The younger actresses’ brawl leads to tension between the older twins
LA JOLLA, CALIF. – JULY 14, 2008 – Now that Mary-Kate is alive and back from Cuba and getting into the swing of things again, she and her sister Ashley have resumed a long-standing tradition of getting together on Monday nights, just the two of them, to have fun, be silly, laugh, play and essentially do anything they feel like doing.
Often one of the girls will rent a movie or record a favorite television show so they can enjoy it together for the three or four hours a week when absolutely nothing is allowed to come between them. Ashley calls it bonding; Mary-Kate calls it communing. This Monday night, they both called it fighting.
The night before, Sunday, while she was dancing with friends at a San Diego nightclub, Mary-Kate auto-taped the pay-per-view special The East-West Showdown, better known as the public cat-fight between actresses Abigail Breslin, 12, and Dakota Fanning, 14. Ashley drove down to La Jolla Monday afternoon, and that evening after a dinner of lasagna for Ashley and six raisins and a pear for Mary-Kate, they sat down to watch the show.
“I heard about this,” Ashley said as she and Mary-Kate sat side by side on a plush velvet couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn that Mary-Kate would not touch. “I can’t believe they’re doing it on TV. Thanks for taping this, Katie. You’re such a loving sister since you came back from the dead.” She kissed Mary-Kate’s cheek.
“Yeah, and that’s what Abigail’s gonna be after Dakota gets finished with her,” Mary-Kate said. “Dead.”
Ashley laughed. “You think that prima-donna country bumpkin can beat Abigail? Abigail’s gonna destroy her.” She yelled at the television: “Let’s go, Abigail!” Then, “Remember, we met her that time?”
“Met who?”
“Abigail.”
“Right. She smelled like she had some kind of disease.”
The twins’ German shepherd protection dog, Rusty, gave a little bark from his feather bed by the sliding glass door.
“Rusty can’t fucking stand her,” Mary-Kate said.
On the television screen, pop star Avril Lavigne bounded into the ring to sing the national anthem.
“Oh, my God!” Ashley said. “Turn it up – it’s Avril! Where’s the remote?”
Mary-Kate turned up the sound, and the girls watched Lavigne stumble through “The Star Spangled Banner” with errors like “Oh say can you see, by the dawns every night,” and “o’er the ramparts we watched, and were valiantly screaming,” and “and the rocket’s red glare, bombers bursting in air.”
“I can’t believe she ever made it as big as she did,” Mary-Kate said, turning the sound back down a little.
“What do you mean? She’s excellent!”
“She’s a fucking dumbass.”
“Don’t criticize Avril.”
Mary-Kate flicked a piece of popcorn in her sister’s face.
“Don’t, Mary-Kate – I still have makeup on!”
The opening event pitted Dakota’s 10-year-old sister, Elle, against a gigantic professional boxer named Butterbean.
“He weighs five times as much as me,” Mary-Kate said.
“This is ridiculous,” Ashley said. “Elle can’t beat Butterbean.”
“Supposedly earlier this year, Elle was going to fight him because she heard a butterbean was beating people up. But she thought it was a real butterbean, like some people eat.”
“She’s pretty stupid to think that,” Ashley said.
“Bet you can’t say it three times fast,” Mary-Kate said and knocked her bare feet against Ashley’s.
“What can’t I say?”
“Butterbean beating people up.”
“I can do it. Butterbean beating people up, butterbean beating people up, butterbean people . . . beating off . . . ooops.”
“Save it for the bathroom,” Mary-Kate said and laughed at Ashley. “Oh, cool, ‘Hells Bells.’ I love this song.”
The girls watched little Elle run to the ring and slam into Butterbean and fall down on the canvas. They watched Butterbean stalk Elle around the ring. Then Elle socked him in the chest and stunned him.
“Go, Elle! Kick his motherfucking ass!” Mary-Kate screamed.
“That’s insane!” Ashley said. “She can’t hurt him with one punch.”
“Dynamite comes in small packages,” Mary-Kate said.
“Mom always says that.”
“She usually means Dad, but still, it’s true.”
A few minutes later, Elle had beaten Butterbean silly and the ring announcer was raising her hand in victory.”
“That was a setup,” Ashley said. “But I don’t think the Abigail fight will be. Did you read all the things Dakota said about her?”
“Yeah, and they were all true. Abigail’s a little fat pig, and she’s ugly, and she doesn’t know how to dress, and she’s retarded, and she can’t act.”
“Oh, my God! She’s got a great wardrobe!”
“And she’s a total fucking bitch,” Mary-Kate said. “Did you read what her and her fat-ass mother said about Dakota?”
