One fateful day, I decided to stop by the set of Full House to show the little sis some support. My sisters had always cheered on my career, and I wanted to show Candace some big brotherly love in return. Maybe I could give her a few pointers about comedy. (She’s gonna love reading that.)
That day, I’m sure Dave Coulier was nearby doing a celebrity impersonation. Maybe Bob Saget was telling an off-color joke. Perhaps one of the Olsen twins needed a diaper change.
All I remember was a willowy brunette with caramel-colored eyes and beautiful lips that framed her stunning smile. Her long hair fell around her face and barely swept her shoulders, and she had a gorgeous figure.
Chelsea Noble was guest-starring on Full House. She approached me and asked, “You’re Candace’s brother, right?”
It was strange, yet cool, to be referred to that way. For once, it wasn’t “Oh-my-gosh-it’s-Kirk-Cameron-can-you-sign-my-Trapper-Keeper?!” This was a mature, sophisticated woman a few years my senior.
She asked me to take a picture with her wheelchair-bound friend who was visiting from New York. I happily agreed, and talked with the girl in the wheelchair for a while.
Later that night, Mom remarked, “Do you remember that girl you met, Chelsea? If I could pick a girl for you to marry one day, it would be someone like her. As beautiful as she is, she’s even more beautiful on the inside.”
I loved Kirk’s mom, Barbara, just from knowing her briefly on the Full House set. She was easy to talk to—very different from the stereotypical “stage moms.”
Then when I met Kirk, I thought, Wow, what a nice guy. He sat and talked with my friend for a while. I could tell it made him happy to make her happy. I left thinking, What a caring guy.
A few weeks later, I was in the process of getting ready to move back to New York. My agent had suggested I go to an audition for Growing Pains. “You might make some money before you go back home.”
When I hesitated he added, “You never know . . .”
It was rush hour—and anyone who has ever driven in L.A. traffic knows that you really don’t want to be out there if you don’t have to. I almost didn’t go on the audition, but my agent had a point: I needed the job.
I walked into the audition room. The casting director took one look at me and said, “Are you sure you’re here for this role? You’re not the right type.”
Sure enough, the role was for a “character”—a larger-than-life, wisecracking secretary. Why was I called in for this?
Inside, I fumed. I drove all that way, and for what?
The director shrugged and said, “Just read for it anyway since you’re here.”
That comment took the edge off the interview. I thought, Ah, they’re just humoring me. Whatever. I had never been so casual about a read. I kicked back and had fun reading the role.
When I got home I called my agent and told him it had been a big, fat waste of time—mine and theirs.
“Oh yeah,” he quipped, “you really blew it. They just called and offered you a different role—the role of Kate, a girl in Mike’s acting class. It’s coming up in a couple weeks. Congrats.”
When I showed up on the set of Growing Pains, it was really awkward stepping into the world of such an established cast. The director took me aside and said, “Okay, this is what we expect from guest stars. We expect you to be here on time. The regular cast shows up a little later. That’s just the way it is. It’s your job to get in the groove of what we’ve got going here.”
When Kirk showed up, I was a bit surprised. I knew of Kirk Cameron, but I’d sort of forgotten what show he was on. I know that sounds implausible, considering how famous he was. But I really wasn’t a big TV watcher. I just remembered him as Candace’s sweet older brother.
When I saw Chelsea on the set, I immediately remembered she was the same girl I had met on Full House. How could I forget? I’d been overwhelmed by her beauty and her smile.
I approached Chelsea and without thinking gave her a kiss on both cheeks. Inside I cringed that I’d done the phony Hollywood kiss-kiss thing. That wasn’t me! What am I doing? It was the first of many uncharacteristic moves I’d make in trying to impress this girl.
From the start, I slipped into familiar awkward territory. Though we worked long hours together that week, I kept a reasonable, professional attitude and distance.
One day, sitting to the side of the set, Chelsea wore cowboy boots, jeans and a white cotton shirt. Though her hair was long and flowing, I could see a headset on her ears. Around her neck hung a necklace with a cross made of sapphires. As I looked at that cross I thought, Could she be a Christian? No way. She’s too beautiful. I thought girls were either beautiful or Christian—not both.
I walked up to her and asked what she was listening to.
I thought, There’s no way this guy is going to know this band. I was listening to a CD by the Christian rock group Petra.
To my astonishment, he said he knew them. And then he just kinda smiled and asked if I was a Christian.
Stunned, I said, “Yeah, are you?”
It was the weirdest moment. I just didn’t expect it. It was great to have that kind of connection with him—but then again, there are so many kinds of “Christians,” so I wasn’t really sure what that meant to him.
We got talking about music, our faith and our families. I just loved talking to her. I didn’t want it to end.
I had a thousand butterflies, but tried to keep my growing feelings hidden from this girl who seemed way out of my league. I figured that if she was available, Alan would probably make a move on her. He had a lot of luck with the ladies. Besides, Chelsea was a few years older than me and she probably thought of me as “just a kid.”
