Winning is Everything (28 page)

60 

Nora Greene was amazed how many screening lists her name was taken off after she’d left Cinema Artists. “When you’ve got a job, everybody listens to you,” she told Gary. “When you’re out of work, you’re a dummy!”

Still, several loyal friends at the studios kept in touch with Nora and sent her invitations to view their product. Gary was working at the World’s Fair again, so he obviously couldn’t see Nora as often as when they’d worked together, but one Wednesday night, after a screening of the newest James Bond film, Gary took Nora over to Joe Allen’s for a hamburger. Kip was working there now, and Gary wanted Nora to meet him.

“They said this table was his station,” Gary said, sitting down.

Sure enough, moments later Kip bounded out of the kitchen, wielding a large tray filled with hamburgers.

“That’s him!” Gary pointed out his roommate to Nora.

Kip delivered his hamburgers to a crowded table of hungry people and then walked over.

“Rough night?” asked Gary, noting Kip’s frown.

“Just like all the others,” said Kip, taking out his pad and pencil.

“Well, this should cheer you up: Say hello to Nora Greene.”

“So this is the lady executive I’ve heard so much about!”

“Ex-executive!” said Nora. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hey, you kids … what would you like to drink? You look like big tippers, so first round’s on me.”

“How nice!” said Nora. “Campari and soda, please.”

“Daniel’s, with a twist,” said Gary.

Kip left for the bar and Nora tapped Gary. “He’s
gorgeous!
And you say he’s having a little trouble getting work?”

“Well,” said Gary, “acting’s a tough field to break into.”

“That I know,” said Nora. “But I also know someone who would simply
adore
him. My friend Phyliss Dodge. She’s a super-almost-big-shot agent at the William Morris office. She’s a little daffy, but quite wonderful, and she’s mad for beautiful young men.”

“Wait until Kip hears about this. And here he thought becoming a waiter wasn’t going to be particularly good exposure.”

Kip returned with the drinks and Nora wrote out Phyliss Dodge’s office number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “I’ll call her tomorrow morning and tell her to expect your call in the afternoon.”

Kip stared at the number, recognizing the name. “That’s really thoughtful.”

“No big deal,” said Nora. “Honest. I hope it works out. You just may like Phyliss. I’m
sure
she’ll like you!”

“Thanks,” said Kip. “Thanks a million!”

“All right, then,” said Nora. “Enough talk of business. I’m starving. What should we eat?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Kip, pointing to the chalked menu on the blackboard against the wall. “We got hamburgers, hamburgers, or hamburgers….”

The following afternoon Kip called Phyliss Dodge’s office. Her secretary, a young man named Sandy, told him that Miss Dodge had been expecting his call and asked him to come in and meet with her toward the end of the week—say, Thursday morning at half-past ten?

Kip got there right on time.

“Come, come in, come in!” she yelled after keeping him waiting in the reception area for twenty minutes. “Calls from everywhere, honey … you must excuse me …” She yelled into the outer office, “Sandy, get me Tony Perkins, will ya, hon? He’s either here or on the Coast or somewhere in between if he’s flying in.” Phyliss looked at Kip. “So you’re who?”

“Kip Bramer.”

“Right. Nora Greene’s friend. Well, she didn’t lie. You are something of a dreamboat, aren’t you?”

“Thanks,” Kip said softly.

“Have a seat. I have seven thousand calls to make before cocktails tonight. I have a million and a half photos sent to me every day by actors and actresses desperate for me to represent them. I have appointments and conferences and meetings and a lunch at the Russian Tea Bag, and do you know why I stopped all this machinery and told Nora I’d be happy to see you?”

“Why?”

“Instinct!” said Phyliss, pounding the desk with her fist. “Something about the way Nora described you, you know what I mean? ‘Like a Greek statue.’ That got to me. Nora’s always one for making literary allusions. What have you done?”

“You mean credits?” asked Kip.

“Have a seat. I won’t bite you. Least not until I know you better. You want some coffee? Of course I mean credits. Speak!”

“Well …” Kip began. “I’ve done a few commercials, some soap-opera work, things like that.”

An intercom buzzer buzzed and Phyliss picked up her telephone. “Don’t go ‘way, cutie,” she told Kip, then screamed into the receiver,
“Who is it?”

