Who Stole the Funny? : A Novel of Hollywood (32 page)

“Vegaaaaaaas!”
Devon said, this time doing his best Nicolas Cage.

J.T. was, once again, absolutely in a pucker. Baffled.

“Can I, like, come, too?” Debbie asked.

“It wouldn’t be the same without you, Deb,” Stephanie replied

immediately. She understood that this would be a chit she could hold over the network babe in any future dealings.

“I’m, um, going to stay and get some paperwork done,” Mar-

cus Pooley said petulantly.

“You do that, Marcus,” Stephanie dismissed him. “We need

a strong leader here at home, keeping an eye on this dipshit so-called director.”

Steph pecked Marcus and practically danced off to join the

others.

J.T. watched her go, then looked at his hardworking crew.

“Well,” he started to say, and burst out laughing. Most of the crew laughed as well. “Thank you for a good day’s work, and if I win the two hundred grand from the Pooleys, we’ll share it evenly. Until then—it’s a wrap. Be ready for hell tomorrow.”

When the stage had emptied, J.T. and Ash walked out the back

door of the cave and took five minutes to sit on the step and just R o b b y

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soak up the sun that they never saw when they worked normal

hours. They sat. Completely still. Contemplating what the fuck

had just happened.

They closed their eyes and pointed their chins up to the sun

and smog—and the flight path of the Buddies’ chariot—the

Pooleys’ private jet—from the Burbank Airport.

“Mr. Baker?” Kirk Kelly said, startling the hell out of J.T.

“Yes? Oh! Kirk. How come you’re not flying to Vegas to ‘de-

stress’?”

“I just wanna work. I was wondering if you would help me

with a couple of scenes. I’d love to get a handle on them so I can find some bits with you and maybe we could make them a little

funnier,” Kirk said.

He wants to work?! When do the meteors hit?
J.T. thought.

J.T., Ash, and Kirk went into the cave and began working, line by line, move by move, slowly getting through most of the scenes.

Ash played all the other parts as Kirk opened up. He started coming up with ideas for bits; when he did, J.T. would brainstorm

with him and then they’d take the bit to a ridiculous extreme,

pull it back a drop, and tinker some more until they were sat-

isfied they had something

that was funny.

The Hollywood Dictionary

“It’s all rhythm, music.

COMIC TIMING:
(1) A gift from

Think of comic timing in

the comedy gods. If it has to be

terms of music,” J.T. ex-

taught, it can be taught with mu-

plained, as he often did to

sic as the template. Unfortunate-

his actors. “Hard work and

ly, if it has to be taught, it prob-

preparation makes a good

ably doesn’t exist in the student.

actor malleable and unafraid

(2) The essence of
the funny
.

of change. You’ll embrace the

changes and immediately

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

start thinking—
Funny!
” Most actors understood. Kirk caught on beautifully.

J.T. began to feel excited again about directing; about teaching; about nurturing and being there for his cast—well, for one actor.

One actor was all it took to put a spring back in his step. He wanted to shake the other actors and yell,
See this? This is what it’s all about.

It doesn’t matter if you want to work on a studio lot or in the basement
of your uncle’s house. This is the process that makes it all worthwhile.

J.T. had to finish with Kirk, but Kirk wanted to stay and work

by himself. “I really want to be comfortable and nail it this week,”

he said.

What can you say to that?
J.T. thought. He smiled, “Carry on.

I’m going to the production office if you need anything else or want to ask any questions.”

“Thanks, J.T., Ash—I mean it,” Kirk said, then bent his head

back to the script.

“You know you’ve saved that kid’s career,” Ash said to J.T. as they headed toward the production office. “Whatever else happens this week, I hope you remember that.”

J.T. didn’t know what to say to that, so he sidestepped it. “I’d rather be teaching a pack of freshmen than checking in with Marcus right now.” But no matter how he felt about Marcus Pooley, it was professional to check in at the production office to see if there was anything more he could accomplish on this . . . day.

“Allow me,” Ash said, opening the door to the office.

