***
It was going down, well, I was actually going up in the elevator of Barry’s headquarters, anxious like a coke-head who’d just found a 100-dollar bill. I had brought my laptop, a USB-stick with Luís’ video, my best suit, my Hugo Boss leather shoulder bag, everything to look the part. You could say I was ready to rumble, in fact my stomach already did.
When I reached the correct floor and the stainless steel elevator doors opened, I found myself in front of a huge, marble slab of a reception desk where Barry Waldruff's secretary and assistant, Jacqueline, held court. Jacqueline had a fierce personality (over the phone) and short, boyish, brown hair, thick lips and beautiful mocha skin, sort of like Halle Berry, except further away from a smile. Working for Barry probably did that to you. She looked at me in a way that spelled out, “Now who the hell is this lowlife?”
A fair question. And that was why I had donned my new suit and really put care into my appearance, because I knew that with Barry you really needed to make an impression. I had never had a longer conversation than a couple of sentences with him, but I had picked up on his body language and heard some of his famous anecdotes from afar. It was enough to know that he was the kind of person even his own mother thinks is an asshole.
But he was a rich and powerful asshole and that’s why I was paying him a visit.
“Mr. Waldruff will be available in a few minutes, Mr. Glendale. Please have a seat.” Jacqueline said, more of an order than a suggestion. I sat down in one of the black leather chairs and felt my heart jolt. I hadn’t been this nervous since the first day with B. It was good they had the air condition on the freezer setting, because I was sweating profusely.
After a few minutes wait, the massive oak doors in front of me opened and out waddled Barry, his blazer big enough for me to camp in and his cheeks red and flabby like hanging slabs of meat. He looked like a man ready to explode.
“Darryl, right?” He reached out a thick arm and shook my hand so hard I was afraid he was going to yank it out of its socket.
I said yes, posed a weak smile and followed him into his office, which offered a fantastic view of the Empire State building and was big enough to have an almost full-size putting green in it (an 80s executive cliché if there ever was one). The walls were lined with gold and platinum albums and plenty of pictures of himself, shaking hands with famous people.
“Pretty wow, huh?” he said, congratulating himself.
“Yeah, it's spectacular,” I said, while I did my best not to throw up. It was not only nerves, Barry also made me physically sick to my stomach.
He walked over to a mahogany cabinet in the corner and brought out a crystal flask of amber-colored liquid. He took out two matching glasses, poured them to the middle mark and handed me one without asking if I wanted it or not. “So Darryl, this is quite a surprise for me, I didn't think you had anything to do with the music industry.”
The derogatory tone wasn’t helping my confidence, but I took a breath and told myself that here goes absolutely nothing. Zero, in fact.
“Well, to be honest with you Barry, I never had much to do with it. The movie industry I've learned quite a bit about through my work with B, but the music industry, no. But I think there are similarities between the two and I thought this opportunity was too good to miss out on.”
Barry sucked in a huge gulp of brandy and let out a long and disgusting aaaaaaaah, “You know, I never really do this kind of meetings anymore. I'm too busy and I’ve learned that most people who think they know talent when they hear it, don't understand jack shit about this business.” Barry sat down in his chair and studied me like I was a zit on his leg.
“Yes, I understand that and I'm really thankful you took the time.”
“I honestly didn’t remember you one bit at first, but after thinking for a while I got a vague image in my head. B’s assistant, B’s assistant, I was racking my brains. Then I remembered you were her beloved black friend and that she had actually spoken very highly of you. And since she is very dear to my heart, I couldn’t really say no could I? So I was shocked by the phone call I got from her not long ago.”
Black friend? Thank you Barry, it’s always nice to be color coded. But seriously, what phone call? I thought, still sweating.
“She said I should avoid doing business with you, that you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Barry walked around his office with his hands in his pocket, like a predator circling his prey. “I don’t really know what to make of all this, Darryl, do you?”
