SI Vault
Austin Murphy
February 12, 1999
What do you get when you mix five supermodels, three body painters, one secluded island and a reporter with a very sharp pencil? We'll give you three guesses
Decrease font Decrease font
Enlarge font Enlarge font
February 12, 1999

Pant By Numbers

What do you get when you mix five supermodels, three body painters, one secluded island and a reporter with a very sharp pencil? We'll give you three guesses

View CoverRead All Articles View This Issue
1 2 3 4 5

Joanne had predicted it would happen, and she was right. The more paint they slather on Rebecca, the less naked she feels. This casting off of inhibitions occurs with all the models, and is, to my mind, a great thing.

What distinguishes Gair from other body painters is her gift for capturing details that make the suits look real, duplicating shadows, highlights and those blessed puckers. Because the outfit she is now painting on Rebecca is extraordinarily intricate, the process takes 12 hours, much longer than anyone expected. To do my part to keep Rebecca's morale up during her ordeal, I pay her frequent visits throughout the morning. It is the least I can do.

When I next pop into the gym around 7:45 a.m., Rebecca and I talk about her recent marriage to actor and musician John Stamos, her new job hosting MTV's Home of Style and her highly efficient metabolism. I take care during this conversation—indeed, for the duration of my stay on the island—to follow Jerry Seinfeld's advice to the cloddish George, who once got in trouble for staring too blatantly at a woman's cleavage: "It's like the sun," lectures Jerry. "You glance and look away."

Around midmorning, while on my way to the gym for yet another interview with Rebecca, I walk past the pool, where a dark-haired, seriously handsome man is floating on a raft. We exchange smiles. He is John Stamos, the guy Rebecca married three weeks earlier.

"Duty calls," I trill, holding up my notebook.

"No problem," he says. "But when you get home, just remember to send me some naked pictures of your wife."

I recount this exchange to Laura on the phone that night. "He should be careful what he wishes for" she says.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON: Down at the dock, the cigarette boat from Beef Island discharges its cargo of unearthly pulchritude: Heidi Klum and Yamila Diaz are in the house. Klum you may recognize from last year's swimsuit issue cover or from her recent appearances on Spin City. Diaz is a 21-year-old Argentinean who is off to Miami on Tuesday for a Victoria's Secret shoot.

At lunch I find myself seated next to her—find myself seated next to her because I sprinted around the extra-wide, 42-foot-long banquet table and flung myself into the unoccupied chair to her left. When I catch my breath, I ask her about the volatile currency in her native country. I am pleased with this conversational gambit. Yes, I am a sportswriter, it suggests, but one with a command of current events; one with compassion for his troubled neighbors to the south.

"Maybe you mean the Brazilian currency," says Yamila, who studied economics at the University of Buenos Aires. "The currency in Argentina is fairly stable."

Continue Story
1 2 3 4 5