J.T. stepped inside. “Excuse me,” he asked a sweet-faced Thing

Eight, “can you tell me where I can find Marcus Pooley?”

“Marcus Pooley? I’m new. I’ve only been here for about twenty

minutes. But isn’t he the creator of the show?” she asked.

“Yes, that would be the Marcus Pooley I’m inquiring about,”

J.T. smiled.

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“Well—he asked not to be disturbed. He’s casting.”

“Casting?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m J.T. Baker.”

“J.T. Baker,” she said, looking for a pen. “Can I take a message?

Are you here in reference to a job?”

“I, um, am the director,” J.T. said, trying to keep the smile on his face.

“Oh.
The director
. I was told about you—you’re not going to yell at me, are you?” she asked, honestly.

“No. Why would I yell at you?”

She lowered her voice. “I was told that you were . . . I’m

sorry . . .”

“Go ahead. Tell me what you were told. Please. I’d love to hear it,” J.T. pried.

The young Thing began to recite the warning she’d received—

presumably as soon as she’d stashed her purse in a drawer—as if she were being tested. “Well, you prey on weaker beings than yourself. You are a bully and you have a terrible time with authority.”

“Is that it?” J.T. asked.

“No. You’re . . .” she stopped.

“Please, it’s okay. Continue. I might as well know who I am,”

J.T. coaxed.

“You are an asshole,” she went on, counting off each offense on her fingers. “A prim Donna. You think being a director in sitcoms is like being a director on a feature film. You care way too much about things that don’t matter, and you’re a homosexual who hides behind a wife and family but you have your boyfriend on the set with you when you are away from home,” she finished.

J.T. did a stage turn to Ash, who blew him a kiss.

“Anything else?” J.T. asked pleasantly.

“Yes.” The young production assistant was far too honest. She

hadn’t learned a thing about show business.

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

“What?” J.T. asked. “What is the last thing?”

“Um . . . you are being fired. A replacement has already been

made for next week—I’m so sorry. Was I not supposed to tell you any of that?”

“You did a superb job. You retained an enormous amount of

sh—
information
in the twenty minutes in which you’ve been employed. Good for you. You’ll do well in this business. Just make sure you never repeat anything you said to me to ei-

ther of the Pooleys or you

The Hollywood Dictionary

will be looking for a job next

“YOU’RE FIRED”:
A phrase ut-

week, too. Thank you.”

tered in Hollywood with more

She looked worried. “Yes

frequency than “I love you.” Not

. . . you’re very welcome.”

“I love ya, babe.” Just “I love

Once the office door

you.”

had shut behind them, J.T.

turned to Ash. “Ash, do me a

favor and go back to the set—keep working with Kirk.”

“But—”

“Ash, you’re as good if not better than I am. Please. Go back

to the set.”

“If you do anything stu—”

“I’ll reach out. Don’t worry.”

Ash did what J.T. asked.

J.T. kept seeing visions of Natasha and Jeremy in everything, so he began to sing very quietly to himself as he walked down the hall to Casting,
“Now if you feel that you can’t go on, Because all of your
hope is gone, And your life is filled with much confusion, Until happiness is just an illusion, And your world is crumbling down, Darlin’,
reach out. Reach out . . .”

J.T. reached out and put his hand on the knob of the makeshift

casting office. Whatever lay behind that door, he had better handle it right. Now that he knew he was going to be fired, it was more R o b b y

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important than ever for him to keep his temper in check and not give anyone a valid reason for calling him incompetent. He was

pay-or-play for all three episodes, which meant he could get his payment and his DGA insurance if he was fired.

He also had to forgo the satisfaction and self-indulgence of

quitting, because in order to get his insurance, he had to either stick out the whole three weeks or be officially fired.

So J.T. sang a few bars of “Reach Out, I’ll be There” again, then opened the door and looked around at the actors waiting to audition.

They were all Kirk Kelly look-alikes.

J.T.’s legs started to buckle. His blood pressure bypassed its

familiar, steady, climb and rose meteorically. He became light-

headed and had to hold on to the doorknob to make sure he

wouldn’t pass out.

