Tatum O'Neal tried to seduce father Ryan O'Neal

Who bought you that shirt?” Dale asked his daughter.

“What?” Clover responded.

“I said, who bought you that fucking shirt?”

“What are you talking about?” Clover said and turned around, breaking her ritualistic cleaning tendencies—one of the only things that made her happy—drying her hands on a rag

“I said, who bought you that fucking shirt.” And he stepped toward her and he stopped blinking. “I’m not gonna ask again.”

“You did, I guess. I mean, you paid for it,” she crossed her arms and put her head down.

“Of course I did. You two are un-fucking-believable.” He shook his head and then drank his Prosecco. It was flat, but whatever. “You know what? I paid for that, right? So then give it to me, then. It’s mine.”

“What?” she answered, dumbfounded. No, not dumbfounded. Awestruck, maybe. Very, very surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Take it off,” he said. “I’ll give it to somebody who deserves it. Somebody better than you.”

“You want me to take my shirt off?” she asked him. “Here?”

“Yes. You heard me. Now.”

“Okay,” she said and she pulled her shirt over her head. It hung, reluctantly, in her fingers. Dale reached out and grabbed it away. She pulled her arms back and crossed them over her lace bra. She was cold. She put her head down but still looked up at him. Her eyes were sharp.

“And who bought you those fucking jeans?”

She didn’t answer, and her stare got even more tight.

“Do I have to ask again?”

“I guess you did.”

“And who bought you those fucking jeans?”

She didn’t answer, and her stare got even more tight.

“Do I have to ask again?”

“I guess you did.”

So then give me them. Give me them, now,” and she waited a moment, and stared into his eyes. But then she pulled them off, one leg at a time, and tossed them to him. This time more confident. This time more true.

She stood before him in her mismatched underwear—her panties simple white but thin so slightly see-through—and felt the air on her skin.

She uncrossed her arms and put them to her side. She pulled her head from her chest and stood tall, her upper back even arching slightly upward. She’d been relatively full-figured for the past few years, but it seemed, given Dale’s face, that this was the first time he noticed.

She was a woman. She was nineteen. She’d been with a man, and she knew how much power that gave her. He had, perhaps, not yet seen that side of her, but he would now. This is what he asked for. This is what they wanted. This is what they’ll get.

“Good. That’s good.” He looked down at the clothes and then moved them back and forth in his hands. His voice was softer now, but still strong enough. “I’m gonna give this stuff to someone who deserves them. Somebody better.”

“Okay,” Clover added.

My God, this is truly horrible. The writing. It’s a parody, right?

“Well,” she stepped forward. “Who bought me this bra?”

“Excuse me,” he said with her clothes in his arms.

“Who bought me this bra?” Clover stared into her father’s eyes. “Who bought me this bra?”

“What?”

And Clover stepped closer to her father. So close that when she breathed her father felt her warmth. She never broke her stare.

“Didn’t you pay for this?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Do you need me to repeat myself?”

Dale exhaled and it bounced off his daughter’s forehead.

“Clover, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Who bought me this bra, Dad?”

“I guess I did, yeah. I guess I must’ve had to.”

“Yup,” and she stopped blinking. “So, Daddy,” and she blew her breath on his chest and he got goose bumps. “What do ya say?”

They stared in each other’s eyes awhile but then Dale drank the rest of his flat Prosecco and gave her his glass for her to clean, which he pressed into her ribs and pressed her back so as not to touch her. When she didn’t grab it he pushed past her and left it on the sink and left the kitchen.

R3 He lost me at "Clover."

R3 No, It's not parody.

It's from Kevin McEnroe' book. (first and last book so far)

Isn't this the script from an old Tatum movie ?

Very amateurish seduction. I do it much better and get much further.

R8 Right, babe

R7 No

Is Kevin short bus special?

R7 Where’s Irene Cara?

Here's a NYT article about Kevin and Tatum. Looks like Kevin had addiction and legal problems, as well. I'm thinking Tatum laid too much of her burdens on her kids when the kids were young. Kevin ended up writing a book about everything Tatum told him.

I wouldn't be surprised if Ryan O'Neal molested Tatum. In her book, she said that she witnessed some sex between Ryan and a woman. Something really weird that made me wonder whether Tatum was part of a three-way with her own father.

Then, at Farrah's funeral, Ryan somehow can't recognize Tatum and tries to pick her up, asks her if she has liquor, can they go home together. Tatum has to say: Dad, it's me.

Keeping fan fiction in the family. Kevin needs career guidance.

The writing is abysmal. Amateur dreck that reads like something from a vintage internet porn archive.

The whole family is so damn creepy.

Cher said she had to teach Tatum about feminine hygiene, no one took an interest in raising her...what a fucked up and creepy family.

No female deserves Ryan’s psychobabble about their period.

Ryan is gay and Tatum is a lesbian. Never happened. And no neither is bi.

Ryan is scary. Mental illness, drugs and violence. Tatum is no lightweight to have lived through his overwhelming shit. I always wish the best for her.

All of Ryan’s family was scarred by his domestic violence. I’m honestly shocked he never killed anyone. He seems like a mouthy wimp. But no he lashes out physically. He attacks the faces of women he’s fucked. He’s a psycho.

R21 not psycho, closeted gay

Her father mistakenly hit on her at Farrah's funeral, thinking she wa some beautiful Swedish woman. She had to tell him "dad, it's me Tatum!". That's so messed up.

[quote] "Very amateurish seduction. I do it much better and get much further."

I'm sorry, Ivanka @ R8. I mistook you for Mackenzie Phillips.