''They wanted us to do stuff like paint, but then they didn't have us do anything else,'' says Rue. ''We didn't sew. We didn't tile. It was sort of like it was inconvenient for us to work.'' Dick, on the other hand, thought ''Spaces'' demanded far too much of him. ''I thought I was going to be on camera, talk a little, and then go home and relax or whatever. But look at me! I've got paint all over me!'' (To be fair, most of that was from a paint fight with his ''Spaces'' partner in crime, Lacy Livingston.) Other than a brief art project in which he inexplicably drew pictures of cat poop, Dick hardly did anything at all. ''He would keep disappearing on us to get coffee, veggie sandwiches, make a cell-phone call,'' sighs Cramsey.
Rue pulled a disappearing act too, but not out of laziness. Shortly after the ''reveal'' -- that moment when homeowners are reunited with their redone rooms (and occasionally burst into tears) -- Rue retreated to her bedroom and wouldn't talk to anyone. ''It feels like there's been a death in the family,'' Dick whispered.
Later, she still can't contain her displeasure -- although, remarkably, it's not Dick's renderings of feline feces or the massive desk built out of old doors that vexes her. ''I told them no gray, no black, no brown! Andy gets this beautiful, grown-up stunning kitchen and I get a teenager's opium den. Literally, it's like Osama's hangout, an Afghan prison.'' Leave it to a celebrity to be melodramatic.
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