Thank God she didn’t.
Instead, Chelsea and I hit it off. We had so much in common, including a deep and growing love for God. We had fun on the stage, but always looked forward to the time behind the scenes when we could get to know each other better. It was a great two weeks.
But I figured that after the show, I’d never see her again.
After the second episode, the producers called me to the green room in a building across from the sound stage. Had I done something wrong?
“You know, Chelsea,” a producer said, “we really like the chemistry between you and Kirk. We don’t see that very often and we’d like to explore it more. How would you feel about coming back for 13 more episodes?”
I was taken aback, flattered. The only thing holding me back was a job offer in New York. I had booked a dramatic TV pilot playing a law student. I really thought drama was the direction I needed to pursue, and the part in the pilot sounded like the perfect role for me. I also really missed my home state of New York and was dying to get back. I didn’t say any of that to the producers. I thanked them for the offer and promised to seriously think about it.
My agent, naturally, leaned toward me staying. Thirteen episodes would be a lot better financially for me than one pilot. Those come and go, and most never make it to air.
He said, “Chelsea, you haven’t done much comedy. Why don’t you just do the 13 episodes—it’ll look fantastic on your résumé.”
I agonized over the decision.
Eventually I agreed with my agent that it would be good to go back to Growing Pains and get this valuable experience.
It was one of the best decisions of my life.
Passion and fashion didn’t mix—at least, not in my case.
Remembering that Chelsea wore Levis and cowboy boots to the set on more than one occasion, I figured that must be a look she was into. So I tried to impress her by wearing a green cotton work shirt and boots I’d inherited from the film Listen to Me. Walking in those clunky heels, I looked like a teen ranger with a spur stuck in his boxers.
She didn’t seem to think anything of it.
I learned from our conversations that Chelsea liked skiing. The next day I wore a vest with ski tags and lift tickets pinned to the chest.
Everyone in the cast stared at me, dumbstruck.
“Hittin’ the slopes after work?”
“Hey, Kirk. You forgot your goggles.”
I shrugged. “Oh. It was a little nippy when I got up this morning. Thought I’d come prepared.” It’s Los Angeles . . . and you’re indoors, dumbnut, I thought to myself.
They knew something was up, but Chelsea didn’t know me well enough to catch on. She must have thought I was the type of guy who really enjoyed dressing in themes.
I eventually thought dressing GQ was the way to go. (Most guys go through a GQ stage. It usually follows the doused-in-aftershave stage.) I scoured the men’s couture magazine for the latest styles. The next day I showed up on set looking like the guy on the cover, wearing a white suit shirt, skinny tie, shorts and Birkenstocks. I was 50% Don Johnson, 40% golfer, 10% hippie. I didn’t pull off the look. It’s a wonder Chelsea even spoke to me.
I reached deep within and found my inner-Mike Seaver, finally working up the nerve to call her after work.
“Hey, how’s it goin’?” I asked. “Any chance you wanna join me and a couple friends for mud pie at Red Robin? We’re just planning on hangin’ out . . . I thought, maybe if you’re bored . . .”
When she said, “Sure!” I freaked. I frantically called every friend in my Rolodex because I’d made the whole thing up: There were no plans to have mud pie at Red Robin. And now that I needed there to be plans, no one I knew in Southern California could spare one hour for pie.
Chelsea was already on her way. I drove down to meet her, stewing. I had wanted a friendly, no-pressure situation, and now it would be just the two of us.
It was a cold night, and we sat outside on the patio wrapped in warm coats. (That ski jacket didn’t look so bad now.) I thought it was romantic, sharing a desert. (Yes, according to the “fun facts” in BOP magazine, I was a reported germaphobe. Didn’t matter with Chelsea. I wouldn’t so much as share a slice of pizza with the woman who had given me life, but this fascinating beauty was a completely different case. Someone this beautiful doesn’t have germs, I told myself.)
As we talked, I only wanted to kiss her. I admit it.
He seemed nervous and somewhat awkward that evening, but 100-percent genuine. He had no pretension, which was incredibly refreshing.
I liked him from the start. I found myself thinking about him when I left work.
When my friends heard I was working on Growing Pains, the common question was, “What’s Kirk Cameron like?”
“You’d be so surprised,” I answered. He seemed like somebody I could have grown up with on the East Coast. It kind of floored me. He didn’t strike me as a self-absorbed, Hollywood teen idol.
He was really sweet and down to earth, and kind of shy. And his mouth! I was crazy about his mouth. He had the greatest crooked smile—I would just watch him as he talked to me. Sometimes I wouldn’t even hear what he was saying. I was just thinking, I would love to kiss that mouth.
When Chelsea came back for 13 weeks, I about flipped when I read the script titled “Triangle.” There, in the middle of the episode, I was supposed to kiss her.
What are the writers thinking? I’m going to kill ’em. They’re going to blow my cover!
