Being told in early August 1969 that “I can make you the next Sharon Tate” is probably the least likely way to get you laid . . .
Didn’t Mia Farrow testify yesterday that the accusation is crap?
He’s just the kinda guy who would sidle up to a starlet in mid-Sept. 1921 and say, “I could make you the next Virginia Rappe . . .”
There’s a reference about Polanski’s philandering, boorish style in Bugliosi’s book Helter Skelter. Can’t cite, paraphrasing:
*Roman was driving through Hollywood in his sporty convertible and spotted a statuesque young blonde woman walking along the sidewalk. As he pulled up behind her, he catcalled one of his standard lines, ‘Madame, you have an equisitely shaped ass’. As the woman turned around to get a look at her new-found admirer, both she and Polanski both immediately recognized each other. They were each other’s newlywed spouses. *
Whether Polanski was slick enough to convince his wife, Sharon, that he knew it was her all along is anyone’s guess.
How did Bugliosi know that Polanski didn’t know it was her all along?
Overall, who’s been the greater offender: Polanski with his turgid cock or Lapham with his turgid essays?
I don’t know, maybe he is a genius because that guy is cleaning up.
That will be really funny if you have seen Wedding Crashers.