Last night found me and the Irish Asian at my new favorite bar: The Hideout in Malibu. Even though it was karaoke night, and people weren't belting out classic karaoke tunes, like Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (in fact, I think The Hideout should rename Tuesday "Somber Karaoke Night," since the selections were anything but upbeat - Whiter Shade of Pale, Leather & Lace, etc.), I had a delightful time. Maybe it was the chocolate martini I convinced the bartender to make for me (it wasn't on the menu and ended up tasting like an alcohol-soaked Frosty - delectable!!!), maybe it was sitting outside under the heat lamps and being able to hear the ocean only a hundred feet away, maybe it was just because I actually felt relaxed for the first time since returning to Los Angeles. That is, until the Irish Asian brought up one of the Faux Agents, who had called me Monday to tell me he loved my latest script, it was the best thing I'd written, blah, blah, blah. Okay, not blah, blah, blah, it was lovely to hear that, but if it's so great, then offer to rep me! And now I'm getting ahead of myself... the Irish Asian had the following to say:
IA: So, Faux Agent says he called you and you haven't called him back.
Me: Oh, fuck. I meant to do that.
IA: Says your script kicks ass and now you're too good to call him back.
Me: Uh-huh.
At this point, I am feeling pretty guilty. People who can't return phone calls are pretty goddamn lousy, in my opinion.
IA: Says you're probably meeting with other agents, now that you're too good for him.
And here's where I start with the faux-naivete. I tend to blush when I'm drinking, but the Irish Asian took that for hitting a nerve.
IA: So you are meeting with other agents?
Me: Well....
IA: Who? Is it that asshole at Unnamed Agency where the bosses are repped?
Me: It's really too early to talk about it. Hey, is this Love Shack?
IA: It's Safety Dance. Don't change the subject.
And so begins the agent dance, which is anything but safe...
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