30” x 30” multi-media canvas
available -- email inquiries
A screenwriting instructor I studied with here in LA often pontificates, ‘You won’t succeed in Hollywood until your best friend fails.’ I recall sitting in his class thinking, Is this something you should be teaching aspirants of Tinseltown? He speaks of a law of averages, however, the calculation pretty much sums up how brutal/cynical it is here in the Thirty-Mile Zone. But, hey, it’s sunny/75 every day, which helps.
She wasn’t my best friend by any means, and I can’t say I’m much of a success, however, I’ll never forget the hour she told me she was giving up. It was supposed to be happy, but five minutes in it got all pawn-shop-in-Hollywood.
We were meeting for drinks as we often did since the morning we first ran into each other on the trails of Runyon Canyon. Our dogs took a liking to each other — mine, old/set-in-his-ways, hers, youthful/teach-me-new-tricks. We exchanged names, where-you-froms, and our vocational incentives for weathering the Thirty-Mile Zone on a daily basis.
“I’m a writer doing time in Hollywood. What are you in for?”
“Why?” she inquired, a hint of resentment disrupting our courtship.
“I don’t know. Might have something to do with the script pages in your back pocket.”
“Oh,” she whispered, then laughed. “I have this audition today.”
“Why don’t you tell me how it went later,” I said. “Over drinks.”
That was the first time I saw her do it — she smiled with just her eyes. Reminded me of Tuesday Weld, back in the day.
Late that afternoon, we rendezvoused for happy hour at The Good Luck Club. She didn’t get the part. The honesty of her silence as she kissed her first glass of vodka told me that.
Funny thing about happy hour in this town — they often include uninvited friends. Bitterness over failed auditions and a lack of callbacks starts ordering up round after round. In my case, anger over rejected queries and unread scripts starts picking fights with every Tim, Dick, and Harriet in the place. But hey, drinks are half-price, which helps.
A half-hour later she was smiling at me with those Tuesday eyes.
[NOTE: story continued in next post...]