The full title is "Full Service: My Adventures in Hollywood and the Secret Sex Lives of the Stars" and this is exactly what it promises - memoirs of a ex-marine who worked on a gas station in Hollywood and provided discreet services to the whole world, including some of the biggest names in the movie industry. At the time of the publishing, Bowers himself was well in his 90s and most of his acquaintances were long gone so it probably felt safe to open this Pandora's box because after all, who's going to complain about dirt on post-war Hollywood. And to be honest, at this point it's not a secret anymore that many of the celebrities lived double life, with studio's tactful approval, as long as they kept it far from media. Even thought many of his spicy stories seems like exaggeration (after all, who can either prove or disprove what xyz liked in the bedroom?) it must be noted that Bowers knows in a tiny detail a lot about celebrities houses, the interiors, roads, what cars they drove, etc. And yes, he is prominently mention in research by Alfred Kinsey so it appears he was around at the time - its up to a reader to decide how much of this is true.
There were two slight objections that kept on nagging me and I just couldn't shake it off:
- Bowers claims everything happened spontaneously simply because he was a good looking ex marine and was working on the gas station, when Hollywood producers and such would request his sexual services. One thing led to another and before you know it, he was connecting clients with available soldiers/sailors/girls - but he insist this was all for the sake of fun and he never ever took any money for this. In fact, he was just making everybody happy and making a world a better place.
Than he proceeds to describe how for the next several decades he was extremely busy doing this while at the same time he was working as a bartender all around private parties in Hollywood. I don't want to sound cynical or nitpicking but please, investing so much time to do what is basically pimping and claiming it was not for money ... it just doesn't sound true.
- Bowers obviously loved sex and affectionately describes every single occasion, where, how, with whom and how many people were involved. This made me stop a little bit and wonder was there not anything else in his life important remembering - he casually mentions wife and daughter, than goes back to orgies with celebrities - not to be too fussy, but what kind of person memorises zillion sexual encounters in a detail? Even as we read this, everything eventually blurs into a exhausting list of conquests - so much that a halfway trough I put it down and left to simmer for a while, unsure is this really worth continuing.
My problem with this book was that it felt as a one-trick-pony. Once you get over the introduction and initial thrill of "dirty secrets", the gimmick wears off and its just never ending list of erotic encounters where author brags about celebrities that he encountered - almost like Zelig, he is everywhere, behind Hepburn, Beatles, King Kong and Bugs Bunny. I might have enjoyed it better if I read it as a teenager, when I loved these kind of dirty memoirs - now I am already middle aged and see things differently. Yes, we got it, it was difficult and complicated for those people to find dates and keep it hidden, but as a book it soon became repetitive. And I totally skipped the chapter about Charles Laughton, I simply didn't want to keep this in my head.
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