Serving Celebrities: The Complete Collection (18 page)

I went home and woke up the next morning, realizing that I was out of work (I still had the part-time job). But after a shower and picking up my friends, we set off for Vegas. Was it worth it? Maybe at first I felt I had screwed up but as the weekend went on I didn’t regret it all.

First, the Saturday show was the infamous, the Jerry Rainbow Show (ask a Dead Head if they have heard about it). Sting opened the show. The Sam Boyd Bowl is an open air stadium in the desert. Sometimes, it could be extremely hot -- but this year, right as Sting ended, it started to rain. When the Dead came out to start the show after a short shower (playing
Cold Rain and Snow
) a rainbow appeared, directly behind the end of the stadium, where the stage was set up. The rainbow started behind Jerry Garcia, the Dead’s guitarist and the embodiment of the band’s spirit. It seemed to rise from behind Jerry and shelter the rest of the band, cresting on the other side of the stage. It was very beautiful and very surreal. The Dead head next to me, stopped dancing wildly and turned, with a blank look on his face. “Man” he said, awed, “I must be trippin’ too hard -- I swear, Jerry’s spreadin’ a rainbow over the band.” I told him that there was a rainbow over Jerry (unlike at the bar, I had only had a few beers). The Head looked at me and shook his head, “Wow,” he hissed… “Then I need more ‘schrooms.”

The second show was just as good as the first, ending the night with “This Will Be the Last Time.” I was lucky at the black jack table (I broke even -- that’s lucky for me) and a good time was had by all.

A few months later, I was getting ready to go to my new job at the Writers Guild when Nicole Sandler announced that Jerry Garcia had passed away in his sleep, the night before. The rainbow was a foreboding sign -- like it was calling Jerry home… and the final song was
It Will Be the Last Time
. To this day I’m very glad that I made that trip.

Going “Full Lucy” on JFK Jr.

I
had a restaurant gig in a cafe on the Upper Westside of Manhattan. One day I showed up for work and Martin Sheen was standing in the middle of the dining room, as a manager and hostess helped him try to dry a large wet stain on the lap of his pants. After checking in, I asked a waiter what had happened to our future prime-time president. The waiter looked over his glasses at me and said, “Some woman spotted him and rushed over to his table to tell him what a great actor he was, how much she loved
Apocalypse Now
, then she knocked his ice tea over.” He went back to his finishing his check, “She looked just like Lucille Ball.”

We all remember how Lucy Ricardo approached celebrities; like Fox News on a cheating Democrat. She was always in the way, trying to help but always saying and doing the most inappropriate thing at just the wrong moment. From then on, whenever I’ve seen some wild fan fawning over some trapped celebrity, looking like George W. Bush in that classroom on 9/11, I would always shake my head and say, “She’s gone full Lucy.” I had a friend who told me a story about following Clint Eastwood at a celebrity golf tournament. He waited for the just the right moment, seconds after Clint accidentally six-putted into a sand trap, to offer him a beer. By my friend’s description, Clint turned to him in that
Grand Torino
grimace and said, “I don’t want a beer, now!” and left him behind. Boy, to go full Lucy on Clint Eastwood... and live to tell the story. I tried very hard not go full Lucy on anyone -- there are not many people that I would; a Beatle, Bruce Springsteen, Dylan, Tom Brady, John Irving... not many after that. I once
pretended
to go full Lucy over John Kennedy Junior, but let me clarify that statement.

I was in this acting class. It was a good class, I really think the teacher was great and we had some good actors in our class. Iggy Pop was in the class for a few weeks, Joan Jett stopped in for a few classes and Alec Baldwin was in the class for two weeks (He was very argumentative and the teacher kicked him out after a few classes -- for months afterwards, every time you tried to defend a choice she would retort, “That was what that guy (Baldwin) did to get out of taking direction”). There was another guy named, Richard, who was in the class for a few months. I did an improvisation with him once, but he really didn’t want to have anything to with the rest of the class. He gave off this vibe that he felt he was better than us. But really, who cares -- who was this guy anyways. I didn’t care at that moment.

I worked at this time in another restaurant on the Eastside, called Jim McMullen’s (I had lost my previous job when I decided to give the owner my opinion of his management style --- some people can’t take honest criticism). McMullen’s was a very busy and a very hip restaurant. On this one night, I was in the kitchen when a waitress, Cynthia, entered and announced to everyone nearby, “I’ve got John-John Kennedy in my section.” Big deal, I thought to myself. I nearly got shot by his uncle’s bodyguards once -- I bet this guy didn’t even have a bodyguard. When I went back out into the dining room, I confirmed that I was right -- John-John didn’t have a bodyguard -- he just had three friends with him. As I brought bread to the table, I suddenly realized that one of John Kennedy’s friends was Richard.

