WARNING: ”The persons, incidents and situations portrayed in this Meow Meow are fictional.  Any resemblance to actual persons, incidents, and or situations is coincidental and completely accidental.”

How does that sound?  Or how about this, my Meow Meow is “faction”.  It’s “fiction” created from “facts” and sprinkled with copious amounts of out and out lies.  Trust me, I have to embellish these stories.  Not only to protect the guilty and the evil, but more than that it makes it way more fun to write.  I like to base certain characters on familiar people that you might recognize, but the stories aren’t actually about them.  Meow Meow is a day in the life of a producer in Hollywood.  Meow Meow is my story.

Today, I got a slightly disturbing call from Russell my lawyer.  He suddenly thought it was important that I display somewhere on my website that my Meow Meow is “fiction”.  He suggested that I write a short disclaimer and post on the bottom of the page.

“Should I put an “explicit” sticker on it as well?” I asked half jokingly.

“That might not be a bad idea” he said considering it.  “You do use pretty rough language sometimes.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, suddenly thinking that Russell had completely lost his mind.  “I’m not going to do that.”  I said digging in.  “That’s ridiculous.”

“You are starting to get a lot of views on the website,” Russell said dancing around a bit.

“Why the hell are you saying this now?” I asked now starting to get a little pissed.

“Well,” Russell said and paused. “I got a call from a lawyer friend of mine today” he continued at a snails pace.

“And?” I said, “Carry on, carry on.”

“Well, it seems that one of your “friends”, or possibly one of your “ex-friends” was asking him some questions about their legal rights if you published the book and made them look bad in it.”

Really?  Who was asking?”  I asked doing a mental check list.

“He wouldn’t say.  He said he isn’t representing them or anything, and that he was only telling me as a “friend”.

“Ha, lawyers don’t have friends.” I said, going in for the kill.

“Listen, I’m just passing on the news.  I’m not a litigator Michael,” Russell said back pedaling.

“Just so you know, you are not just “passing on the news”.  You are getting paranoid and gossiping.  So stop it.  I’m the one that is supposed to be paranoid.  My book is out at publishers right now.”

“Don’t get mad at me,” Russell said, sorry that he had even mentioned any of it.

“I’m not mad,” I said changing my tone and softening it.  “I have to concentrate on selling my book.  I can’t worry about being sued by someone.  I guarantee you that whomever is talking to the other lawyer, hasn’t even read my book and is probably some nightmare director that I worked with in the past who isn’t even in it.  The fact that you haven’t read the book either makes it difficult for you to judge situations.  You need to just settle down.  For your information, I don’t make anyone look bad in the book.  Everyone comes across like a “sexy vampire” that you want to fuck.

“Vampire?” He asked now completely confused.

“Don’t worry – It doesn’t make sense for you to worry about shit that you know nothing about.  You should just read the book.”

“I have to take another call,” Russell said, not wanting to discuss anything further.  “I’m not going to engage with you anymore.  I’m on your side Michael.  Don’t kill the messenger.”

“Yeah, I know.” I said, dropping it.

“Call me if you hear anything,” Russell said.

“Oh I will,” I said surely.

Meow Meow- movie has not yet been rated

I think with a name like Abel Young you are pretty much bound for glory.  I thought it sounded so regal and self assured.  It seemed like someone that is Abel and Young could do just about  anything.

Personally I’ve always liked Abel’s work as a director.  It reminded me a little bit of Floria Sigismondi in a sort of deconstructed way.  But there was also something dark and raw to it like Kevin Kerslake’s Nirvana videos.  I have always loved how Abel’s stuff was shot.  Admittedly, I have a thing for cameramen.  I like a director that knows how to shoot because I’m all about the look.  But more than that, I like to work with people that are on the front line of the battle with me.  I need a director that is able to discuss lighting and solve problems with the agency.  I avoid working with directors that like to sit back in video village on a cushy couch, reeking havoc and ordering cappuccinos, with nothing else better to do.

