rockers. Guns N’ Roses and Ratt ruled. All the girls who wanted to hang out with the rocker guys followed them to West Hollywood. Big hair, black leather, spandex . . . that was the look on the Strip at the time. My friends and I weren’t those guys; we hung out in Hollywood. We used to drink for cheap at the Sunset Social Club and the Dresden Room. Sometimes we’d go to Prince’s club downtown, the Glam Slam, to dance and drink all night. Other nights we would just hang out at the duplex or drive around playing Seatbelt Dummies, which never failed to amuse us.

  There was plenty of fun and good times, but work always came first for me. I was out there auditioning every day. I had work papers that were good for a few months, and I needed to beat that ticking clock. I was working hard every night preparing material, then auditioning the next day. I was getting multiple callbacks. The energy was flowing. I was on the cusp of something big . . . I could just feel it.

  Burbank

  91523

  After a long run on Dynasty and The Colbys, Stephanie Beacham was shooting a new pilot for NBC called Sister Kate. Around the same time I auditioned for the lead in a Disney Channel miniseries called Teen Angel. I was on my third callback for Sister Kate when I got the news that I’d won the role on Teen Angel.

  This marked the true turning point in my career; at nineteen, Teen Angel was the “big break” I’d been waiting for. Disney had high hopes for this movie; they were really hoping it would be a hit and spawn some sequels. It was in their best interest to ensure that I’d be around in the future. By taking this role, I got a three-year work permit, a huge break for me. Shooting began at once and I was needed on set immediately, so I left right away for location in Arizona.

  I played the “teen angel” of the title, a young guy named Buzz Gunderson who had been killed in the late 1950s and had been waiting nearly thirty years for his first assignment. Buzz was sent back to Earth to be the guardian angel for another teenager, a kid named Dennis, who was enamored of the ’50s lifestyle. Adam Biesk was my costar. The girl with the lead role was a teenager named Renee O’Connor; she would later become very well known on Xena: Warrior Princess.

  With acting, it’s either feast or famine, so naturally in the middle of shooting Teen Angel, the call came in to my agent from Sister Kate. The network wanted me back for one absolute last, final audition for the top brass at NBC. We were night shooting at the time, so the producers tinkered a bit with my schedule and arranged it so I could shoot all night and then hop on the first flight from Phoenix for the one-hour flight trip back to Los Angeles the next morning.

  I needed a ride from the Burbank airport over to NBC for the final test. Dave was on location shooting a movie, so I called Brad, the only other friend I had who was responsible enough to actually pick me up when he said he would. Sure enough, he met me at the airport in trusty Runaround Sue, drove me to NBC, and waited during my meeting. The audition went really well; after my final test, they told me I got the part right then and there. I went downstairs and gave Brad the good news. The two of us immediately headed out to celebrate.

  We pulled into the parking lot of the closest bar we could find, a place called Dalt’s. At that time the area was still full of lots of little mom-and-pop establishments: stores, restaurants, neighborhood bars for the locals. Now, of course, it’s the heart of downtown Burbank, full of big corporate office buildings with upscale chain restaurants like Morton’s and McCormick & Schmick’s as the anchor tenants on their ground floors.

  The bar was cool and dark and quiet in the late morning. Brad and I sat at the bar and did one celebratory shot, toasting to my success. It was great to have a buddy who was genuinely happy for me. Then it was back to work. He dropped me off at the airport, and I hopped a plane back to Phoenix to finish the shoot.

  The assistant director on Teen Angel was a British guy who was returning to England as soon as production wrapped. He drove a very cool Alfa Romeo Milano that I loved. “Hey, Jason, I have to go back home. I’m going to turn in my car,” he told me. “Unless you want to take over the lease?” I said sure and took over his lease. This was quite a step up from my Honda Interceptor, or Bernie’s Coupe de Ville that I occasionally drove. Definitely a step up from the rented Yugo. Bernie usually didn’t drive, as he couldn’t be bothered to get a license or insurance—again, very Bernie. We drove him to his auditions, or if no one was available, he would drive himself.

