Who Stole the Funny? : A Novel of Hollywood (17 page)

“I’m so glad you guys came in here. This is . . . disgusting. I didn’t know what to do! He would’ve had me fired for sure if I

didn’t have this casting session,” Teri said, trembling.

“Maybe, since they are
co
-showrunners, you ought to report the session to Stephanie Pooley. Tell her who Marcus thought had the best nipples,” J.T. suggested.

“Does that mean I didn’t get the part of Santa’s Best Ever Help-er?” the young actress asked.

“Um . . . forgive me for saying this, but—you’re a grown

woman. What the hell are you doing taking off your top for a

part on a prime-time network show? Shit! Do whatever you want,

but . . . shit, every time someone like you allows this to happen, you’re just ruining it for a lot of other young ladies.” J.T. caught Ash’s warning look, and quickly said, “I’m sorry. I have no right to lecture, but . . . I’m sorry. I’m a teacher. That’s my real job and . . .

I just can’t help myself. I’m sorry. Forgive me, but get your clothes on and get out of here.”

“So does that mean I still
didn’t
get the part?” she asked, completely oblivious.

Jesus Christ!
J.T. thought.

Jesus Christ!
Ash thought.

Jesus fucking Christ!
the blonde babe thought.

“Yes. That means you did not get the part,” J.T. said, looking at her, shaking his head.

R o b b y

B e n s o n

1 1 9

The blonde gathered her things dejectedly, making sure her

picture and résumé stayed behind in the room as she left. J.T. was absolutely expressionless.

“Hey, helluva Monday, huh?”

The two men stared out the casting office window and saw a

Chinese restaurant, off the lot, across the street:
Hunan Delight.

Eat In or Go Home
.

“See?” J.T. said quietly. “That’s funny . . .”

“Wanna grab a bite?” Ash asked.

“Nah. I think I’ll
Go Home
and stew,” J.T. said.

“Well, you’re one step ahead of me. I think I’ll go home and

marinate. What a first day,” Ash said as the two men began to leave.

“Yeah . . .”

“Where are you parked?” Ash asked.

“Um, I rented a . . . bicycle. How ’bout you?”

“Shit, J.T. You want me to take you . . . where? What hotel?”

“I’m staying with my old friend Oliver.”

“Oliver. Oh yeah. Give him my best.”

“Will do.”

“Um . . . my apartment is in Westwood. If you ever need to ‘get away,’ maybe go look at the ocean—” Ash was reaching.

“Ahh. Actually it’s all good. I could use some more humility.

Anyway, a refreshing bike ride might just get a little angst out of my system.”

J.T. and Ash each went their different ways. They always had

completely separate night lives from each other when they were

working on a job away from home. Out of friendship and respect, neither ever asked what the other did unless one of them offered a story. Ash was able to go out and have a little fun, or make notes for his upcoming classes based on the day’s work. J.T. usually collapsed at Oliver’s and did his own homework for the following

day’s grind.

1 2 0

W H O S T O L E T H E F U N N Y ?

Oliver Clift was a gifted actor J.T. and Natasha had met in the early eighties. Now, they were like family. Oliver’s place was close to the studio, an enormous stroke of good luck for J.T. now that his transportation was a rented three-speed Schwinn bicycle. On this particular night, Oliver and J.T. would bitch about the state of the business, and then bitch about the business again. And then again.

Of course there was a phone call home somewhere in the midst of all the bitching and laughing. J.T. was horrible on the phone when he was in his warrior mode. The only thing that calling home did for J.T. was give him an irrepressible, irresponsible urge to go to LAX and hop a plane back home. He also hated to complain. So he kept the calls home loving but short.

After he hung up, J.T. would close his eyes and imagine him-

self back home. His cinematic memory would visualize
his movie
where Natasha and Jeremy’s faces were lit by the energy of trillions of pulsating stars combined with the warm light of random rhyth-mic fireflies appearing, then disappearing, covering and hovering above the wild grass.

Jeremy,
he’d hear Natasha whisper, her strength calming him and sending J.T. into an unexpected sleep.

Ash yelped when his “cell phone” began to vibrate in his pocket.