I liked that Abel Young was a brainy Asian.  He was very hands on and meticulous at his craft.  It was obvious that he cared about the lighting, but on set, he could be a bit of tweeker.  Personality wise he didn’t always jive with the agency.  Abel’s strengths were that he had great framing and composition.  And one of his true talents was that he was able to evoke emotion using very little words.  Come to think of it, he probably should have just been a DP.  He is an amazing photographer, but not at all great with people.  Abel was an artist.

I hadn’t worked with Abel in over 10 years, but we had kept in loose contact over Assbook.  To be honest I hadn’t followed his career at all, but I knew that he had spent the last three years in India doing something?  I remember back in the day when I was working with him that he had signed with some hipster company down in Venice.  I can’t even remember their name now.  But it was someone real groovy.  And then soon after signing there, Abel refused to take any work that he didn’t feel was “cool” or “innovative”.  Instead of choosing to put his time and energy into doing spots, he began writing a screenplay.  This of course ended our working career together.

For a young producer that is trying to survive in Hollywood, having a director that shoots something “cool” every once in a while is no bueno for the bank account.  It’s a different story if they happen to be Mondino or David LaChapelle.

I had agreed to look at Abel’s reel online and then have lunch with him in Chinatown.  As everyone out there knows I am “entertaining things” and looking for directors these days.   I’m meeting with people..  To be fair about it, I sat down and watched his reel this morning with a clear mind, while I drank my cup of tea.  I clicked the spots that were on his site and watched of each of them, thinking instantly that there were way too many of them to choose from.  I was surprised to see that two of the spots that were posted up on the site, were ones that I had done with him years ago.  It was nostalgic, but it also made me feel ancient.  Watching a few of those pieces made me think of the days when my dad, Gemma, and I were all conquering the world of videos…with Annabelle right by our side.  I had so many good memories stored right here on this website.  I love the way that each shoot becomes a little time capsule that you can look back on.  But nonetheless, most of these shit would have to go.  Honestly, Abel’s reel needed a whole re-do.

At the top of the page in my notebook I wrote, “Do you want to make money, or do you want to be cool?”

Then right below the heading I wrote down notes regarding the content and the over all look of the website.  I gave a detailed list of what I felt needed to be changed in order to make the site look better.  I gave my impression of it’s overall format, layout, and art direction.  When I was done, I folded the piece of paper up and put it in my purse.  I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that I would even use it or discuss it with him.  In my experience, I’ve found that most people just want you to encourage them, even when you really should not.  Very few people really want the truth.  Whether or not I gave him my notes would have to be a game time decision.  I would have to just feel him out.

Abel Young was right on time for lunch.  Good boy.  I love punctual.  Being on time, means that you give a shit.  Being late means you don’t.  I was counting this on time arrival as a good mark for him.  As he walked toward the table I got the impression that he was freshly showered and shaved.  He looked fit and healthy.  His skin was tan. From the looks of things it seemed that India had been kind to him.  His hair had gone salt and pepper, but he still looked good.  He was thinner than I remembered him, and now he appeared taller.

He smiled when he saw me and crossed the room quickly.  “Wow, you haven’t aged a bit Michael,” he said sitting down.  “You look great.”

I smiled.  ”Thank you,” I said, accepting the compliment graciously.  “I’ll have what he’s having,” I said, gesturing to the waiter.

Abel laughed.  “God, I have missed you,” he said, squeezing my shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” I teased back.

“How have you been?” He asked with genuine interest.

“I’ve been good. I still have the ‘best part on the show’.  I’m keeping up the good fight on the front lines, while continually advancing on the enemy.”

“I bet you are,” he said jumping right into it. “Did you have a chance to look at my reel?”

“Yes,” I said keeping my voice flat, thinking carefully about my next move.  The easiest thing to do here would be to just tell him that it is great and move on.  But I liked Abel.

After a few seconds Abel said, “Well…what did you think about it?  Is it bad?”

“No, it’s not bad.  It’s old…”

“Old?” he said sitting straight up, starting to get defensive.

Shit, I thought.  Is it too late for me to go down the “I love it” route?  Fuck, why did I just say that to him?

“There is a lot of new stuff up on the site too Michael,” he said in a tight voice.  “Did you manage to look at any of that?”