I tried to play it calm and cool during the initial table reading, though my heart thumped like the bass to an MC Hammer hit. In the script, Kate and Mike are in an acting class together, performing a scene from a play. Mike is playing George, who says to Kate’s Virginia, “Don’t cry, I’ll be back” before planting a big kiss on her lips.
Mike had kissed a lot of pretty girls on the show, but none were even close to Chelsea in beauty and spirit. All I could think of was what she would think of me after I kissed her on taping night.
I had major angst over this. She probably has preconceived ideas that this teen idol must be Mister Smooth—Don Juan. With my overactive imagination, I could see her backing up after the kiss, startled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and saying, “What are you, a chicken? Do you have a beak for lips?”
During rehearsals, I played it cool by waving my hand and saying, “And then we kiss and I leave.” I hoped to pull off an unaffected, breezy attitude that gave the impression I wasn’t fazed in the least.
I never actually kissed her in four days of rehearsing the scene. It seemed to go unnoticed until a cameraman said, “I need to see how the kiss shot frames up, Kirk.”
He was on to me.
When it came time to kiss Chelsea in front of the audience, I knew I had to come up with something to take the edge off. I purged the First Aid kit in the prop department, looking for the right balm. I needed this to work, so I lubed up my mouth like lip gloss on a cheerleader’s senior photo.
Perfect.
When it came to the part where he kisses me, he really kissed me. It just wasn’t what I expected. This was no half-hearted screen kiss.
I noticed, though, that some of the crew smirked and held back laughter. What was so funny?
The kiss was nice, but I was surprised how moist Kirk’s lips were.
I licked my lips to get the wetness off. Within seconds, my entire mouth—my tongue, my gums, my teeth—were utterly numb. The camera pushed in on me, waiting for my line.
“My mouth is, like, paralyzed,” was all I could say. “What’s going on? I can’t feel a thing.”
Kirk turned to the audience and shrugged. “What can I say? That’s the effect I have on girls,” he cracked. “My kisses are electrifying.”
I had smeared Anbesol, a numbing gel for teething babies, on my lips. And I had put a lot on to make sure it worked. It did. It also broke the ice and made it easier for me to kiss her.
I think director John Tracy gave me a hand by insisting we do the scene over and over. “Uh, Kirk . . . bad focus here. Can you do it one more time for me?”
“Happy to take one for the team,” I grinned.
That memorable scene made me see how fun he was. I loved his sense of humor. After that, Kirk and I began seeing each other frequently.
I still didn’t think this amazing girl would be interested in a date alone with me. When Michael W. Smith came to the Universal Amphitheater on the Go West, Young Man Tour, it was the perfect chance to ask Chelsea to go with me and my buddies.
She agreed. And this time I didn’t have to call anyone. I really did plan to go with some friends.
We met at Mom and Dad’s house. After introductions and small talk, I opened the door for Chelsea to sit in the back seat with my buddy’s date and jumped into the passenger seat to ride up front. At this point, I was sure she only saw us as friends and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
Dad shook his head in disbelief. I could hear him saying, “Son, are you crazy? Have I not raised you right? Why are you not sitting with that gorgeous girl in the back?”
I realize I was 19, but I was too anxious to be alone with her. Being that close would be awkward. I wouldn’t know what to say or where to look. How would I play it cool without being obvious about my feelings? Do I cross my arms? Fold my hands in my lap? Can a guy sit with hands in his pants pockets? No, that looks ridiculous!
I chose the safe route and, like a doofus, left my date alone in the back.
Although we had spent quite a bit of time together on and off the set, we hadn’t really been dating. I wasn’t exactly sure where the relationship was headed, but it definitely felt like we had romantic potential.
One night, after dinner, the two of us sat in his parents’ living room. He reclined on the couch, clear across the room from me. I was sitting next to the fireplace.
“I wanted to tell you that I’ve really loved spending time with you,” Kirk finally said, after staring at me for a bit.
“I’ve enjoyed it, too.”
“Well, uh, hey, I just wanna . . . I gotta tell you something. The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you. And I think I’m . . . falling in love with you, which is not good if you’re not feeling the same way. So if you’re not, tell me now. I’ll get over it and put it out of my mind.”
I was relieved that he’d said it first.
“I feel the same way,” I said.
Kirk had the ability to make me feel like I was 12—his words and the way he said them made me blush. He wasn’t a suave charmer—the guy sat on the opposite side of the room (when he wasn’t leaving me in the backseat of a car!). It’s that he was so sincere. He didn’t ever seem to put on an act for me. He let me see the real him, and that’s who I was falling in love with.
We sat there looking at each other, thinking, I am so happy right now.
I kissed her goodnight at the front door of my parents’ house before she left. It was our first real kiss.
Walking her out to the car, I waved as she drove off. My casual stride to the front door switched to mad whooping and hollering once inside the house.
I ran around the place like a crazy man, probably leaving tread marks on the walls.