“Tony Perkins is in Rome,” said Sandy.

“I knew that. Why did I have you chasing all over America? Where is my brain? Okay, forget it, hon. Get me … get me … Burt Lancaster. I
know
he’s on the Coast!” Phyliss hung up the phone and stood up.

Kip took a look at this soon-to-be-major killer-agent. She was no more than five-foot-two, thirtyish, big-busted, frumpy, and overweight. She wore loads of makeup. In fact she still looked like the former secretary she’d been.

She was also brilliant, charming, and dynamic.

“So what can I do for you?” Phyliss asked as she looked out the window, down onto the Avenue of the Americas.

“You can make me a star,” Kip suggested.

“But you’ve done zero. No credits. No training. No nothing. Great shoulders, warm eyes, and a winning smile do not a Kirk Douglas make! You have to put in time. You have to pay your dues.”

“I’m tired of paying my dues,” said Kip. “Tired of being a waiter. I’m ready for some serious work!”

“I like your attitude, honey,” Phyliss said as she twirled back around. “I think maybe I’ll not throw you straight to the wolves. I think I’d like to get to know you. You want to spend some time with a hopelessly neurotic, incredibly gifted agent with big tits and a great talent for mothering young hopefuls?”

“Sure,” said Kip.

“Well, we can’t have lunch. Lunch is out. I’m dieting. I only agreed to go to the Russian Tea Room today on the condition they don’t bring any sour cream within fifty feet of me.”

“Very Russian unorthodox of you,” said Kip.

“How about dinner, then? You don’t mind if we’re en entourage, do you? I always have to be surrounded by tons of people. You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t. You’ll love the crowd. They’re all somebodies, and who knows, maybe one of them will cotton to you and decide to star you in their next multimillion-dollar epic. Remember, you’re only as powerful as the names on your Rolodex. Stick with me, kid. My shrink tells me I’m getting healthier every hour. He ought to know. I’ve given him most of my paycheck.”

“And what has he given you?”

“A great deal of guilt! You won’t let me eat any pasta, will you? Promise me, no matter what I do or say, even if I start ranting and raving,
don’t
let me eat pasta. It’s my favorite thing in the whole world and it turns me into Barbara Balloon, so no starch, get it?”

“Got it.”

“Chicken and fish. That’s it. The odd veggie, and no desserts. I’m determined to become Betty Beautiful to go along with my ever-remarkable success. You do understand?”

“Perfectly,” said Kip, clapping his hands together.

“Fine, then. As long as we understand each other. You’ve got the looks, maybe some talent, I’ve got the power, we’ve got a date. When do we have a date? What night don’t you slave?”

“I’m off Monday and Tuesday.”

“Let’s make it next Tuesday. We’ll go to a party. Or to dinner. Hell, there’s always Sardi’s. We can go from table to table, handing out business cards, stealing future clients. We can get you discovered. How am I doing?”

“So far, so good,” said Kip. “How am I doing?”

“So far, so good.” Phyliss stood and walked around her desk over to Kip. “Stand up, will you?”

Kip stood up.

“Tall, too, huh? You’re probably hung like a stallion, am I right, hon?”

Kip flushed red. “I’ve never heard any complaints.”

“I bet!” said Phyliss. “So … if we get a chance to find out, we find out. If not, let’s just keep me guessing, keep me fantasizing, how’s that?”

“Sounds … fine,” said Kip.

Phyliss walked to the door of her office and spoke to her secretary. “Sandy, weren’t you supposed to get me Fred Astaire’s manager? Today, yes, hon. Not next month. How am I supposed to be making milliondollar deals if my phone lines aren’t lighting up?”

“I’ll get right to it,” said Sandy, picking up his phone to dial.

“And get me Richard Harris in London, and William Holden in Kenya, Tony Curtis in Venezuela, and … hold on, there must be someone I can talk to here in Nueva York, no? How ‘bout Beatrice Straight? Fine. And do me a favor, Sandy … step on it!”

Phyliss turned around to face Kip again. “You still here?”

“I’m just on my way out,” said Kip.