“Yeah, I looked at that,” I said, now preparing to do battle with him.  “I looked at all of it, as a matter of fact.  And I’m sticking with my opinion that the site looks old and dated. You are out of touch man, just face it.  You have been lollygagging around India for way too long.  Maybe this type of shooting style flies over in Europe.  But trust me, no one in America wants “cool” any more.  Everyone over here is afraid of loosing their jobs.  The clients are in control these days.  “The Man” is running the show.  The worst dressed people are calling the shots, there’s no more standing up to them and demanding art.  The bottom line is you must remove all the explicit nudity, and you can’t have that spot with the two guys making out on the couch.  Personally, I think that all of your images are beautiful, but Proctor and Gamble and the Target folks are playing it a little more safe.

“I got an award for that spot Michael,” he said throwing his arms in the air in disgust.

“Oh settle down,” I said waving him off.  “Nobody cares about your award.  Do you have rich parents?”

“No,” he said guardedly.

“Do you have a way of supporting yourself beyond being a director?”

“No, I mean, well, I write.”

“Do you have a large amount of money put away in the bank that you can live on?”

“No,” he said shaking his head.

“Okay, then you are pretty much screwed… Waiter, a drink for my friend.”

“Jesus, Michael,” he said taken completely aback.  “Is this how you treat your directors?”

“No,” I said letting out a little laugh.  “I lie to all my directors and tell them what they want to hear.  You are my friend.  I’m actually trying to help you out.”

“Well, you haven’t said one positive thing about any of it.”

“Well, P.S. no one watches black and white anymore.  Your site is entirely black and white.  The agency doesn’t even know what that is.  Everything needs to be changed, and Newsflash– the last thing I want to do is help some pissy ingrate figure it all out.  I don’t do that for free anymore.”

Abel starred at me stunned.  I could see that he was completely offended.  But there was really nothing for him to say.

I opened my bag and took out the folded piece of paper of notes that I had written regarding his reel and website, and then I handed it to him.  “Here, don’t read this now.  Take it back to your cave and think about it for a while.  If you decide that you want my help, call me…otherwise don’t worry about it.  What the fuck do I know any way?  Let’s eat, and have a beer…Let’s keep it to light and easy subjects for the remainder of the ride…”

“Fine,” he said sliding the paper into his back pocket, still slightly on guard.

I just brushed it off thinking all directors are exactly same.  They love to be treated rough.  He would be back for more.  I could see it in his eyes.

Meow Meow- man or a mouse?

“Be yourself,” Edward said, as I was heading toward the hotel door.

“I’ll try to,” I said, with mock cheer.  I felt just like one of our kids going off to their first day of school, only I was in New York City and about to meet my book agent.

“You’re gonna do great,” Edward said giving me the thumbs up from the desk.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” I asked with a slight hint of paranoia.

“Everyone likes you,” Edward said, raising his eyebrows at me suggestively.  Then using a flirtatious grin, he got up and came towards me.

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo?”  I asked using the same voice our son Zack uses when he says that word.

Edward smiled and hugged me now, “You are a weirdo babe, but that’s kind of the best part about you,” he said, squeezing me.  “Go break a leg.”

I got to the restaurant twenty minutes early and went straight to the bathroom to freshen up.  Nothing had happened to me on my ten minute New York City cab ride, I still looked fine.  Nonetheless, I freshened up my eyeliner and applied lip gloss.  The hostess went ahead and seated me at the table and a bus boy brought me some water.  I wasted time surfing around on my iPad.  I scrolled through the list of books that The Liberman Group had gotten published and clicked on each one of them.  I had Googled Larry Liberman’s name earlier at the hotel and watched a video of him on YouTube.  So, I had somewhat of an idea of what he looked like. But sometimes I have a hard time recognizing people.  I always think that everyone looks vaguely familiar.  I always sort people into departments.  I once asked Keifer Sutherland if he was a cameraman.  He looks like a cameraman, don’t you think?  But then, I saw Larry walk in.  As soon as he looked my way, I gave a slight wave and he came right towards me.

