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May 22, 2007
Callback.
Last week, I decided to call the most powerful person I know in Los Angeles about my script. He's a really good guy, but we haven't seen each other in years.
This fellow has more than a bit of juice in the industry. He owns a premier comedy club on the Strip, manages a fat roster of A-list comedians and is a prized consultant for networks and studios.
Whenever I dismiss LA as a cultural wasteland devoid of real human beings, I recall a business lunch at his office that turned into an extended discussion about comedy and film.
"I have to run home and feed the dogs. Come on, we'll talk in the car."
Until that point, I'd only seen Bel Air on TV. Being there didn't feel real; driving down the street in a foreign car of recent vintage, you could convince yourself that we live in a perfect world. The hill that comprised his backyard was terraced, with row after row of fruit trees. He gave me a tour and urged me to try a fresh kumquat before stuffing my pockets with fragrant lemons.
When we returned to the club, he sat me at a reserved table in the front row. I was amused to see that I was squatting in Quincy Jones' assigned seat. Late in the evening, the MC announced that there was a special guest tonight -- a contest winner from San Francisco!
I looked around to see who it was -- before I was blinded by a spotlight.
It's a bit of a blur, but I got through five minutes on stage, sandwiched between Joe Rogan and the late Shirley Hemphill. I didn't wow them, but I kept them laughing, more or less. I finished up by tossing lemons into the audience. Applause.
He was out of town when I called last week. After I gave the receptionist my name and number, she asked how I knew Mr. X. At a loss, I blathered about how we'd done business together a few years ago and had become acquaintances.
As I explained our tenuous connection, I thought, this message is going straight into the wastebin.
Today, I glanced at my phone while tidying my desk at day's end -- and guess who called this afternoon while I was browsing the food court downstairs?
Good old Mr. X.
Based on the voice mail, he remembers me, and that's always nice.
Trying to keep expectations low, but I'm excited.
Posted by Your Protagonist at May 22, 2007 05:05 PM