Quincy Loves Lindsay

Rove Daily Hollywood-Hound Devon Quince makes a plea to troubled starlet Lindsey Lohan to believe in herself, and ends up in the bath, on the phone and in her life.

When I phoned the RoveDaily offices this week to inform the gang I didn't have a celebrity interview arranged for the week, I was surprised to note little disappointment on the other end of the line. Perhaps the letters from Daniel Radcliffe's lawyers had scared them all silly. Babies. Anyway, I wasn't going to give up totally, but with no pressure on to produce the goods, I decided to go for a long shot; and it's something personally, I've been wanting to do anyway, for a long time.

I was going to write Lindsay Lohan a letter. I love her, and I think it's really sad what has happened to her, particularly having her life made a joke by the press. I had got her private email from a friend in the personal assistant business, a former Viet Cong nurse named Lucy B, and so I just had to find the right words. Here is what I wrote:

Hi Lindsay,

How are you? Good, I hope. My name is Devon Quince. You probably don't remember me but I interviewed you when you were promoting The Parent Trap all those years ago, and which you were BRILLIANT in by the way.

I am just writing to tell you how talented I think you are, and how sorry I have been to hear about all your troubles. It's not your fault, you must remember that. It's the system- those Hollywood bloodsuckers. You poor thing. No wonder you're on the juice. I am, and my parents are the ones who give me money!

I really just wanted to say forget 'em. Forget 'em all. Tell your nagging criminal agents (who are all just in it for the cash by the way) to go jump. What's wrong with doing a bit of nose candy now and then? And everybody loves a drink, we all know that. And so what if you crash a $100,000 car from time to time- it's part of growing up. Growing Up Lohan.

You are such a talented actor, and actors rely on their instincts- you've got to go with your instincts. And if that means putting your face in a pile of whiz, downing a few Tequila Sunrises and hopping behind the wheel- YOU GO GIRL!

I love ya Lindsay. And if you ever need to talk just call. My deets are:

I can't print the rest because I won't reveal my private contact details (who knows what kind of crazy nuts there are out there, stalking famous people they don't know). But all the important stuff is there.

Now, I thought that would be the end of it but, the night before my deadline I was lying in a lavender bath, drinking a cocktail and the phone rang. I think you know who it was:

Devon Quince: Hello……hello?

Caller: Yeah……is this Devon?

DQ: Yes it is. Who is speaking?

Caller: It's Lindsay, it's Lindsay, man.

DQ: Ahh…Lindsay who?

Lindsay: You e-mailed me, man…

DQ: Oh Lindsay, hi! Wow, it's so good to talk to you. How are you?

LL: Pretty wasted right now, man. What are you doin’?

DQ: Well, I suppose I'm getting there…

Other voice: Lindsay! What are you doing? Get off that phone!

LL: What the f…

DQ: Lindsay?

Other voice: Get off that phone! Get back in your cell!

LL: Shit, man…

DQ: Lindsay?!

At this point the phone went silent. I haven't heard from Lindsay, although I have sent her a couple more emails, with a few happy snaps of myself by the pool. Let's just pray her shining star keeps burning bright- and that it doesn't crash into a meteor. And if it does, the space cops don't find the bag of Lindsay Lohans on the front seat.