[IMG:L]Virtually every person with a TV–or even half an inkling of interest in pop culture–has an opinion on the type of help troubled starlets such as Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and Paris Hilton need. Some suggest psychoanalysts, others say drug rehab specialists, and a few suggest life coaches or meditation gurus.
What about the celebrity psychic? Have we really forgotten this much esteemed member of the Hollywood community?
Nancy Reagan relied on one in the waning days of her husband’s presidency. Perhaps, to sort herself out, this is precisely what Lindsay needs. And the man for the job–and I feel quite certain about this–is the grandfather of all celebrity psychics: Kenny Kingston.
Not too long ago, I paid a visit to Kenny Kingston to scope out the exact type of services that he offers his celebrity clients. Kingston lives in the hills of Studio City in a ranch house, illuminated in the warm glow of red and yellow stage lights, the sort usually favored by nightclubs and amusement parks.
On the evening that I arrived, a note was posted to the front door that read: “I’m doing a radio interview by telephone, please do not ring bell until after 8:30 PM.”
To be safe, I sat in my car in the driveway until nine o’clock, and then I returned to the front door where I was greeted by a slight, sliver-haired man and an ensemble of barking dogs. “Hello, hello, hello,” said Kenny Kingston over the cacophony of his dogs.
“These are my dogs. This one is named David. Actually, his full name is David Anthony Rex Kingston. David for the Duke of Windsor, whom I advised. Anthony for Anthony Newly, whom I also advised. Did you know Anthony Newly? He wrote the song, Stop the World I Want to Get Off.” Kenny cleared his throat dramatically and then he began to sing the lyrics, “What kind of fool am I, who never fell love?”
[IMG:R]When this refrain drew a blank expression from me, Kenny shrugged his shoulders and continued. “Anthony was married to Joan Collins, they had four gorgeous children, and then he passed away of the big C–never it mention it by name…never give it any recognition or energy.”
Kenny paused for a moment to catch his breath and unloosen the collar of his shirt, thereby revealing a gold chain with a charm on the end, featuring St. Genecious, the patron saint of actors. Kenny quieted his dogs, flashed me a smile, and then motioned for me to enter his house. “Sometimes you must stop me, because I simply don’t stop talking, and that is why Valerie and I have been together for twenty-five years,” he explained as he gestured down the foyer of his house towards a plump, blonde woman who nodded obligingly. “Valerie writes down everything I say. because I just don’t stop. She has written all five of my books. But enough about that.”
He offered, “Come in and please take off your shoes, because the spirits enter us through our toenails–and whenever I give private readings, I ask guests to take off their shoes.”
As I stepped into Kenny‘s house, and saw him in the bright sheen of lamplight, I recognized him immediately–the legendary “psychic to the stars” who appeared on TV throughout my childhood, inviting viewers to call in and get advice for a mere $3.99 a minute. To my surprise, Kenny was not in the least bit reluctant to talk about those days.
“The infomercial that I used to do was the highest rated psychic hotline in the world,” Kenny boasted. “I am happy to tell you that we had about 300 psychics across the country working the line; and the line grossed between $4 to $6 million a month.” When I asked Kenny how he made out, he nodded vigorously. “Very well,” he replied. “Thank God! Thank Buddha! Thank Solomon! Thank anybody!”
Inside, Kenny’s house had the look of an eclectic souvenir shop. The walls were lined with bookshelves, most of which were overflowing with schlocky trinkets–plates, paintings, key chains, sculptures, ashtrays, etc.–all given to him by his famous clients.
[IMG:L]There were also framed photos of other clients and acquaintances like Priscilla Presley, Ray Bradbury, John Wayne, Whoopi Goldberg, Regis Philbin, and Phyllis Diller. After I had taken off my shoes, Kenny showed off a few of his most prized items. “This key chain was given to me by Speaker of the House, Tip O’Neil, who used to come regularly for his readings. Here is a photo of Tony Blair whom I met while doing a show in London. And this here was a gift from Greta Garbo,” he said pointing towards a large stone object in the from of a pretzel.
Kenny then took me by the arm and proceeded directly to the dining room where he invited me to take a seat. As if on cue, Valerie reappeared with two glasses of milk, and a plate of homemade cookies. “Sit, sit, sit,” Kenny beckoned.
At this point, our conversation was interrupted by a slight creak in the wood of the house. Kenny shot to his feet. “Did you hear that?” asked Kenny excitedly. “Welcome! Welcome! Welcome, sweet spirit!” he exclaimed. “You’ll get cracks throughout the evening verifying that the spirits are here–just say hello. This one is probably the Chief.”
“Hello, Chief,” said Valerie from the back of the room.
“Hello, Chief,” said Kenny.
Both of them then turned to me, expectantly.
“Hello, Chief,” I said meekly. I then rubbed my eyes vigorously, in effort to conceal my embarrassment.
“Good,” said Kenny. “Now that’s the chief that is making you itch. The chief is rubbing his feathers on you and that is why your eyes are itching. He just wants to be recognized.”
Eventually, I managed to steer conversation away from the Chief, and towards some of the more ‘practical aspects’ of Kenny’s role as a psychic advisor to celebrities. According to Kenny, the kind of advice he gave depended on whom he was advising.
“For example,” said Kenny. “I get a lot of producers. When producers come, they will often bring a pile of scripts, and I will run my fingers over the scripts and tell them which one to chose. And some of these guys are very well known producers.”
“So you just touch the scripts?” I asked. “You don’t actually read them?”
“Oh no!” replied Kenny. “If I read the script, I would be using my own taste, and that wouldn’t be fair. I happen to love mysteries. But this isn’t about what I like. This is about what the spirits like–and what they think will sell.”
[IMG:R]”I also get a fair amount of writers,” continued Kenny. “They’ll ask, ‘Should I make this a five character play, or should I add two more?’ Or maybe they will say, ‘I have three titles, will you pick out the title that the spirit thinks will be the catchiest.’ But it’s never my brain coming up with the titles. It’s the spirits.”
“What about actors?” I asked.
“Of course,” replied Kenny. “Actors will come to me and ask whether they should leave an agent or stay with an agent. So they will leave a possession of theirs, like a ring or a watch, and I will go into a trance and touch the possession, for example…” Kenny closed his eyes and concentrated intensely to simulate this trance effect. Then he began to speak in a deep, otherworldly tone: “Leave your agent…and go to one with the first initial ‘R’.”Kenny then opened his eyes and nodded his head. “And while I am saying all this,” he explained, “the actor will have out a pen and paper, and be writing all of this down.”
Towards the end of the evening, as the clock neared midnight, Kenny’s voice began to falter–and at some point, a rare moment of silence descended upon us. Outside, the wind rustled through trees and David Anthony Rex Kingston barked longingly at a near-full moon.
Then suddenly Kenny began speaking again. “A star is really just a magical person who usually suffers from an inferiority complex,” said Kenny, apropos of nothing. “And they’re a strange a breed, don’t you think?” But before I could answer, the old wood of Kenny’s ranch house creaked again.
This was adapted from the new book, Fame Junkies. Read the hot, page-turning exposé that everyone in Hollywood is talking about! Purchase a copy of FAME JUNKIES for a discounted price on Buy.com right now.
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