I had signed with a new manager, whilst living
at the Beverly Hills based W Hotel, in Westwood many moons ago. During lunch
time, my newly acquired LA literary manager and I were sat pool-side, chomping
on a delicious burger, served to us with sheer elegance and a sparkling smile by that of Bonnie.
My manager wore
a ridiculously bright colored Bluetooth ear-piece for his cell phone. He
resembled a type of cyborg and detached the device, strategically placing it on
the table by the sauces. He’d wince every so often, tugging at his fingers on
his left hand. Once we had finished our meals, my manager retrieved his unused
knife, held it horizontally and grit his teeth, moving it slightly. “Hollywood
secret.” he said, checking his teeth for signs of stray food.
I
sneered and believing we had struck an early bond and in a foolish attempt to
mimic him, I took up my fork, and raised it, however my elbow slipped on the
table and I accidentally stabbed myself in the chin with the prongs. I
instantly clutched my jaw, widening my eyes with fright.
“What
the hell did you do?” said my manager.
“I tried
to copy you.” I replied.
“With a
Goddamn fork?” he blurted. “It’s bleeding. You chin is bleeding.” And so it
was. Lowering my eyes, I could plainly see, let alone feel, blood. “Idiot.” he
said, passing me a napkin.
I held
the napkin to my pierced chin and noticed the manager’s eyes widen. I frowned,
wondering whether he’d stabbed himself, too, as he arched his back, clutching
his fingers, wincing once again.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying
to take my wedding ring off.” he
struggled.
“Why?” I
was confused, but he gestured, with a nod of his head, for me to look ahead.
“Two
Pussycat Dolls coming this way.” he was sweating as he leaned back on the
chair, desperately tugging his fingers.
I
squinted to see two members of the famed singer dancer troupe strutting towards
us, but no doubt making their way to pass us.
“Two
Pussycat Dolls. Two Pussycat Dolls. Up ahead.” he chirped excitedly, yet somewhat flustered.
“And you
think you have a shot at them?” I quipped.
“Not
with this ring on, but you might. One of them for sure.” he continued as the
two girls stopped by the table, looking at the painful smile upon my manager’s
face.
“Hey.”
said one PCD, with a faint look of recognition on her immaculate face.
“Hey
back. This is my new client, Ben. He’s British.” An odd introduction, but an introduction it
was at least. I received two brilliant white smiles. Teeth like a row of fridge
doors, but mouths soon pouted to an ‘ooh’ as their glistening eyes fixed on my
face or more precise, my bleeding chin.
“Your
chin is bleeding, honey.”
“Idiot.” mumbled my manager.
“What
are you doing there?” one asked, pointing at my manager’s peculiar posture.
“Oh,
chair exercises. I put my back out, just stretching.” he bluffed, deflecting
the fact he was actually trying to remove his wedding band and with that, the
girls continued their swift glide across the terrace and inside.
My
manager straightened, checked his wristwatch and eyed his Bluetooth ear-piece
by the sauces.
“OK.
I’ll drop you off to Paradigm, then I’m gone.”
he said, standing up, towering above me.
I had a
meeting with British actress and model Kelly Brook and her agent. Kelly, who I had championed for Lara Croft a few years prior had expressed interest in a female spy character I had
written.
With my
manager behind the wheel and me riding shotgun, I was still holding my bloodied
napkin to my punctured chin.
“Dab it.
Dab it. Idiot.” he blubbed, as he dialled a number on his cell. “Hi, this is
‘Mister Manager from Mister Manager and Co, who am I speaking with please? – Hi
Bonnie. Mister Manager from Mister Manager and Co. How are you? Good. Good. I
had lunch with a new client of mine, who is a guest at your hotel and I
accidentally left my Bluetooth device on our lunch table. – Well, if you’re
able to get it for me personally, Bonnie, then that would be most appreciated.
Thank you. Thank you. What I’ll do is drop my client off and I’ll come by the
hotel at say.. Well, when do you finish your shift, Bonnie?”
Yes, my
manager, it seemed, was hitting on one of the restaurant staff. He had actually
set this up from the moment he sat down at the table to have lunch. “Nice.
Nice. See you then, Bonnie.” he completed his call and scowled at me. “It’s
still bleeding! It needs to dry. The blood needs to dry, stick your head out
the window.” he instructed, scrolling
the window down.
I leaned
my head out of the passenger window and was instantly yanked back into
position. “What are you? A dog? Get back in here, idiot!” he yelled.
We
pulled up outside the Paradigm Agency and as soon as I stepped out of the car
and closed the door, it sped off.
Inside,
after talking with the reception staff about a party which I had actually been to and described in equally bizarre detail here, I was met by Mr Young Handsome
Agent.
“Ben!
Why are you here? Man, your chin’s bleeding.” said Mr Young Handsome Agent.
“Yeah, I
stabbed myself with a fork. Why shouldn’t I be here? We’re meeting Kelly Brook,
right?” I said, with a beaming, excited smile.
“Well,
you should be meeting her, Ben, but not here. She’s at your hotel, dude! Did
you manager not pass on the message?”
My heart
sank, especially at the thought that my pest of a manager was making his way
back to the world of Bonnie, Pussycat Dolls and Kelly Brook without me!
“Man,
seriously, maybe we can get you a cab back, but it’s like half hour away. Ah,
dude. She has the script and everything. She’s at your hotel, Kelly Brook is at
your hotel!”
He only
had to say it once.
And so,
I got a taxi back to the W, with the Armenian driver telling me he had written
a screenplay, asking if I could do anything with it. I informed him that I couldn’t really do anything with my own, but wished him luck with his.
It was mostly a silent ride back, until he added the fact that my chin was
smeared with blood. At least it wasn’t bleeding anymore.
A friend
who worked the pool bar at the W approached me.
“Brother,
there was a super hot chick asking for you for like twenty minutes, man. ‘Are
you Ben? Are you Ben?’ She seemed so disappointed you weren’t around. Shame she
didn’t stay. Ah, man, I so wished I was you, but like, without the
blood-stained face. Kelly Brook! I’ll never forget that name.” he chuckled as
he poured me a beer.
Bonnie
tussled my hair and gently wiped my chin.
“Look at
you, Hollywood Ketchup face.” she said, passing me a blinding smile.
With the
sun going down, I tasted my beer and knew that I would never again use a fork
in pretending to mimic someone using the side of a knife for a mirror, as not only did it take an age to stop bleeding, it also prevented me from meeting Kelly Brook!