“Yeah, that Dakota’s white trash and eats Ding Dongs and peanut butter and has a tooth growing out of her head and her uncle’s her father. All of which I’m sure is true. Then Elle did this satanic spell on Abigail.”
“Satan is a figment of the imagination. And Dakota’s none of those things. She’s the best child actress in history.”
“You’re deluded,” Ashley said.
“And you’re getting fat.”
Ashley screamed, “I am not, Mary-Kate!”
“You are too. Shut up, they’re introducing Dakota.”
On the screen, Dakota and rock singer Axl Rose started up the aisle toward the ring.
“Who’s that with her?” Ashley said.
“Axl Rose.”
“The guy from Guns ‘N Roses? What’s he doing with her?”
“He’s her boyfriend.”
Ashley gave Mary-Kate a lame look. “He is not.”
“That’s the impression I got from reading that website about her.”
“What website?”
“DakotaFanningNews. On WordPress.”
“WordPress sucks.”
“Yeah, but that site’s cool.”
“Sssh, here comes Abigail.” Ashley got on her knees on the couch and yelled, “You can do it, Abbi! You’re a tough New York chick!”
“What the fuck?” Mary-Kate said when former Guns ‘N Roses guitarist Slash joined Abigail on the walk up the aisle.
“Slash!” Ashley screamed. “God, he’s so beautiful! I love you, Slash, even if I don’t understand you!”
“He looks like a poodle with a top hat. Plus he just got done giving a guitar lesson to Elle, so that means he’s a traitor.” Mary-Kate yelled at the screen: “Traitor! Fucking traitor!”
The girls shut up when Abigail started running toward the ring. She dove into Dakota and knocked her down. The girls slapped and pulled hair and kicked, then Abigail threw Dakota on her back and punched her over and over.
“Woooo-hoooo!” Ashley said, circling her arm in the air. “You show her, Abbi!”
Rusty jumped up and started barking.
“Lass das sein!” Mary-Kate said to him, and Rusty stopped barking. “Platz. Bleib.” To Ashley: “Don’t ‘woooo-hoooo’ like that – he thinks it’s a siren.”
Slash threw a jar of peanut butter into the ring.
“Gross! Food!” Mary-Kate said.
Abigail went to Dakota and smeared peanut butter in her hair and eyes, then she started beating on her again and dragging her around the ring by the hair. Then Elle came charging up the aisle.
“Cheater!” Ashley yelled at the screen.
“Fucking Abigail and the poodle are the ones that are cheating, Ashley!” Mary-Kate got up and sat on the back of the couch.
“Did you wash your feet?” Ashley said.
“Not since I died.”
While the referee was distracted, Slash climbed up on the ring apron and locked Dakota’s arms behind her back so Abigail could get in some free shots.
“Oh, my God!” Mary-Kate screamed. “You stupid fucking referee – look around, look around!”
Abigail streaked across the ring then turned and ran full-speed back at Dakota. But before she got there, Axl snuck up behind Slash and whacked him in the balls. Slash let go of Dakota, who fell down, and Abigail flew right into Slash, knocking him onto the floor.
“That’s what you get!” Mary-Kate yelled.
“Did you see what Axl did to Slash!”
“Yeah, he cracked him in the motherfucking nuts!”
“That’s cheating!” Ashley scooted to the edge of the couch. “Get up, Abbi! Get up, Slash!”
Now Dakota started toward Abigail, and Abigail was pleading with her not to hurt her. But as soon as Dakota lunged, Abigail kicked her hard in the stomach. She jumped up and began ripping the shirt off Dakota’s back.
“Oh, my God!” Mary-Kate stood up on the couch. “She’s taking off her shirt. She must be a fucking bull-dyke on top of being ugly and retarded!”
Off came the shirt, and Dakota was left topless, save for a small pink sport bra.
“What are those people yelling?” Mary-Kate said.
“Hounddog,” Ashley said.
“That is so low-class.”
“It was low-class to let yourself get raped in a movie when you’re only 12.”
“It wasn’t her fault, Ashley. The script said she had to do it. Oh, shit – look at the poodle.”
Both girls watched Slash turn toward a pack of teenage girls and simulate masturbation.
“He’s probably used to it,” Mary-Kate said.
“God, he’s sexy,” Ashley said, mesmerized.
“You’re weird.”
“No, you just don’t know a hot guy when you see one.”
“A guy jacking off in front of a bunch of teenage girls isn’t what I’d call hot, Ashley. Grow up.”
“Guys used to do it in front of us when we were that age,” Ashley said.