There was something familiar about him right off the bat.  It was as if I knew him from somewhere.  On first glance Larry reminded me a little of the Robert De Niro.  He looked like his character in Casino towards the end, or  and older version of Goodfellas maybe?  He didn’t come off like a “tough guy” per say, but I could see that he had it in him.  He had a strut to his walk that said total New Yorker.  I liked that he had come to the meeting dressed down in a black Nike tracksuit having just come from the gym.  Honestly, this casualness made me relax up a little bit, and to also think of Taxi Driver.

After a few minutes of conversation I decided that Larry was easy to talk to.  But, he also had a presence about him that said, “don’t fuck with me.”   I pictured him saying to a publisher, “Buy this book,” and him being very convincing.  Larry was extremely confident, and I liked that.  I could tell that he had done very well with books.  I liked that he had that sweetness about him too, but it was more like Tony Soprano’s sensitive side.  Bottom line folks, my agent was cool.  What a relief, I thought.

For the next hour or so we barely even talked about books.  Finally, I asked about money and advances.  He gave a broad spectrum of potential earnings that you could make in book sales.  He gave a range of author salaries starting at $5,000-10,0000 dollars – to upwards of $15,000,000. He said that one of his authors earned fifteen million in the last two years on his YA (Young Adult) book series that was translated into 49 languages.  Those seemed like very impressive numbers.  My book Meow Meow fell into the WC (Women’s Contemporary) category.  I wondered where that type of literature fell in the food chain, but I didn’t bother to ask him.  Fifteen million dollars sounded good to me, but I would settle for seven or eight, or even three.  But seriously, what the hell could I do with five to ten thousand dollars?

We ordered drinks and waited for our food to come.  We discussed Whitney Houston and her tragic fate, and we both agreed that it was a long time coming.  It was nice to put a face with the name and voice on the phone.  I still don’t know jack shit about the book industry, but when he said that his company had six best sellers in the last month I thought he must be doing something right.

There was only one thing that stuck out to me in our entire conversation that evening, one thing that struck me as strange or very odd.  He mentioned that one of the girls in his office who had read my manuscript thought that there was an actual kitty cat in the book.  That little tidbit of information bothered me a little, and got under my skin.  Hmmm? I wondered, how could someone who had actually read my book in its entirety ever think that there was a kitty in it?  Had Larry himself even read it?  Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I thought maybe it was impossible for him to read every single thing that comes in.  Maybe you don’t have to read the book in order it to sell it?  I know it sure as hell doesn’t work that way with director’s reels.

Meow Meow- managing my expectations again

It was raining pretty hard when we landed at JFK around 4pm.  As soon as we walked onto the jetway I felt the cold blast of New York City hit me.  When you’re in L.A. and you see people wearing North Face jackets, you know they are sweating their asses off.  But in New York City a puffy down jacket completely makes sense.  New York City is fuckin’ cold.

By the time we made it into the city the rain had passed and the ground was completely dry.  The temperature was in the low thirties. The forecast was for snow overnight and scattered rain showers the next day.  Either way, I was prepared.  I had on my Russian fur hat and Tory Burch black rain boots with knee high stripped wool socks.  I loved to come to this city and get a chance to wear winter fashions.  But truthfully, I could only handle it for a few days.  I don’t know how New Yorkers do this weather shit year round.  I need sun and flip flops.

Edward and I pretty much just dropped our bags in the room and then went right back downstairs to meet with Herbert, a creative director we knew from London.  He was here in the city for fashion week, but he had mentioned to Edward that he had some work coming up.  Edward and I always use the same approach for getting jobs.  We use the tactic, “you get them through the door, and then I’ll bonk them over the head.”  In a face to face meeting we are a dynamic duo.  We have honed this craft into a smooth grift.  We have a pretty good closing rate.  We were betting that out of the six meetings we were taking while here in New York, that at least one or two of the projects would happen.

As soon as the three of us were all seated in the lounge, we ordered a round of drinks.  And after that we ordered another. We spent about an hour chatting and talking shop, then Edward had to excuse himself to go do a conference call upstairs. Herbert finished his drink, and then he too was off.  I was all alone, on my own, and loving it.