The Kirk clones glanced up, decided J.T. wasn’t a Somebody,

and went back to their private preaudition rituals. J.T. went over to a watercooler, drank a couple of cups, and tried to look unobtrusive until his pulse subsided. Then he went over to the door to the inner office and walked into Casting unannounced, interrupting

a young man who was reading from the very scene J.T. had been

coming to discuss with Marcus Pooley.

“What the fuck are
you
doing here?” Marcus stood abruptly, confused and angry.

“Excuse me for barging in, Marcus,” J.T. said as he barged in.

“I, being a member of the Directors Guild of America, not to mention being a registered Democrat and a card-carrying member of

the YMCA, wanted to be in the casting sessions so that I could be of more help to you in the next two days of work. I want to know what is on your mind; how I can make better choices and give you

. . .
what you want
.” J.T. tried to say it without it sounding like a bald-faced lie.

“Really
?
”
Marcus Pooley was momentarily thrown:
a Demo-2 3 4

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

crat and a member of the
Y?
What did that mean
?
What was the
crackpot getting at
? “Really?” Marcus repeated.

“Yes. As
really
as
really
gets. I see you are auditioning young gentlemen for Kirk Kelly’s part.”

“Yes. I got the okay from the network to make the change.

Actually—I didn’t get it
from
Debbie. She’s on a plane with Steph right now on their way to Vegas. So I asked the second-in-command over at the network. He said he didn’t know what I was

talking about but he was sure that since it was my show and I felt passionate about this situation I should make the decision that would be best for the show. I called Lance from the studio but

it seems he was unreachable, and since we have a time crunch,

I took the network’s advice and am doing what is best for the

show.” Marcus finished by pulling his wallet from his back pocket and removing his Producers Guild of America card. “Bet you

don’t have one of these.”

J.T. took out his own wallet and held up another card: “Auto-

mobile Club of America!”

“Academy of
Television
Arts and Scientists!” Marcus countered, showing his card.

“That would be
Sciences,
not
Scientists
. And if you need proof, take a gander at this: Academy of
Motion Picture
Arts and
Sciences,
” J.T. smiled as he produced his card.

“Well—American Federation of Television and Radio Art-

ists!”

“Ditto!” J.T. countered. “Local Musicians Union 802!”

“Screen Actors Guild
Producers
Health Plan!”

“Ditto and I’ll raise you one DGA
Producers
Health Plan!”

“American Express Rewards Club!”

“Staples Business Rewards Club!”

“I have season tickets to the Los Angeles Dodgers!”

“I know when I’m beaten,” J.T. said, putting his wallet back in its holster.

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J.T. looked at the casting assistant, hoping to find someone

else who shared his outrage at this stealth casting session. The assistant’s eyes were focused on the caftan-draped middle-aged

woman who was chewing loudly on ice while trying to settle all

of her three-hundred-odd pounds comfortably on a standard-is-

sue studio couch. “Can I get another Super Gulp Diet Pepsi here?”

she asked the assistant. “It’s an oral thing. Diet. I need to keep my mouth occupied so I sip on a Super Gulp all day. It’s diet so no calories! Bingo!”

“I’m sorry,” J.T. said, holding out his hand to her, “I don’t think we have met.”

“Hello. Forgive me for not getting up, but I’m Loretta Nady.

Kirk Kelly’s manager.”

“I see. And, excuse my ignorance, but . . . by any chance are

those Kirk Kelly look-alikes out in the waiting room, who are

learning Kirk’s lines, ‘your’ clients as well?” J.T. asked.

“Of course!” Loretta cheerfully admitted.

“Interesting, Marcus,” J.T. said pointedly.

Marcus heard the accusation in J.T.’s tone. “Changing out a

lead in a show is hard. No one likes it. But Kirk has proven that he just can’t cut it,” he quickly explained. “And replacing him would be very expensive if Loretta wasn’t on board to help us defer the costs. It’s called show
business,
J.T. It’s not called
nice business,
but we all must do our best to make it civil.”