  I had one show wrapped, a pilot coming up, and a blue Alfa Romeo Milano.

  Salt Lake City

  84103

  Stephanie Beacham was certainly the hottest nun I’d ever seen. In the Sister Kate pilot she played a brisk, no-nonsense nun who was put in charge of a bunch of orphans at a Catholic home called Redemption House. Besides being beautiful, Stephanie was funny and charming and an incredibly talented actress. She was just coming off a highly successful run as Sable on The Colbys and had decided to take a chance on a very different kind of show. Instead of a glamorous role on an Aaron Spelling nighttime soap, she’d be the star of a standard sitcom surrounded by a whole bunch of kids.

  Right after I shot the pilot, I got some good news: Teen Angel had done well enough in the ratings to merit a sequel. I flew out to Salt Lake City for the shoot.

  I was fooling around just before I left and for some reason punched a wall. No real reason, just doing stupid shit like young guys do. I wound up with a boxer’s fracture, which the doctor wanted to put in a cast. I couldn’t do that, because I was leaving the next day to shoot Teen Angel Returns.

  “Come on,” I told the skeptical doctor. “I’m leaving for Salt Lake City to shoot a movie. I can’t have my hand in a cast!”

  He shook his head but gave me a removable cast with Velcro fastenings to wear whenever I was off-camera. Unfortunately for me, Teen Angel’s Buzz was a very active guy. I had to jump in and out of cars and do all sorts of minor stunts, all of which were agony. I could barely even drive my own car with its stick shift.

  Still, the cast gave me a bit of a bad-boy aura, which was fine with me. That was what was cool at the time—everyone wanted to be bad. Smoking, drinking, sullen expression like you were sucking a lemon, filthy ripped jeans . . . that was the look of the day. Girls liked “bad boys.” As far as girls were concerned, no one could ever say I liked a particular “type”—I liked all kinds! There were some cute girls on this set, including a blonde named Jennie Garth, who played the lead’s friend. But as soon as I laid eyes on Robyn, it was all over.

  Robyn Lively had reddish curls, sparkly brown eyes, and freckles sprinkled over an adorable face. A couple of years younger than I, she still lived at home with her parents in Northridge and was doing quite well with her own acting career. It was the oldest story in the world: Robyn was dating Rick Schroeder, whom she’d met on Silver Spoons, when she and I hooked up on location in Salt Lake City. You know the story: young actors, working together, away from home . . . one thing most definitely led to another. Our clandestine little affair was going great until Rick stopped by for a visit. I was on the outs with Robyn for a few days when Rick rolled into town, but after he took off, I was back in. It was all very cloak-and-dagger.

  Soon enough, of course, we all returned home to L.A., where Robyn and I continued to see each other in secret. Rick was no fool; he had sensed something going on in Salt Lake City. Rick was friendly with my roommate, Dave; the two of them had worked together in the past. Next thing I knew, Rick started coming by the house, oh so casually, supposedly to see Dave. “Hey, Dave, what’s going on, man? Thought I’d drop by and see what was happening.” And then . . . “Oh, Jason. You live here?” Surprised look. “You guys are roommates? That’s awesome.” It was so transparent. There was some sneaking around, some hiding of cars, and even during one particularly close call, a night when Robyn had to hide in the closet. Dave was not happy.

  “Dude. This is not cool,” he would tell me every few days. “This can’t be going o
n here in our apartment. You guys gotta deal with this, man. Tell him. This is so not cool!” Dave was a laid-back surfer kind of guy; he didn’t want any drama. The other thing was, Rick was a good guy, and I liked him.

  The situation was all quite highly charged for a while, until Robyn came clean to Rick in a big cathartic scene—which I was nowhere near. When all the dust had settled, Robyn and I emerged as an official couple. What more can I say? We were so young, and it all meant so much at the time.