Kennedy’s friends were all guys, all the same age, all looking very prep school, even Richard. I set the bread basket in the middle of the table. Richard looked up, ready to order a drink, when he recognized me.... and quickly looked back down at the wine list. It was so obvious, come on, Dude. The clear diss pissed me off -- I stormed back into the kitchen. At first, I decided that I would avoid the table, let one of the other bussers take care of it. Then, after clearing my mind by standing over a steaming bucket of garbage, I decided on another plan. I was going to kill him with kindness... at least until I could get him to acknowledge me.

I went out into the dining room a new man. I was now a bussing machine. I brought more bread, refilled water in everyone’s glass, replaced fallen napkins, offered fresh ground pepper around the table, grated parmesan cheese, anything to get Richard to look me in the eye. He was good at this; if I stood on his left side, he talked to the guy on his right. If I approached from his left; he changed the subject to John, on his right. I stood across from him and he was checking out the ceiling. If I addressed him, he spoke to the table. This guy was not looking at me. John Jr., on other hand couldn’t be nicer; he thanked me for bring more bread, more butter, more water, more grounded pepper, another napkin when I thought he might have dropped the first one. I changed the ashtray six times (and no one at the table was smoking).

I really had to go all the way with Richard, I complimented him on finishing all his Caesar salad. When he asked for another drink without looking up, I confirmed that it was a Shirley Temple. Everyone else at the table laughed but Richard refused to look up. Bastard, it was obvious that this wasn’t the first time this guy ignored the help. When it was time to pick up the salad dishes, I piled them one on top of the other, making sure I sure squeezed out as much “clanking” as possible. On my way back to the kitchen the Maitre’d chased me down, “William...William,” he called. I can only assume that he called me William so that I wouldn’t pay any attention to him, I told him a number of times that “William” was still in kindergarten and waiting for his mom to pick him up (a sad story that I will have to go into some other time).

I entered the kitchen with the Maitre’d right behind me, “William, you have to carry the dishes quietly. You are bothering people,” he chided. “Not Richard,” I replied. I assured him I would try to be more quiet. Cynthia cornered me by the dishwasher, “Hey, stop hanging around my table. You’re freaking my guests out.” “I thought you wanted them to get good service,” I answered. She moved right into my face and glared at me, “Don’t piss John-John off, do you hear me?” “I hear you,” I replied. After she left, I mumbled to no one, “It’s Richard I want to piss off.” I knew I would have to step up my game.

Once out on the floor, I was the awesome busser and good partner to Cynthia. When the entree’ arrived, I replaced everyone’s napkin, commenting that is the way Cynthia liked it. As I made my way around the table with the large pepper grinder, I announced that the pepper was on Cynthia -- there was laughter from the table and a death glare from Cynthia... but still no reaction from Richard. I refilled their water glasses again and made sure everyone who was eating meat had a knife sharp enough to cut it. Occasionally, I would check on my other tables -- many of them clogged with used dishes and begging for more bread, water, parmesan... a napkin... utensils. Richard that bastard, was still ignoring me.

After leaving the table, Cynthia tracked me down and pulled me aside. “Leave my table alone -- I’m the waitress. Stop bothering them.” I told her that I was doing my job and that if she wanted a different a busy-boy I would step aside and let him do the table. She bowed to my noble proposition. On the other hand, I had no plans in letting that table, or Richard, go. I was on a mission now.

I went out onto the floor and pretended to check the tables in my section, after Cynthia got the coffee and dessert orders, I scampered back. As John, Richard and friends talked, I took out my trusty crumb-er and went to each gentleman, briskly, but expeditiously gathered any crumbs on the table in front of them. After I finished John, I slipped over to Richard, who seemed to be enthralled in folding and refolding his napkin. Again, I professionally gathered any scrap of crumb I could find and dragged them to the edge of the table... but just before brushing them into my hand -- I took it away. All the crumbs dropped onto Richard’s lap, where his most important napkin was once positioned.

I jumped back feigning surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” I exclaimed, as if I dropped a steaming bowl of soup into his lap. John Jr., the rest of the table and I waited. Richard didn’t react -- this guy was killing me. Finally, he just brushed the crumbs off his lap and onto the floor. He didn’t look at me but surveyed his friends and said, “Oops.” I turned and stormed into the kitchen. What could I do to get this guy’s attention? How could I get him to react?

Ideas ran through my head; I could go over and tell him that his waitress would like his phone number. This was a good idea until Cynthia found out (I was kind of scared of her. I once saw her trip an elderly woman who under-tipped her). Maybe if he paid the check, I could come back and tell him that his credit card was rejected. But what if he used cash? Or what if someone else paid -- he was with John-John, of course the Kennedy would pay the bill. I could run out there “Farrell’s style” and announce to the dining room that Richard ate the “Big Barf” meal and for his reward we were buying him a free dessert. This seemed too desperate and I’m pretty sure that this would be my last night at McMullen’s if I went through with it. Then it came to me; WWLD! What would Lucy do? Was it time to shove chocolates down my shirt? Have a grape fight with a co-worker, steal Bill Holden’s grapefruit? That’s when I decided I would spill some hot coffee on him, that should get his attention.

