PicoBlog

Okay, I didn't immediately take ENQUIRER articles editor Steve Herz seriously when he said I was headed to Miami Beach because George Clooney is shacked up with his male hairdresser.

Herz explained that the tip had been phoned in by a pretty reliable source. A realist, however, Herz doubted the information but his bosses wanted it checked out.

So off I drove from the magazine's headquarters in Lantana, Fl., down I-95 to always-happening South Beach and the very posh Delano hotel, where Clooney was residing.

He was in town shooting scenes for the 1998 film "Out of Sight," co-starring Jennifer Lopez. Gay rumors always surrounded Clooney. I thought they were pretty ridiculous. The guy obviously liked women. He always had a babe on his arm in those days before he got married..

The Delano is one of those ultra-chic haunts of the very rich and famous. Its private ocean beachfront is just steps away from the hotel. Whimsical art-deco styling is everywhere -- giant chess pieces on a patch of grass, a pool designed at one end with a set of steps that gave the illusion you were walking on water and room wall mounts that held a real apple. Don't ask me why?

The tipster said Clooney was staying in one of the pricey poolside duplex bungalows. There were a dozen of the luxurious digs, attached and lining one side of the pool. One was available and booked in my name. I was not worthy of the place.

 When I checked in it was evening and it was quite a sight seeing these special quarters, long white curtains dangling down and billowing in the wind over the facades of the two-story structures.

This, of course, was not an assignment where you announced you were from the National ENQUIRER. Just nose around. See if this thing about Clooney is really true.

Bellhops are always a wealth of information. The fellow who showed me to my duplex seemed an amiable sort. I said I'd heard a lot of celebrities stay in the hotel. Were there any here now?

U2 was staying there. They had a concert performance in South Beach coming up.

Anybody else?

Batman, the bellhop said. I thought he was talking about Clooney but he meant Michael Keaton. Interesting. Two Batmans in residence.

Who else?

You know that guy from E.R.?

George Clooney, I said.

Yeah.

Is he here with some girlfriend?

No, the bellhop said. He's staying with some guy. A look of disgust came over his face.

Where's his room?

The bellhop pointed to the locked downstairs door leading to the attached bungalow next door.

Clooney was my next-door neighbor. I called Herz. Could this tip be true?

There were no lights on in Clooney's bungalow, so I wandered over to the square-shaped poolside bar, sat down and made friendly with a male guest who was enjoying a few.

Three stunning young ladies sat across from us and soon we were all chatting. The gals were models. One of them had an assignment and was residing in one of the poolside bungalows. The other two were her good friends, models she hadn't seen in a while. So she invited them over to stay with her for the length of her shoot and have some fun.

It was getting late. The models left and I spent another hour at the bar trying to think if there was any way I could further this story along. I figured I could always listen at the connecting door to see if heard any significant sounds. I was hoping I didn't have to do that.

On the walk back to my bungalow I bumped into one of the models, sitting on a poolside lounge. I sat down on another one. She was very friendly and I took a chance, thinking that she, or one of the other gals, might have bumped into the actor.

I told her who I was and that I was trying to figure out if George Clooney was sleeping with some guy. And this is what she said, "You mean Waldo? He's inside fucking my girlfriend."

True. The model invited me inside her bungalow and promised she wouldn’t say I was a tabloid reporter. One of her girlfriends was sitting on the downstairs couch. The other was coming down the spiral staircase from the bedroom area with this good-looking dude following her.

We all sat around having drinks. I got to know Waldo a bit, although he didn't reveal too much about any relationship with George Clooney. I still hadn't confirmed whether he was a hairdresser.

The models soon put on music that drowned out any further conversation and they started dancing around the living room. I loved these kinds of assignments.

Waldo and the girls eventually headed off to some after-hours club. One of the young ladies borrowed my cap to wear. I went to bed.

Early the next morning, I told Herz about Waldo and the girls and that Waldo was staying with Clooney, but this Waldo guy sure isn't gay, I said. He's fucking models.

Herz said he'd have our research people look for any publications that might have mentioned a Waldo in connection with Clooney.

He called back and we had a story. Waldo Sanchez was indeed a hairdresser. He had an L.A. salon. And yes he did Clooney's hair on a lot of  his movies. One article mentioned Waldo was a longtime friend of Clooney.

The actor obviously dragged his buddy along to cut his hair for the movies, make him some money, hang out with him, and meet many honeys. We should all have a friend like that.

When I walked out of my bungalow that morning, Waldo was sitting with Clooney on the small, front patio outside their door. "Hey Don," Waldo said, greeting me. I asked if the girl still had my hat. He said she did.

Then he introduced me to Clooney. I shook his hand and asked if he was making a movie. He said it was a bank robbery thing. I didn't bother him anymore. I went and got my hat back, went inside the bungalow and started to write.

"George Clooney sleeps with his male hairdresser," the piece began, "but it's not what you think."

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