  Prospect Studios

  Los Feliz

  90027

  The Sister Kate pilot aired in September of 1989. Next thing I knew, the show was picked up and I was headed to New York for the upfronts to promote the show. Being part of the upfronts—the lavish preview of their season’s offerings networks put on for advertisers, press, and critics—marked a whole new level for me in terms of career advancement.

  Stephanie Beacham and I, along with one of the younger kids and some production staff, sat in a hotel suite on the day of our appearance waiting to be briefed. I was beyond thrilled to be there. Brandon Tartikoff and Warren Littlefield were running NBC at the time, and I was awed by their programming genius. Under their stewardship, NBC was an absolute ratings juggernaut. Nobody could touch them for years and years. I was truly humbled by this opportunity and determined to make the most of it.

  The executives arrived to fill us in on what was happening that day, what to expect when we made our appearance, talking points to mention to the press, their hopes for the show—just general background preparation that I, for one, greatly appreciated. I was happy just to be in the presence of these guys. These powerful, intelligent, game-changing executives really were changing the face of TV.

  Life could not have been better. In addition to a new apartment and a role on a network series lined up, Robyn and I were living out a true storybook romance. Everything just clicked; we were a perfect fit. Our ages were compatible: I was twenty to her eighteen. She was a talented actress, working on series like Twin Peaks and Doogie Howser, M.D. She had come from Powder Springs, Georgia, originally, a real girlie-girl who was ultraromantic. She wanted to do things like exchange cards on our anniversary every month. My friends all loved her too; they thought she was just a doll. Dave, Brad, all the guys—without exception, every friend I had said to me, “That girl’s a keeper.” Believe me, I knew it.

  Robyn’s parents were good people. She lived at home the whole time we dated, so I got to know her mother and stepfather quite well. Robyn’s stepfather, Ernie, was a former actor who ran a highly regarded acting school. Both he and her mom, Elaine, liked me, and I liked hanging out with the family and their adorable baby daughter, Blake. It was clear I was crazy about their older daughter. Why wouldn’t I be . . . she was beautiful, smart, and successful. Truly, we should have starred in a teenage love movie, as our relationship was everything that young love should be.

  Sister Kate was filmed at the ABC lot on Prospect, directly across the hall from Mr. Belvedere, a popular show about a proper British butler living with a typical American family. The two shows shared the same writers and show runners. I kept my head down, did everything I was asked with a smile on my face, and tried to show I was a team player.

  Sister Kate was my first big multicamera, American-style sitcom, and I learned how to deliver a very specific kind of sitcom comedy. The experience was invaluable; not to mention, it was fun. Stephanie was wonderful to work with, and we were glad to have each other as we were the only two adults on the show. Everyone else in the cast was a young kid . . . meaning stage parents galore!

  When I was a kid actor, my mom used to drop me off on the set and pick me up at the end of the day—that’s what people did in the 1970s. I had never seen the kind of nonsense some of these parents were pulling on little kids. To be fair, I saw both ends of the spectrum: kind, loving parents who were there because acting was their kid’s dream, and they were on set to support them every step of the way. Then there was the other, much more disturbing kind of parent: adults pushing their kids mercilessly when it was clear who really dreamed of an acting career.

  The kids on the show could, by law, only work eight hours a day, so the producers would send them all home at the end of the day. Stephanie and I would stay late at night, and the writers would quickly rewrite anything that wasn’t working with the kids so that Stephanie and I had their lines instead and we could get those scenes shot that night.

  The two of us spent many a Friday night together: one A.M., the audience long gone, the two of us shooting scenes that had just been written, tons of new dialogue. Most of the main scenes on that show were shot in the kitchen, so we used to frantically handwrite our dialogue on the cabinets behind each other in pencil. That way, instead of looking each other in the face, we could look just beyond each other’s head and read our dialogue off the cabinets in the background. There was no way we could have memorized it in the sixty seconds since they handed us the new pages. It was a great time.