I grabbed a pot of coffee and headed out to the dining room with plans of Richard’s little mishap. As I was leaving, Cynthia entered and ordered, “Bring some coffee to twenty-four.” Great, I was on my way. It would look totally unplanned. I was just following directions, “Coffee on twenty-four.” I entered the dining room and realized... that Richard, John Jr. were sitting at twenty-two. That’s when I noticed that the table was empty. They left. I scanned the room. John Kennedy Jr. was standing at the door, putting his coat on. He looked over at me and gave a head nod. Then, I think -- though I’m not sure, I think Richard glanced over at me and gave me a short smile, “See ya in acting class, sucker!”

They turned, Richard reached over the Maitre’d’s desk and took a tooth pick, and they left. “Coffee on twenty-four,” Cynthia repeated. She pulled up next to me and whispered in my ear, “You’ve got to pull your shit together, you can’t go to pieces over every guy you like... Besides, he’s a Kennedy. You? Really? Nice try?” She glared at me like I was some heartsick school girl. “No, it was his friend,” I spit out. “Forget it,” she said, “They’re all out of your league.” Then I realized what she was talking about. I wanted to defend myself but I had no idea where to begin. Cynthia looked at me and said, “Coffee on Twenty-four, did you hear me?” I went back to work. Cynthia was very nice to me after that. I think she shared my disappointment in not being noticed, since John-John had treated her like a.... a waitress.

I went back to my acting class and watched Richard struggle through every scene he did, not wanting to act as much as to show everyone what a great guy he was. My last jab at him was when I was talking to some friends about working at McMullen’s. I was able to mention that I waited on John Kennedy, Junior and that he was nice guy... but some of his friends were “HUGE ASSHOLES.” I said it loud enough for Richard to hear it. I came up with elaborate plans to humiliate Richard in acting class when a few classes later, he just stopped coming. Some people can’t handle criticism.

I wasn’t at McMullen’s too long. Cynthia had a big mouth and told most of the staff that I was gay. Being “out-ed” wasn’t a big deal (since I wasn’t really “in”) but between the waiters all hitting on me and the waitresses confiding in me that they knew how I felt, they too wanted “bang” JFK, Jr. I realized that it was time to leave and start over in some other house. I went Full Lucy once and now I’ve become just another star-gusher. It all seemed to work out for Lucy, not once was she accused of being a lesbian -- not even when she did three different shows with Vivian Vance. Come on; am I the only one who noticed that?

My Lunch with Brad and Jenn

O
ne year, the theater that I usually worked during the Sundance Film Festival was closed because Robert Redford and Sundance were renovating the Holiday Cinemas. My theater team was relocated to a small theater at the Eccles for that year.

The difficult thing about the Holiday was that we used between two and four of the Holidays theaters during a festival, rolling them, one after another -- filling the theater, showing the film, emptying and cleaning the theater and then doing it all over again. It kept our staff busy. But this year, at the Eccles, we had a tiny theater that sat about seventy-five people. Usually this black-box theater was used for press screenings and small panel discussions. This theater was easy, compared to what we usually handled during a festival.

But the best thing about moving was that the Eccles was the premiere theater. During the year it was the Park City High School auditorium but during Sundance it became a twelve hundred seat movie theater. It was also the theater where most of the premieres of the big films were shown. It was very common for someone working at our small theater to slip into a not-quite-filled Eccles movie and watch it, until our film finished and then slip out to help empty our theater.

It was a busy morning and our shift was about to end, when I was approached by many of my team members. Usually, we would get off work, go get something to eat and decide what film we would go to that night (that’s why we all were there). But I found out that most of my team wanted to stay at the Eccles and see the premiere of
The Good Girl
, starring Jennifer Aniston. Actually, they wanted to know if they could leave early so that they could go out front to watch Jenn and Brad Pitt (who, if you were dead -- or not born yet, were dating) arrive. I told them I would check with our Theater Manager to see if they could go early. Since everyone wanted to go (including my manager), I ended up being the only one holding down the theater until the next shift arrived. Brad and Jenn, big deal.

I’m the only person on my team closing up our shift while everyone else is in front of the Eccles waiting for Brad and Jenn to arrive. It really wasn’t a big problem because the film would end after our replacement shift arrived and I made sure everyone did their closing chores before I let them go. I could guess when Brad and Jenn showed by the tidal surge of people towards the front doors of the Eccles. Looking out the glass doors of theater, I could see people running to the front, where the cars pulled up to let the stars off.