I was left speechless, shocked to the core that B would do such a thing to me, if only to stop the possibility that I might leave her or whatever her evil plan was.
I stuttered, “To be honest with you Barry, I just think she's really worried I might resign as a result of it and that's probably why she called you. I see no other reason for her trying to trip me up like this, because I promise you I really brought something interesting with me and it’s well worth listening to.” I was trying to sound calm, but I was both furious and embarrassed.
“That's for me to decide,” said Barry. He might not have listened completely to her, but he was obviously affected by it, which I hoped didn’t damage Luís chances too much. After all, I was pretty sure Barry put business before all kinds of personal drama and if he saw a chance to make money - you could be pretty sure he was going to take it.
“Of course,” I said with as much humility as I could muster.
“Give me the fucking thing then, let’s see what this kid is worth.”
I handed him the USB-stick and he put it in his laptop and clicked a few times on the mousepad, and seconds later, on the massive screen behind me, Luís video to his song “Bornastar” started.
I was too nervous to look at Barry’s reactions, so I watched the video for something like the tenth time. Despite the predictable and silly lyrics, I still thought it was a pretty damn good melody and performance and I hoped Barry felt the same way. My prediction was that Luís, with his stage charisma and strong voice, had real star quality.
When the video stopped, the music mogul seemed lost in thought for a few seconds. His massive cheeks were fluttering like curtains in the breeze. I expected two things; either for him to lash out at me for bringing him crap or telling me it was time to make money. He pulled out the USB-stick from his laptop, handed it to me and said, “The kid’s got talent, no doubt about that,” he paused, keeping my hopes up, “his voice is good, but sadly not original enough to make it in this do-or-die music world. There are too many similar artists around and the style is kind of 2008. We’re looking for something fresh. But I guess you’d known this if you were more connected to the business.”
My heart sank. What was I thinking? That I could sell something to a guy like Barry just because Cesar and I, two guys with no music business experience whatsoever, liked it? It was definitely on my top five list of naive things to do and all I could do was to face the music (or the lack of it) and deal with this disappointing situation.
But first, I needed to beg a little, “You really think there’s nothing in this? You can’t give him some feedback, let him work on it, make him into something. The guy is really talented, has a strong personality and good looks.” I tried, desperately.
Barry thought I was wasting his time, “He just doesn’t have it. My answer is no.”
I thanked Barry for the meeting and told him to call me if he changed his mind.
The fat man chuckled, “I never change my mind, about anything. I'm pure gut through and through (you could say that again!) and that's what made me successful. But I wish you all the best nonetheless and send my love to B when you see her. If you see her.” Barry laughed like he’d just told a joke. Apparently my misfortunes were funny.
I exited Barry's office dejected. I knew I should probably have been happy that I went through with it, that I gave it a shot, but the air had completely gone out of me. I simply couldn’t believe how B had tried to derail me, it was really a bom
b on what I’d always thought was a great working relationship and a strong friendship. A person I thought I loved, who I had done so much for, just cut me down like I was no more than a damaged strand of hair. How could I work for a person like that? I was fine with her having all the tantrums in the world, but this was something else.
Anger and frustration aside, I took the bull by the horns and called Luís about the news right away and wished him the best of luck in the upcoming Idol auditions. At least he had that to look forward to and I knew he could do well there, after all, even Barry said he had talent. “I'll watch you on TV soon then,” I said and we ended the call on a positive note, despite Luís obvious disappointment.
But even though one uncomfortable call was done, I still felt like shit. What was I going to do? I couldn’t really work for B anymore could I? Not after all this.
And as I was walking down Madison Ave, I thought I’d rather flip burgers than pick up another celebrity turd with my bare hands.
The problem was, I needed more time. Just a little more time.