  For a Halloween episode on the show I dressed up in a nun’s habit just like hers. In the scene Stephanie came down the stairs and walked right up to me; we stood there in identical habits, face-to-face. She stared right at me and burst out, “I thought I was the pretty one!” The live audience loved it; they were laughing and cheering and clapping. There were lots of funny moments and cool guest stars. Still, it wasn’t enough.

  Stephanie’s gamble on a broad comedy with kids unfortunately didn’t pay off the way we all hoped. Sister Kate had a good run for nineteen episodes, but after the first season it was very clear we were on life support. In addition to the invaluable sitcom experience, the show was a financial bonanza for me. I had banked every paycheck without even touching it. It was time to look for my own place.

  The Lot and FOX Studios

  Century City

  90046

  Although I was still officially under contract to NBC, it was clear that Sister Kate was not going to be renewed. My agent, Nick, had been looking around to see what else might be out there. He called me one Wednesday afternoon in the middle of pilot season. “Aaron Spelling is doing a new show and I’ve got the script for the pilot. Read it and see what you think. It’s okay, nothing really special, but because it is Aaron you should probably take a look.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Family moves from the Midwest to L.A. and their two kids have to start over at Beverly Hills High School. All the roles are cast except for this one: the lead guy who plays the son. The production’s ready to go; in fact, they start shooting on Monday, but they’ve got to lock this last role down. Immediately.”

  “This Monday? Wow.”

  “I’m messengering this to your house right now; give it a read and call me tonight.”

  I read the script and agreed with Nick’s assessment—it was okay. Brandon was definitely a role I should at least audition for. I was now twenty, but in TV world could still easily play high school, or fifteen, as Brandon was supposed to be. Nick had set up a meeting for the next afternoon at Spelling Productions. We spoke briefly that night about the script. “Go get it!” he said. I worked on my material late into the night.

  I drove over to the Lot studio, a small, obscure location on Santa Monica and Formosa, and walked over to Aaron Spelling Productions. I checked in and then took a seat in the waiting room of Aaron’s private office. I was surrounded by every other young actor in town, most of whom I knew from chasing other roles. Everybody’s here, I realized. Crap. Pilot season, a new Spelling show—the competition was stiff.

  My name was eventually called and I stood at the huge oak door that opened into Aaron’s inner sanctum. It was at least fifteen feet tall with ornate brass handles. I took a deep breath, pushed open the heavy door, and immediately stepped into the deepest shag carpeting I’d ever seen in my life. Seriously, I was buried nearly to my ankles. The office was huge. A dark-haired girl was sitting with a man on a long white built-in couch that took up an entire wall on o
ne side of the office; Aaron himself was pouring a tumbler of vodka at the full bar set up in another corner. Charlie’s Angels and Dynasty posters covered the walls. The room was the epitome of ’70s chic decor, though it was 1990. I had never seen anything like it in my life.

  The man on the couch, who turned out to be a casting director, jumped up and introduced me. “Jason, this is Mr. Spelling; Mr. Spelling, Jason Priestley.” Drink in hand, Aaron shuffled over to shake my hand. I was dazzled by meeting the television legend in person in his over-the-top office and did my best to imprint the whole scene on my brain. Aaron and I walked over to the couch together and Aaron said, “Jason . . . this is Shannen, she’s our Brenda.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. She nodded.

  “So . . . how’d you like to read a few scenes together for us?” Aaron asked. I sat down, we read a few short scenes together, and it seemed to go well; there was decent chemistry between us. When we finished, Aaron said, “Great, Jason, great . . . tell me . . . do you think you could make it over to FOX tomorrow for a network reading?”

  “I could probably squeeze that in for you, Aaron,” I said. He smiled. He got the joke.

  “Good, good . . .” he said. “We’ll have you do these same scenes for the people over there . . . I’ll see you then.” I said my thank-yous and exited. There were still eight or ten guys waiting to be seen, but I had at least made it to the next round.