“No you ain’t, hon,” said Phyliss, walking over and putting her arm around Kip’s waist. “You’re with Phyliss Dodge now. You’re just on your way up.”

“I sure hope so.”

“’Bye now,” said Phyliss as she heard Sandy buzzing her on the intercom. “Hugs, kisses, hugs, kisses, loads of love, all that bullshit, get out of here, cutie, will you? Let’s talk Tuesday morning. Sandy’ll give you time and place.”

Kip left the William Morris office figuring he was either going to become an overnight sensation or he was heading into the biggest waste of time he’d ever experienced.

61 

Phyliss opened the door to her apartment. “Cutie-pie!” she cried out with open arms. “Don’t just stand there, cutie. You came to pick me up, didn’t you?”

“Yes …”

“Then pick me up!”

Phyliss jumped up into Kip’s arms. “Kiss, kiss, hug, hug,” she cried, wrapping small arms around him.

“Are you always this shy?” asked Kip, smiling.

“Cutie, you look absolutely adorable. I could eat you up. Sorry I’m late getting dressed. Connie Stevens called from London. Why do I have to be the one to tell her her career’s in the crapper? Do you like my hair? Only twenty-six hours in the beauty parlor this afternoon.”

Phyliss twirled in place.

“Very becoming,” Kip said softly.

“Very becoming?” asked Phyliss. “What kind of way is that to describe seven thousand dollars’ worth of hair damage? Who do you think you are—the next Gary Cooper?”

“Nope!” said Kip, imitating the actor’s famous one-word answer.

“Cute,” said Phyliss. “All right, what do we do first? You’re right on time, aren’t you?”

“Sandy said to call for you at eight o’clock,” said Kip.

“You needn’t be so literal. I just got into my dress. It’s a Pucci! I still have to do my eyes.”

“I think you look fine right now,” said Kip, honestly feeling that no eye makeup made Phyliss more attractive than all the gook.

“Don’t try to butter me up, cutie,” said Phyliss. “I’m already sold on you. I was speaking to a biggie at Columbia on the Coast today. I talked about you, you know, asking him what’s the best way to get a nobody like yourself off the ground, and he suggested two things.”

“What were they?” asked Kip.

“Walk me to the bathroom,” said Phyliss. “We can talk while I finish cementing on my makeup.”

Kip followed Phyliss into her bathroom. Along the way, they passed through the living room, and Kip couldn’t help but be knocked out by the sensational view of Central Park that lay out the window, thirty-two stories below. “What a view!” he exclaimed.

“Honey, don’t be such a hick!” said Phyliss. “It’s just your modest penthouse panoramic overstatement from a luxury apartment house on Central Park South. All it takes is great connections and three thousand dollars a month in rent. Soon as you’re a superstar, you can sublet it from me.”

They walked into the small bathroom and Phyliss pointed to the toilet seat. “Sit!” she commanded, and Kip, feeling like a cocker spaniel, refused, saying, “I’ll just stand, thanks.”

Phyliss stood at the sink staring into the mirror, applying liner, lashes, mascara, eye shadow, everything.

“Are you going to be able to keep your eyes open once you finish?” asked Kip.

“Sure, cutie,” said Phyliss, drawing a dark line across the bottom of an eyelid.

“What was that conversation you had with the executive on the Coast from Columbia?” asked Kip.

“You’ve been paying attention!” said Phyliss, batting still more lashes. “Okay…. He said the two fastest ways to get to the top are, A, to sleep with the producer, and B, to join FIWI.”

“FIWI?” asked Kip.

“Film Industries Workshop,” said Phyliss. “It’s a program sponsored by Columbia Pictures to help promote young talent. They put kids they think may have futures under a seven-year contract and then send them to class at the studio several times a week. They also use them in their television programs and in films whenever there’s a small part they’re right for. ‘Building stardom’ is how my friend put it.”

“Sounds great,” said Kip, a bit too enthusiastically.

“There’s just a few things wrong with the deal,” said Phyliss, applying another layer of lipstick over the current one.

“What’s that?”

“One: we don’t know yet if you have any talent. Two: we don’t want to lose you to the Coast for seven years. Three: do you think this lipstick is too severe?”