“Yeah, but we weren’t normal girls.”
Abigail ran at Dakota, but Dakota kicked her in the face and stopped her cold. Now it was Dakota’s turn to tear off Abigail’s shirt.
“Rape the bitch!” Mary-Kate screamed.
And when the shirt was off, four seconds of Abigail’s small, bare breasts bounced around in close-up until a black censor’s bar was inserted over them.
“Oh, Abigail, I feel your pain,” Ashley sighed.
“She’s got ugly tits,” Mary-Kate said.
“She’s twelve years old, Mary-Kate!”
“Which means they’ll be so ugly by the time she’s our age, no normal guy’ll want to suck on them.”
“Shut up. You’re gross.”
“Just trying to piss you off.”
“Well you already have, so shut up.”
Dakota started slinging Abigail around the ring. Elle hopped up on the ring apron with a chair grasped in both hands.
“You little cheater!” Ashley yelled at Elle. “What the hell is the referee doing?
“Jacking off with Slash, probably.”
Dakota threw Abigail toward Elle, and Elle slammed the chair into her face as hard as she could. The crack was easily picked up on the ring microphones.
“Oh, my God – that was real!” Ashley screamed.
“No shit, Ashley. It’s called wrestling!”
Dakota went for the pin. Mary-Kate counted with the referee: “One! Two!” At the last instant, Abigail wrenched her shoulder up off the mat. “You fucking whore! You fucking New York whore!”
The girls on the screen went back to slapping and kicking and pulling hair. Both of them were bleeding from the face. Abigail’s blood flowed profusely, draining down under the black censor’s bar and onto her stomach. The girls rolled apart, and Slash threw a small object to Abigail. She went to Dakota, pulled her hair to make her stand up then hit her right in the face. Dakota crumpled.
“A fucking foreign object!” Mary-Kate yelled. “She hit her with a foreign object!”
Ashley cheered and clapped. Rusty barked three times but stayed on his bed as he had been told.
The referee counted Dakota out – one, two, three, and the match was over.
“Fucking bullshit!” Mary-Kate said and whacked the arm of the couch.
“She won it fair and square,” Ashley said, setting the popcorn bowl on the coffee table.
“No, she cheated, cause she’s a fucking New York whore, and she’s probably having sex with the poodle.”
“You know, since you’ve come back to life, you’re more crude than ever,” Ashley said.
“Being dead does something to a girl. I’ll tell you one thing, if I ever see Abigail Breslin in person, I’m going to tell her what I think of her.” Mary-Kate went over to a table by the front door and got her cell phone.
“Are you calling her?”
“No, I’m calling Dakota as soon as I get her number.” She punched two buttons. “Hey, it’s Mary-Kate . . . I’m not out of breath . . . well, if I am it’s cause I just watched that fucking New York whore Abigail Breslin cheat and beat Dakota Fanning in that fight . . . I know it was last night, Mom. What’s Dakota’s phone number? . . . I don’t care – any number that connects to their house. Okay.” Mary-Kate wrote the number on a piece of paper. “No, I’m fine. Yes, Ashley’s here. Yes, I took my meds. I gotta go. I’ll call you before I go to bed . . . shit, hang on.” She yelled at Ashley: “Mom wants to know if you’re spending the night.”
“Are you sure you want to sleep with a fan of the New York whore?” Ashley said.
“No, you can sleep in Salvatore’s old room.” To her mother: “Yeah, Ashley’s staying. Thanks, Mom. Talk soon.” She hung up and dialed Dakota’s number. “Hi, is Dakota there? This is Mary-Kate Olsen . . . yeah, I’m glad it was a mistake too, believe me . . . oh, okay. Well, can you tell her I called cause I just saw the fight, and I want her to know I’m on her side and that Abigail Breslin is a fucking poodle-fucking New York whore? Great. Thanks. See you.” She hung up.
“Who was that?” Ashley said, standing up and unbuttoning her blouse to get ready for bed.
“Her mom. She said Dakota’s asleep.”
“Why do you talk to people that way, Katie? It’s so vulgar.”
“Cause I’m vulgar. Are you going to bed?”
“Yeah, I’m tired all of a sudden. You exhaust me.”
“How about let’s go in the shower and see whose boobs are bigger.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Ashley said.
“Wanna wrestle, then?”
“Wrestle how?”
“Like we used to when we were little. Just for fun.”
“Uh-huh. I always get hurt when it’s just for fun.”
“I won’t hurt you, promise,” Mary-Kate said and ran for the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the wine,” Mary-Kate said. “And the peanut butter.”
