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Monday, April 27
I decide to throw a barbecue party at my villa. Everybody loves the idea, particularly Amy.
In the late afternoon I bump into her at the bar with some of her new “best friends”. She is unsteady and mumbles that she has to work all night in the recording studio. Oh, and she’ll be too busy for the barbecue — the same barbecue that so excited her a couple of hours ago.
She starts to talk loudly about her parents. Then she asks a stranger what songs she should record or perform and deliberately turns her back on a group of friends. Her behaviour is becoming nasty.
We are supposed to film her in the recording studio today, but I don’t see much point while she is so difficult and unpredictable. When I say this to Mitch, he looks ready to explode and rushes over to the studio to confront his daughter. After a few minutes he returns, saying: “Okay, let’s go filming — Amy’s expecting us.”
I’m nervous. But as we arrive, Amy runs over to give me a hug. She dances for the cameras, then suddenly stops the music to say: “Let’s put on that song.”
When the music starts again, Mitch’s eyes fill with tears. The song is Daddy’s Home. Amy is now sitting on the drums and beating out the rhythm: “Dad, dad, come here . . .” She motions to Mitch and gives him her seat at the drums.
As he begins to drum, she picks up a guitar and accompanies him. At the end of the song, she runs to him and gives him a kiss on the lips. Mitch is still looking very emotional. Before I leave the studio, Amy clamps me in her arms and promises to come to the barbecue.
In the evening, Mitch looks edgy again. From time to time he asks if anyone knows where Amy is. Just when we’ve given up on her, she makes a Hollywood entrance: big smile, short dress, hair up.
She tells me: “I did [my hair] myself. I wanted to look good for your party.” Mitch says later: “I told her she looked good. It’s important to give her compliments from time to time and build her confidence.”
She’s slightly manic, rushing out to get her laptop, then setting it up to play us some old romantic songs. Then: “Let’s have ice-cream.” Teetering in her alarmingly high heels, she insists on serving each one of us — and she watches me beadily to make sure I’m eating.
Whoops — she’s tripped and hurt her leg. We rush to bring her first aid but she sits on her father’s lap, dismissing the wound and saying: “I don’t want to spoil Daphne’s party . . .”
She reminds me that I’ve offered her one of my two new dresses. She wants to try them on. I say it’s really late; maybe tomorrow. But Amy wants to come to my villa now. She grabs my hand and drags me — my entourage, her entourage all following.
Mitch looks apologetic as she runs with me upstairs to my bedroom, where she tries on my two dresses, decides she wants both and suggests she give me two of hers in return. I say: “No, thank you.”
It’s past midnight and she keeps trying on each dress in turn. I’ve had enough. I say: “Amy, take one dress and go to sleep.” She starts to walk out with both dresses.
As her bodyguard and Mitch — who have been waiting outside the room — try to intervene, I add: “Okay, Amy. I’m giving you one as a gift. You want to steal the second one? Okay, go ahead — steal.”
Amy switches into a little girl who needs approval. She is melting, hugging me over and over again and saying: “You’re so sweet. You’re so nice . . .” But her father lays down the law: “Amy, she is giving you a very expensive gift. But she is giving you one new dress, not two new dresses.”
Now she is dragging me to her villa next door to look at her dresses. Her worried father is following. So is my entourage, her entourage. In her bedroom she hugs me and then shows me two badly stained Hervé Léger dresses. Her father is beside himself. Even Amy realises how bad they look. She says: “I wore them a few times. But you can clean them, right?”
Mitch steps in: “No, Amy, she can’t . . .” Amy insists I should try another of her dresses.
As my last shot of the evening, I make her promise to go on stage “and show everyone how big you are”. She throws her arms around me. “But I showed everyone how big I am five years ago,” she says, insecure. I disentangle myself, bale out and go to bed.
Tuesday, April 28
I’m about to leave the island. Amy shows up with her father to say goodbye. She is wearing cut-off jeans and a bikini top; the femme fatale of last night is once again a little girl. She hugs me again and again.
I notice at one point that she is sucking her thumb. Mitch jumps up and silently pulls it out of her mouth. My producer wishes her good luck for the concert. “But I am big,” she says. “I don’t need luck.”
...Io sinceramente sono un po' allibito da come si comporta...
Comunque, sembra che Amy sia stata ricoverata perchè avvertiva dei dolori al petto e non perchè ubriaca. Pare quindi che forse, e ripeto forse, sarà presente alla serata finale per i 50 anni della Island.
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Originariamente inviata da Riccardoxi 