Kip looked at Phyliss carefully. Rather than tell her she looked prepared to sing a comic operetta, he said, “Your lips now match your belt.”

“Why, so they do!” remarked Phyliss, sucking in her waist. “How amusing! … Now, remember the rules tonight. We do not let Phyliss overeat. Miss Superstar Agent gets a bit insistent from time to time, but we must learn to control her jaunts into the world of calories. Calories kill! Remember that. Did I offer you a drink?”

“No,” said Kip. “It’s all right. I rarely have cocktails in the john.”

“There!” said Phyliss, smiling for the mirror. “All finished.”

“You look … lovely,” said Kip.

Phyliss placed a cupped hand beneath each of her large breasts and pushed them upward. Looking into the mirror she exclaimed, “Eat your heart out, Liz Taylor. The kid is cookin’!”

She took two steps over to where Kip was still seated. She grabbed the back of his neck with her hand and thrust his nose smack between her bosoms.

“Bet you’ve been doing nothing but panting for these tits since we first met, haven’t you? I can tell the way a guy looks at a girl, and, cutie, I can tell, you’ve been staring at my tits. Am I right?”

“Well,” said Kip, his voice muffled by Phyliss’s cleavage, “they’re kind of hard to miss.”

“You bet your ass they are!” said Phyliss, and she quickly shimmied her breasts left to right before taking a step back. “There!” she said. “What’d you think of that?”

“Nice and soft,” said Kip, at a loss for words.

“You a breast man?” asked Phyliss.

“That’s me,” said Kip. “Can’t get my fill.”

“Oh, cutie, you are cute,” said Phyliss. “How would you like to have your own television series?”

“I could learn to live with it,” said Kip.

“You and every other unemployed waiter at Joe Allen’s, I bet,” Phyliss said teasingly. “We’ll see what we can do. You just stick with Big Mama. Where are we going?”

“Sardi’s,” said Kip.

“Right!” said Phyliss. “There’s one thing we have to do first …”

“What’s that?” asked Kip.

“Get out of the bathroom!”

Sardi’s was packed.

Kip and Phyliss sat at a large round table in the “best” section and ate with five other people: an executive from Warner Brothers and his wife; another agent from the Morris office and her husband; and a French movie producer who spoke very little English.

Phyliss was center-stage, wound-up, holding forth, the life of the table.

They drank wine from Italy, and most of them ate cannelloni. Not Phyliss. She stuck to paillard of veal. She stabbed her fork into Kip’s cannelloni on two occasions, but he stuck to his word and refused her so much as a taste.

“You’re cruel, you know that?” whispered Phyliss. “Remember that TV series we talked about? Forget it!”

Kip smiled and poured Phyliss some more wine. “Have a salad,” he whispered into her ear.

“Oh, cutie, how well you take care of me,” Phyliss said with a wink.

Throughout the meal, industry people stopped by the table to say hello. “I think I’ll have a small dish of ice cream,” Phyliss said timidly, once her veal platter had been cleared.

“Not a chance,” Kip said under his breath.

“You wouldn’t deprive a working girl a tiny-teeny taste of dolce, now, would you?”

“You bet your ass I would, sister!” said Kip, and Phyliss shivered in her seat from the sheer force of his comment.

“You want to be a waiter all your life, or what?”

“Just doing my job,” said Kip with a smile.

“If I don’t have something sweet to eat, and soon,” Phyliss threatened, “I just might start screaming!”

“Go right ahead,’* said Kip with a shrug. “You’re the one who’s known here, not me.”

“You know what, cutie?” asked Phyliss.

“What’s that?”

“I’m beginning to like you. You’re not just a hot piece of ass … you’re fun!”

The waiter arrived at the table, pen poised at pad, ready to take any further orders. “Coffee? Dessert? Espresso?” he asked.

Phyllis’ face lit up like a firecracker. “I’ll have a small dish of chocolate ice cream, please. And coffee … with saccharin.”

Kip looked at Phyliss like she was crazy. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked.

“Simple!” said Phyliss. “Tell me I’m
gorgeous!”

“Would you care for some hot chocolate sauce on your ice cream?” the waiter asked Phyliss.

“Certainly not!” said the high-power agent. “I’m on a diet!”