Good Friends, Old Loves, and Hidden Tattoos

As a Celebrity Divemaster, I often have the good fortune of being a simple thread woven into the complex tapestry of many lives. But the term Celebrity Divemaster has always been an uncomfortable role for me. Yet over time and with a lot of trepidation, I have reluctantly accepted the burden.

Being a Celebrity Divemaster is tough work. I’m constantly away from home, diving all over the world with people I’ve never met. Yet over the years, I have become close friends with people from all various media outlets.

I’ve been lucky enough to have flown from Dallas to Telluride in the right seat next to Dennis Quaid in his Citation; I’ve played 36 holes in one day with LL Cool J while filming Deep Blue Sea, and spent a week in the Caribbean with Keith and Kenny, back when Kenny was married to Renee and Keith was just introduced to Nicole. So when I got the call that an old friend had a Gulfstream waiting at Pensacola Aviation to fly me to Nice, I couldn’t say no.

I’ve known Brad since I was his stunt double in True Romance. With good wine as a common interest, we hit it off and became great friends. Then on the set of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I was the Chief Dive Director and had the awkward pleasure in introducing him to someone I used to love. So on this particular morning, Brad showed up alone, and he and I began to bullshit with each other, catching up on some of the stuff we had done over the years since we had last seen each other.

So we were laughing and cutting up when the door opened and Angelina strolled through wearing nothing but a black Scubapro 3mil wetsuit.

“Eric! My favorite Divemaster!” she cried, with a little too much enthusiasm I thought. “Oh my God it’s so good to see you. How’s Sophie?” She gave me a huge hug and a small kiss. She’s always been a great hugger.

“She’s doing great,” I said, holding Angelina by the shoulders at arms length. “And you look incredible.” I spun her around, admiring the equipment. “That’s the new Everflex prototype, isn’t?” I asked. Her hair was thick with volume and thicker with the fragrance of fresh roses.

Sadness emerged from my heart like a bubble from the deep. The roses took me back to upstate New York where I was hired to help her research a role she had. Though we had never met before, the closeness we shared was intense, and we quickly became something more than a professional relationship.

While testing the boundaries, we did a few things that are hard to explain. But when you're falling in love with Angelina, and she says, “Let’s get a tattoo!” You just kind of go along with it. So we each had a tatoo of the other's name put in some place only someone extremely close would see it.

Although we had a great time, we never became romatic. I totally fell in love with her, but I kept telling myself it wouldn't work out because of her celebrity and my travel schedule. But I often think what might have happened if I let myself run with my feelings for her and reciprocated the love she had for me.

“Any new ink?” I asked.

“Not since New York,” she said. Her smile had become more intense. “How about you? Were you able to get me morphed into something else?”

“No. You’re permanent,” I said, and patted the spot where the tattoo lay. “I think it’s going to be easier just dating girls named 'Angelina' than it would be to remove it.”

She pointed just below her bikini line and said, “I know. Not too many guys named Eric out there either,” she said, giving a quick nervous laugh. And although she looked directly at me, I could tell something stole her attention.

“Brad, this is Angelina. Angelina; Brad.”

That bubble of sadness in my heart was rapidly approaching the surface. I’ve never seen love at first sight until that moment. The energy enveloped me as if I was on a safety stop fifteen feet under the the circuit of a Formula Boat Race. And suddenly the gravity of what I had just done overcame me.

Because long before I met Angelina, I was working as a Lead Safety Diver on the production of Office Space, and had met Jennifer Aniston. She was at the production pool one day going over her lines, and as I approached her, she threw down her script in frustration. “Twenty pieces of joy? Twenty pieces of joy? What the fuck are pieces of joy?” she said. “That’s so fucking stupid.”

“What’s up, Jen?” I dropped my backpack on the lounge chair.

“This stupid fucking script,” she replied. “You’re a writer, can’t you fix this?”

I sat down next to her and leaned over to eye the script. “Let me see what I can do.”

“It sounds so stupid,” she said, tossing the script on the foot of her lounge chair. “Twenty pieces of joy…what the hell?”

