James Franco Pens Short Story About Lindsay Lohan and How He Denied Her Sex

James Franco wants you to know that he didn’t have sex with Lindsay Lohan. In fact, he wants you to know this so much so that he’s written a whole Vice story about the time he actually turned her down for sex.

After denying to have been one of LiLo’s infamous bedfellows on numerous occasions, the Palo Alto actor has penned a short non-fiction said to have been inspired by the the time the Mean Girls actress invited herself into his hotel room when they were both staying at Los Angeles’ Chateau Marmont.

Franco writes:

There was a Hollywood girl staying at Chateau Marmont. She had gotten a key to my room from the manager. I heard her put the key into my front door and turn it, but I had slid the dead bolt and that thing—I don’t know what you call it; it’s like a chain but made of two bars—that kept the door from opening.

She said, “James, open the door.”

Across the room was a picture of a boy dressed as a sailor with a red sailor cap, and except for his blondish hair (closer to my brother’s color) he looked like me.

She said, “Open the door, you bookworm punk blogger f*ggot.

According to Franco, he — or rather, his character named James that shared all his similarities — insisted to Lohan that they weren’t going to sleep together. One excerpt from the piece, titled “Bungalow 89,” reads:

She knocked on the door. She was in her pajamas. She had bare feet.

My phone rang. She let it ring until I answered.

“You’re not going to let me sleep, are you?”

“Do you think this is me? Lindsay Lohan. Say it. Say it, like you have ownership. It’s not my name anymore.”

Lindsay Lo-han.”

“I just want to sleep on your couch. I’m lonely.”

“We’re not going to have sex. If you want to come in, I’ll read you a story.”


She knocked on the door. She was in her pajamas. She had bare feet.

Once upon a time a guy, a Hollywood guy, read some Salinger to a young woman who hadn’t read him before. Let’s call this girl Lindsay. She was a Hollywood girl, but a damaged one. I knew that she would like Salinger, because most young women do.

In the story, Franco writes that he read J.D. Salinger’s Nine Stories to the troubled starlet before she started to rant about how he had previously turned down her advances prior to their hotel encounter.

Now we were lying in bed. I wasn’t going to fuck her. She had her head on my shoulder. She started to talk. I let her. … “He didn’t fuck me, that shit. And what was he doing there anyway? On my night. My night with Meryl [Streep], my night when everything was right, when I got everything I wanted. Almost. “I fucked one of the Greeks instead: a big-schnozzed, big-dicked, drunk motherfucker. We did it in the bath. That was the best night of my life.” Then she fell asleep.

At the end of his story, Franco adds that he “hope[s] she gets better” despite all that they’ve been through. “You see, she is famous. She was famous because she was a talented child actress, and now she’s famous because she gets into trouble. She is damaged. For a while, after her high hellion days, she couldn’t get work because she couldn’t get insured. They thought she would run off the sets to party. Her career suffered, and she started getting arrested (stealing, DUIs, car accidents, other things),” he writes. “But the arrests, even as they added up, were never going to be an emotional bottom for her, because she got just as much attention for them as she used to get for her film performances. She would get money offers for her jailhouse memoirs, crazy offers. So how would she ever stop the craziness when the response to her work and the response to her life had converged into one? Two kinds of performance, in film and in life, had melted into one. “But I suppose a tabloid-performance run is limited for anyone. After a while it’s just an out-of-control vehicle running on fumes.”