Instinctively he looked around to see if he might disturb someone, even though he was outdoors and the sidewalk was nearly desert-ed. Despite the time-zone change he wasn’t sleepy, so he thought he’d challenge the song and
Walk
in L.A
.

“Ash. Dammit, Ash? Asher, are you there?”

“Tasha?”

“Ash. Oh—I’ve been trying to reach you—hold on a sec—Jer-

emy, could you turn down
The Daily Show
? I can’t hear—and close your eyes.”

“But Ma, I can’t sleep! And he’s FUNNY,” Ash heard Jeremy say.

R o b b y

B e n s o n

1 2 1

“All right. I’ve just got to talk to Ash, then I’ll come tuck you in. Asher? Still there?”

“Yeah. Still here.”

“Well—spit it out. How’s he doing? Is he gonna make it? Real-

ly. Ash, if you’re not honest—crap, you’re always honest—if you’re not forthcoming, I’ll hop a plane and bring him back myself.”

“Well, it’s not unusual that a Monday is a Mayday, but as

messed up as everything is, I think he’s taking the high road.”

“Ash—truthfully, how bad is this one?”

“Bad. But on a scale of one to ten, ten being, you know, the

China Syndrome, I’d say this is a . . . five and a half. Maybe a six.

Nothing he can’t handle.”

“Is he eating?”

“Only when I shove something at him.”

“Does he have a decent car?”

“Um . . .”

“Um, what?”

“Tasha? He um . . .”

“What?”

“He . . . is riding a bicycle.”

“Good. Just a test, Ash. Sorry to do that to you, but I’ve gotta see who’s being real with me.”

“I’d never lie to—”

“I never said that you would, Ash. Not telling me something I

need to know and lying are two very different things. Just wanna make sure neither of those two very different things crosses paths with us. I’m gonna go tuck Jeremy in. Thanks.”

“Same ol’, same ol’. We’ll have a great Tuesday.”

“Love ya, Ash. Thank you for being there. We’ll talk.”

“We’ll talk.”

What an understatement,
they both thought.

Tuesday

Every Tuesday that found J.T. in Los Angeles alone and working

for insurance money, he would follow a pattern he’d established for the benefit of his family life. He would awaken at 4 a.m. so that he could catch Jeremy and Natasha just before they left for school, Eastern time. This morning was no different. J.T. dialed home. Jeremy answered.
His voice is changing,
J.T. thought.

“Hey, Dad.”

“How’s my J-man?”

“Good. How’s work?”

“Good.”

“Cool. By the way, you’re a really bad liar, Dad. But it’s cool.

Love you. Here’s Mom.”

“J.T.?”

It was a new day; new attitudes, new . . . It was, well—new.

After he’d checked in with the family, J.T. tapped a code to open the new black metal anti-identity-theft mailbox at Oliver’s house and pulled out a yellow manila envelope which contained the day’s
new
script. It was addressed to G.T. Baker.
I’m sure it was an honest
mistake,
he thought.
New! New everything!
Then he thought again.

R o b b y

B e n s o n

1 2 3

Who the fuck am I kidding? Why do these nutcases hate me so much?

He opened the envelope.

The color of the script was green, the usual Tuesday color.

But as J.T. walked back to the house, he noticed that the weight of the script wasn’t usual. It was heavy. Like a feature. He pulled the script all the way out, turned to the last page, and saw the number 78. Seventy-eight pages for a twenty-two-minute sitcom? And today, the seventy-eight pages
meant
something. He had to rehearse and block all seventy-eight pages before the

producers’ run-through, which was usually scheduled for four

o’clock.
Well,
J.T. thought,

it’s a pisser, but nothing I

haven’t done before.

The Hollywood Dictionary

J.T. tossed the envelope

BLOCK:
Choreograph the actors

on the kitchen table, made a

to squeeze out every drop of

cup of tea, and then sat

funny from the teleplay.
See
: The

down to study the rewrites.