I gently took it from her hands, took my red pen from my backpack and made a few changes. Then after an hour or two, and a few Appleton Estates, I handed it back, each page marked in red, with seven additional handwritten pages.

She looked it over. She smiled. “What’s this red stapler?” She continued to read, then looked up from the script, “And who’s Milton Waddams?”

“Trust me,” I replied. “I think it will work.” I leaned back in my chair, contented with my work and sipped from the remaining rum.

“Twenty one pieces of flair,” she said. “Twenty one…,” and she trailed off. “I love that!”

“If it’s a comedy,” I said. “You can’t have round numbers. Twenty’s not funny. Twenty one…Now that will get a laugh.” I said. “But I’m not in the guild, so I can’t take credit for it,” I said. “So suggest it to Mike. He might go for it.”

Jenn sat up straight in her chair with a new energy. “Let’s celebrate,” she said. “How about dinner?”

I didn't want to lead her on with hopes of dinner and what might come later. She was a sweet kid, but I just didn't see it working out. “I can’t tonight. A buddy of mine is coming into town, and I promised to meet him for dinner.”

“Oh,” she said, looking towards the deep end of the pool. “I just thought maybe we could hang out.”

Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe it was the fact that she looked so good in her bikini that I was willing to bend my self-imposed vow against hanging out with anyone from the cast of Friends, or maybe it was just because she thought my work was brilliant, but whatever the reason, I agreed she could come to dinner tonight.

She raised her glass, and I clinked it. “To new friends,” she offered, but then caught herself. "That sounded lame," she said, and suddenly her stock went up a few points.

We clinked again, and drank the aged rum down. She set her glass on the pool deck and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Who’s your friend, anyway?” she asked as she poured another drink.

“Brad Pitt,” I replied.

“Oh,” she gasped. “I love his work.”

And that night at dinner, Jennifer forgot all about me while talking with Brad. I don’t blame her. He's a really great guy. Nor do I blame him. She's a great kid. Besides, there was nothing between Jenn and me. Angelina and me, though…that was a different story.

So when the Gulfstream landed in France, and Brad’s assistant, Ginger, met me and led me to the limo. As I settled in, I found a note from Angelina.

Eric,

Great to have you here to experience the beauty of our family. If it hadn’t had been for you, our family would’ve never been complete.

Enclosed, please find a digital video camera for your use in France. But your first assignment is to make sure you capture the beautiful birth of the newest members of our family—a family which considers you a member.

Ginger will take you to our room once you get settled. But get to the hospital as soon as possible so we can induce labor once we know you’re here.

And you're right...we like the names Knox and Vivienne. Thanks!

All our love,

Brad and Angelina.

Then, written in Brad’s hand:

“Brangelina”

Then in Angelina’s hand:

“He’s such an idiot! Hurry. We can’t wait to see you.”

So I can’t go into too much detail about the birth, but to say that they were two healthy babies and I caught it all on digital video.

I can say, however, that the birthing experience was a beautiful. I knew the moment that I introduced them to each other that it was true love, and I was proud that in some small way I contributed to these two beautiful children.

Somehow, some way, I played a small role—an extra, if you will—in the connection of two wonderful people. I was the precursor, the foreshadowing of what was to come later.

That night long ago when Angelina and I got tattoos of the other’s name, I knew we had a life-long bond. But that night while filming the twins being delivered I realized how much of a precursor I really was. Because when I had the camera trained on delivery, I didn’t see my name tattooed at the bikini line. But I did see how—with just the right touch—one could turn

E r i c into B r a d.

My bubble of sadness surfaced and exploded--gone forever. Because as much as I wanted to believe I didn’t love her—as much as I talked myself into believing that we weren’t right for each other, I did love her.

A few days after I introduced them, I had my tatoo covered over for a couple of reasons. First, after seeing their connection, I knew my chances were gone. And secondly, out of respect for my friend, Brad. Eventally I may get another's name inked into my skin, but in the meantime, I know that true love doesn’t necessarily mean spending lives together. To me it means making sure the one you love is living her best life. But that is my sacrifice as a Celebrity Divemaster.