***
I hadn’t talked to B in 24 hours, but in an effort to try and patch things up between us, I had agreed to join her for a walk in Central Park after I’d picked up the keys to her new apartment. I’d tossed and turned through a very long night, wrestling with the thought of breaking free or whatever I was about to do. It was the most difficult decision of my life. But in the end I had reached the conclusion to stay for a few months more and plan my exit a bit better. I wasn’t a fan of rash decisions.
The atmosphere was tense and icy from the first step together and I could sense how annoyed she was at me. At me! For doing what? For trying to stand up for myself? At this point, I could only see the dark side of B, the way she always put herself first in every equation. She saw my talk about possibly carving out a new career for myself as betrayal, nothing else.
We walked briskly in our colorful Nike trainers and were starting to build up a sweat, when, right around the Turtle Pond, I threw the first punch.
“That thing you did when you called Barry and shot me down, it wasn’t nice.” Understatement of the year nominee. But although I had decided to stay with her, I wanted to make my point across. I was too angry not to.
“You mean how you tried to backstab me and use one of my contacts to weasel yourself into a new career was nice then?” Her reply was fast and I could tell she felt as worked up about this as I was.
“I didn’t backstab you! I told you about my plans, an idea that, possibly thanks to you, in the end didn’t pan out. I had to do something! You’re falling apart and you don’t seem one bit interested in stopping it. I’ve tried so hard to help you, but in the end you can only help yourself.” I hesitated to mention how let-down I felt when I thought we were getting closer and she stabbed me in the heart by hooking up with the Italian Stallion.
“Darryl, as usual you’re right. I can only help myself. I have to stop relying on this fucked-up celebrity safety system I’ve built up around myself. I’m an adult person. I don’t need a team. I can do things myself and I can deal with my own problems.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think it’s time I try to be completely independent. At least as far as possible. I have expected too much from you throughout the years and like it is, it’s impossible to stay friends and work together. I need some time to figure things out myself and that’s why I’m relieving you of your duties. You’re obviously on your way somewhere else anyway.”
I had made up my to stay with her, but with the intention of also making her aware of how much she had hurt me. I had expected remorse, tears, an apology - but instead she was firing me! What the fuck! I was shocked by her heartlessness. Whatever crush I’d had on her was being beaten to death by her cold behavior and whatever chemistry we’d felt was being wiped out completely. Left were only two very frustrated people with two very unclear futures. Mine slightly more shady, to say the least.
“So you want me to leave now? Today? Pack my stuff and go?” I said this with my voice cracking, she had pulled my legs from under me and I was abruptly falling into the abyss of the unknown.
B’s voice was suddenly reminiscent of her mother’s, “Take your time, but the sooner the better. I’m moving into the apartment and you can stay in the suite for a while, that’s fine. And don’t think I’m not thankful for what you’ve done for me, I just need to deal with this alone. I hope you understand.”
And where I had expected tears, B just increased the speed in her step and left me standing there, without even as much as goodbye.
***
Four months later
Stepping onto North Herndon Road near Clarendon Metro in Arlington, Virginia, was like walking down memory lane. I don't care how tired and old the metaphor is, it's the only one which really captures the feeling properly. I had lived there throughout my childhood and kissed my first girl not far from there, Megan, a freckled strawberry blonde with braces. In first grade I learned how to ride a bike there, the marine-blue Scott mountain-bike with 18 gears that I loved and rode to death. Waves of memories came tumbling in and out of my head, giving me heavy bouts of nostalgia and dragging me almost physically down to my roots.
Almost four months had passed since I got my things from LA and sealed the chapter of my employment with the Johnsons. Everything went relatively smooth, at least for a break-up. I collected my stuff in LA, thanked A and the gang for my time there (Jorge and I shared a choked-up word over a beer), took my Prius and drove towards Virginia and my parents’ house in Clarendon. Success wasn’t riding in the car with me, quite the opposite. I had lost the job I’d fought so hard for and instead of throwing myself into the search for a new one, I’d made up my mind to go home. I needed distance more than anything else.