Likelihood of Keeping Everyone

With two hours to go before

Happy.

daybreak, he was ready to do

THE LIKELIHOOD OF KEEPING

his homework. Even though

EVERYONE HAPPY:
See
: Famous

seventy-eight pages was just

Jewish Hockey Players.

a stupid size for a sitcom

script, he wasn’t nervous

about it. This was a mountain J.T. knew he could climb. He en-

joyed the challenge. And he knew he would enjoy the accolades the network and the studio would shower upon their savior, because

they too would receive this seventy-eight-page script and wonder how it would ever be up on its feet by the time of the run-through.

Then J.T. looked at the cover page. He was ready to curl up into a fetal position when he saw, typed out in big, confrontational letters, director’s notes
.

1 2 4

W H O S T O L E T H E F U N N Y ?

“Director’s Notes”?
he thought.
I haven’t directed anything yet.

How could I possibly get director’s notes?
He began to read:
1.
Do NOT have the family in the family room.

Interesting concept . . . but . . . okay.

He read on:

2.
Do NOT use any form of explosives for
the Best
Ever
Explosion.

How am I supposed to make it the best
ever
explosion without
explosives? I know, they want to do it in post. They’ll animate it or
CGI the explosion.

3.
There will be NO postproduction animation or computer-generated imagery for the explosion.

“Maybe,” J.T. said out loud, “I’ll just make my cheeks really big and go BOOM!” Then he caught himself: it was still dark outside, and Oliver was asleep.
Shut up
, J.T. told himself. He could feel his heart racing as he read on.

4.
Do NOT use
snow
of
any kind
for
the Best
Ever
Christmas.

Well . . . maybe it’s supposed to be Christmas at the equator.
J.T.’s mind was flooded with angry sarcasm. He was livid.

5
. Producers’ run-thru will be at
noon
.

6.
New “B” story. “B” for Les “B” ian. Features Helena, of course.

Trying to “bring her out of the fucking closet” in next few episodes with subtlety. Make sure it’s subtle. We want to be subtle here. Subtle is the key word.

R o b b y

B e n s o n

1 2 5

Subtle?
J
.
T. thought, skimming the newest script until he found a page that mentioned Helena—Helen, in the script; Devon’s character was called Derek, and Janice’s was Jill:

This is how WE want it:
“Thanks,” Devon’s character says, practically salivating. “It’s not for you, idiot,” Janice’s character says. “It’s
for
her
,” and Janice hands Helena the naked blow-up doll. Go to
Commercial.

The GIFT is a FEMALE blow-up DOLL.

DEREK: (Practically salivating)

Thanks.

JILL:

It’s not for you, idiot. (Looks at Helen) It’s

for
her
. (She hands Helen the naked blow-up doll)

C.U. on Helen’s Reaction.

Go to Commercial.

Subtle. About as subtle as food poisoning,
J.T. thought
.

J.T.’s eyes bounced back to number 5 in the notes: Producers’

run-thru will be at
noon
.

Noon?
This was the most outrageous of all. Seventy-eight pages of staging and rehearsing that began with a 10 a.m. call for the actors to show up, and they wanted to see a run-through at noon?

Two hours later? Seventy-eight pages? It’s almost impossible,
J.T.

thought. But just possible enough to make J.T. look incompetent.

Well . . . here we are. Tuesday.

He could see the future and it didn’t include any heroics. Bummer.

J.T. rode his bike up to the studio gate before the sun rose.

“License, please,” said the studio security guard. He was wear-

ing mirrored sunglasses although the sun had barely risen.

1 2 6

W H O S T O L E T H E F U N N Y ?

J.T. shifted his backpack to one side, got his license out of his wallet, and handed it to the guard, who disappeared inside the

small guardhouse. A good five minutes later, the security guard emerged and said, “I’m sorry, sir. There is no pass for you here at the gate.”

“That can’t be right,” J.T. objected, stuffing his license back in his wallet. “I’m directing
I Love My Urban Buddies
. I’m here all week.”

“Well, sir, I don’t know what to tell you,” the security guard

replied, doing his job well. “If you want, you can call the production office—when they open up. I’m sure someone will be there in about three hours or so.”

“Now looky here, friend,” J.T. said patiently, “I’m here to do

work
. I need to get to that stage and start mapping out blocking because I only have two hours with my cast before there is a producers’ run-through.”