21 hours Ago By Cindy Adams
Val Kilmer. To the public, a movie star. To me, a devoted friend.
Quirky, offbeat. Count the ways: Early one morning. He shows up at my home.
Unexpected. Unannounced. I didn’t know he’d just arrived from California.
He shows up at my door unexpectedly. Why? Who knows. Val was Val.
Having seen us together before, building personnel then routinely checked permission to let him in. But I’m out. My housekeeper phones me.
I say, of course, let him in. I’m home in an hour. He’s been in our place before.
It’s Val Kilmer. For sure, allow him in. This movie star’s perspired, unshaven, in a rumpled, armless T-shirt, scruffy shorts, sandals.
Toes showing. And hungry. My housekeeper makes him breakfast.
He’s happy. He’s safe. No luggage with him.
Returning, I hear big sounds of water gushing in a john. A shower’s running. Nobody’s around but a fully dressed housekeeper.
ALSO a fully undressed Val Kilmer. Bathroom door’s locked. Minutes later, inside a tightly wrapped monogrammed bath towel — out drips a very wet VAL KILMER! He’d taken a little cleansing in my place.
He and I shared a close friend whom we both adored, lived in Boston, and was arriving that night for dinner with me. Val wanted to be with us. I explained no, no, no.
Forget Wendy’s. We’d booked a high-class elegant restaurant. And his superchic traveling ensemble — despite newly cleansed armpits — wasn’t going to cut it.
This was years ago. He raced to Bloomingdale’s. Bought a dress shirt, silk tie, full suit, which they adjusted for him, also dress shoes and socks.
Why? Because it was Val Kilmer. And he showed 8 p.m.
all dressed up like movie star Val Kilmer. A West Coaster, at times he lived in the East or in his Midwest ranch. We’d find him — protect him — when whatever he’d ingested — left him 2 a.
m. sitting on an icy winter curb. He was a shopper.
In one quilt store, he bought five handmade quilts. He told me he’d learned he was getting divorced only by turning on the TV news. He bought a $29,500 Batmobile alarm clock.
He wanted somehow to meet Dr. Mehmet Oz. Simon & Schuster gave him a $400,000 advance for his autobio.
I remember a special screening for him to view his latest movie. He never showed. Instead he phoned me from Berlin Airport.
I saw him buy a crate of Native American blankets in New Mexico. He then sold Native American blankets from New Mexico. He took me to see his friend Cate Blanchett performing at BAM.
He didn’t pick up checks. He brought gifts. He had a documentary, performed a one-man show on Mark Twain.
Daughter Mercedes studied art. On one plane he slept with the stewardess. On one movie he didn’t get along with the cast.
He fund-raised for a film on Christian Science discoverer Mary Baker Eddy. In an Italian restaurant he’d order tuna not pasta. He watched a Will Ferrell show two nights in a row.
He maintained an art project at his New Mexico ranch. For one Santa Fe white-tie event he appeared in shorts and a baseball cap. He played polo.
Got tattoos. Spent Christmas in Paris. Talked endlessly to me about his upcoming Mamet movie “Spartan.
” He was different. Quirky. Did we all love and try to protect him — yes.
He’d show unannounced middle of the night at our friend’s home in Boston. And expect to be taken in. And be taken in.
He was our friend. He was Val Kilmer..