It would be nice to say that I never looked back, but it was exactly what I did. I felt ashamed for how things had unravelled with B. We had always had something strong together, a rare working friendship and it hurt me to have lost it so suddenly. We hadn’t talked in months, but not a day passed by without me thinking of her and the many great times we had together. It’s true what they say, you never know what you have until it’s gone.
Where did we go wrong? I don’t know. Falling in love with her and stalking her wasn’t of much help. But, of course, she was the one who went crazy first, drinking like a sponge, not paying attention to her marriage and ultimately falling apart on the red carpet. She had travelled on a hell of a downward spiral and I had gotten caught in the whirlwind. In a way I could excuse myself by saying I’d only been one of the casualties in the drama she had created for herself.
But it was hard to see it like that when I missed her like crazy.
All I knew about her current situation was what I’d heard from Fredric. He had called me asking if I had any good job contacts since A had wanted a fresh start and was trying to sell the house in an effort to cut all the strings to his ex-wife. I had told Fredric to maybe go to New York and ask B for a job, but he’d said she was a little too much to handle on his own.
I had also tried to call B twice just to talk for a bit and see what’s up, but she hadn’t picked up the phone. I didn’t know what she was trying to do except to shut me out, but my feeling about it wasn’t good. I was very worried about her.
But maybe I should have focused more on myself, as it was a bit strange to be almost 30 years old and live with your parents, especially not after a life as a high-profile celebrity assistant. Although I took some comfort in that I knew it wasn’t bad enough to last very long. A few months was what I needed to clear my head and make up my mind on what to do next.
The dream of my wine bar was of course still there, albeit a bit different. I’d thought that LA could work for it, but returning to Virginia made me realize I wasn’t missing California one bit. If I was going to go into the restaurant business, it had to be in a place where I could make a big buzz and the only place that made sense was New Y
ork. Sadly, I needed more money to even think about the Big Apple. That was also one of the reasons I started working for my father, helping him with his building business, making some money and saving almost every cent. It convinced me I was still on track.
I could of course have stayed in New York, moved in with Cesar and taken some job. But I needed my space and my time away from B. And then it became too late, because Cesar’s girlfriend moved in with him. His happiness was evident the few times we talked over Skype or phone, and although I was happy for my friend, I couldn’t help but feel jealous too. How could things have turned out so smoothly for him and not for me?
But then, one day, when I was sitting in my parents’ beige and worn leather sofa, enjoying a glass of wine (cheaper than what I was used to, but good anyway) after a day of hard manual labour with my father’s firm, my mother was calling my name. I turned down the sound of the old LP player (which was spinning “The Best of James Brown”) and shouted back at her: “What is it?”
“Someone’s here to see you.” My mouther shouted back.
I walked over to the hallway, and outside, on the doorstep, stood B with a brown shoulder bag slung over her shoulder and a grey trench coat hanging on her skinny frame. She had lost weight and looked haggard and tired.
“Hi,” she said when she saw me. Just hi.
“I'll let you two talk,” my mother sensed the privacy needed and walked back to the kitchen.
“Hi,” I said, my voice unsteady.
“I've come all this way, can I at least come in?”
“Yeah, sure.” I said, in shock and stood aside to let the movie star enter my parents’ modest house.
***
B stayed in my parents' guest room that night. We all had dinner together, my mother fretting out about not being able to cook something better than a spaghetti bolognese for the superstar, but B said she loved it and that she was very happy to sit down in a real family setting for once in a while. She seemed comfortable around us, which made me happy. My father was visibly affected by her “star glow” and I could sense how impressed he was that I'd struck such a chord with someone as successful as her, at least strong enough for her to travel all the way to Clarendon alone to see me. He offered her a glass from his finest whisky (he's quite a collector) but she declined politely and said she was staying away from alcohol for time being. I looked at her face, which had a couple of new lines from last time I saw her and thought, good for you.
Hollywood Ass. Page 15
