The Sunday Memory Drawer - Another Average Night in Hollywood

Last Sunday, we flashbacked several decades to an innocent third-grade class in Mount Vernon, New York.

This week, the memory is a little fresher from a few years back.  A name in the news prompted my thought pattern.  Frankly, it's a story I thought I told before.  My mind does tend to bring back to me rerun episodes.  But, as it turns out, it's virgin material as far as this here blog is concerned.

Of another ordinary night in Hollywood.  And it all started as a way to deliver a more unique Christmas present.

I don't know about you, but it has become next to impossible to give clever and original Christmas gifts to good friends.  After many, many Yuletides, the novelty has totally worn off.  You do run out of ideas eventually.  These days, my pals have virtually eschewed the exchange of Christmas gifts and prefer now to use the dough to share a good meal at a really top notch restaurant.

But, about eight years ago, we were all still racking our brains  and I was having a major struggle trying to find something really cool for my writing partner.

God brought me the answer.  Well, actually, the lazy postman did. 

As a card-carrying member of the American Cinematheque in Hollywood, I get invited to participate in special screenings and film events.  Most of it I ignore.  An opportunity to see a sneak preview of some new Japanese animation?  Well, that's a yawn.  But this letter gives me something to consider.

A SPECIAL SCREENING OF ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S CLASSIC "VERTIGO."  QUESTION AND ANSWER TO FOLLOW WITH FILM STAR KIM NOVAK.

Hmmm? 

The fine print below, however, was what hooked me.  For an added donation to charity, you and a guest could attend an exclusive cocktail with Ms. Novak.

Hmmm squared.  I could solve a Christmas gift dilemma and a tax deduction in one shot.

American Cinematheque, may I give you my credit card number now or later?

Now, truth be told, my writing partner probably would have preferred an audience with Ann-Margret, since he once drove up her driveway to take a photo of her garbage cans.  But, hell, a Hollywood starlet is a Hollywood starlet.  Plus my dad was a big fan.  I remember once going to the Elmsford Drive-In with my father and one of Kim's films was on the double bill.  Her first appearance in the movie was a stunner.  And, in a rare display of testosterone, my father uttered one word.

"Wow."

That's also what my writing partner said when he found out where we were going.

The screening was held on a chilly January Saturday night at the legendary and impressive Egyptian Theater on Hollywood Boulevard.  The place was sold out for the movie, but I scoped out the crowd and wondered how many of these suckers were getting to go to the after-party at the Cecil B. DeMille museum a half-mile away.  The capacity of that venue was only about 100 people. 

I suddenly became as self-important as everybody else in Tinseltown.

The head got a little larger when I got past the security guard for the "exclusive" gala two hours later. 

Officially, this was my first real Hollywood party. A truly odd sensation.  And that's where my snootiness would begin its quick decline down a very slippery slope.  We were really non-entities.  And we realized it pretty darn quickly.

You are standing with a drink. Somebody walks up and will stare you in the face for about 30 seconds. When they discover you’re a nobody, they walk away without saying a word. And, believe me, there were a lot of people staring and walking away. 

Welcome to Hollywood.

The party was full of C list celebrities. Folks that don't get invited to the really big affairs and are more likely to be found eating a bowl of soup at the Cheesecake Factory in Brentwood.  I spotted the alleged Mayor of Hollywood, Johnny Grant.  He's dead now, but, on that night, he was all full of himself in the presence of Kim Novak.  I decide to engage him in a conversation.  I remembered that he had a small role in one of my favorite all-time movies, "White Christmas."  So I mention this to him. 

"God, who remembers that???"

And the Mayor of Beverly Hills walked away with his two cold shoulders.

My writing partner spotted actress Diane Baker standing by herself.  And another dialogue is broached.  He points to me and tells Diane that I'm a big fan of some dreary movie of hers called "The Best Of Everything."  Supposedly, I watch it all the time.  Ms. Baker looked at me quizzically.

"You watch that all the time?  Why?"

I found it very surreal to be watching Tippi Hedren eat a piece of chicken and film buffs will get that inference.  With her fingers all greased up, she totally avoided our overtures for a conversation.

Ms. Novak, however?

Incredibly gracious when we chatted her up.  And insisted on a photo.  This clearly is not the best photo of me.  I look like an Office Depot night manager from Tarzana.  But, you can focus on Kim Novak and understand why my dad uttered "wow" years earlier. 

Seconds after this snapshot was taken, she ran her hand across my writing partner's chest and said "oooh, nice sweater." 

He probably hasn't had it dry cleaned since.

So, two weeks ago, the usually reclusive Kim Novak gets her name back in the press when she is appalled by the use of the "Vertigo" love theme as part of the score of "The Artist."  And the memory of this special and weird night bounces to the forefront and this blog all over again.

Yes, Dad, wow.

Dinner last night:  Proscuitto and mushroom pizza at La Piazza.