Rather than go upstairs to the tiny room and listen to a long conference call about post, I opted to hang out and order another beer.  I plugged my phone into the wall, and amused myself with sending photos of the lobby to Annabelle.  I scrolled through all my emails enjoying the great people watching that could be taken in all around.  Thanks to fashion week the downstairs lobby bar was filled with interesting and well dressed individuals.  Everyone looked like a model.  Scratch that, everyone was a model, or a designer of some sort.  But trust me, I was prepared.  I had on black skinny jeans from Barney’s and a Vivian Westwood cape.  My Goyard bag said, “Don’t fuck with me.”  I had borrowed it from Annabelle.

I sat there thinking to myself, in New York the pressure is on.  There is nothing casual about this city.  Here there is no running to the grocery store in a t-shirt with no bra.  You can’t take a walk wearing sweats and Uggs with no make up and your hair tied in a knot.  Oh, no no no.  Everyone in New York is out on the street, dressed to the nines, and eating out for every meal.  In New York you can’t get around the fact that you are constantly interacting with people, whether you’re riding the subway or walking down a busy street.  It seems like no matter what you can’t help but running into someone you know.  This happens to me everyday I’m in New York, and I don’t live here.  In New York it’s “game on” and during fashion week even more so.

Just as I was snapping a photo of the bar for Gemma a young guy came up.  He was wearing a dark pea coat and a light grey knitted wool cap.  He was a model for sure.  His chiseled features gave him away instantly.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” He asked.

“ No, go right ahead,” I said. “Be my guest.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking of his coat.  As he did this, his sweater crept up exposing his rock hard abs.  Then he slowly took off his scarf before pulling it down.  I assumed he had done this maneuver at thousands of castings, as well as in coffee shops or bars.  I thought, what a pro.  I was sure that he could get a job at the Gilly Hicks in the mall, or maybe even Ambercrombie?

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked when he was settled in his seat.  He flashed a Crest white smile of perfect teeth.

“Sure, I’ll have another beer,” I said, ready for some amusement.  He seemed young and harmless, but maybe just a bit tipsy or buzzed. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mateo,” he said.

“Wow, that’s a perfect name for model.”

“How did you know I was a model?” He asked, with genuine curiosity and wonder.

“Lucky guess,” I said, instantly deciding that he was much better to look at then to talk to.

After our drinks came we toasted.

“Thank you,” I said graciously.

“My pleasure madam,” he said taking a long sip.

Gesturing to the table next to us I said, “It’s kind of freaky how that guy over there looks exactly  like Mitt Romney.”

“Is he one of the designers in the film they are showing downstairs?” Mateo asked with all seriousness.

“Yeah,” I said with a laugh, nodding,  thinking what a fucking moron.

I listened for the next five or ten minutes straight to a sort of drunkin’ rambling tale.  I got that Mateo was from Vermont. His dad was a professor at  a University and his mom was a fine artist.  He had dropped out of college to pursue a modeling career…blah blah blah.  I was ready for Mateo to go away.

I texted Edward to see where he was at, and he texted right back that he was still on his call.  Now, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.  Mateo was staring at me with an alcohol infused intensity.  I suddenly wished I had turned down the drink in the first place.

Finally he said, “You know, I was standing over there by the bar thinking, why is that sexy woman sitting alone over there off in the corner playing on her cell phone?”

“What sexy woman?” I asked thinking that this was the worst pick up line.

“You,” he said flirtatiously.  “You are the sexy woman.”

And now I laughed.  “Trust me, I’m not sexy,” I protested showing him my ring finger.  “I have three kids, one is a teenager and the other two are in still in elementary school…there is nothing sexy about that.  I’m probably old enough to be your mom.”

“No way,” he insisted dumbly, “You can’t be more than twenty five or twenty seven.”

“Ha…In my book I’m still twenty five.  But in real life I am much older.”

“Wow, you look great.”

“Thanks,” I said waving away the flattery.

“Seriously, I really thought you were like twenty seven at the most.”

“Okay thanks,” I said, unplugging my phone from the wall and throwing it into my bag.  “Let’s end this here and now while I still like you and think that you’re cute..”

“What do you mean end this?” He asked confused.  “Don’t go,” he insisted.  “Let’s have another drink together.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” I said, standing up quickly.  “Thanks for the memories,” I said, raising my beer bottle and turning to go.

Meow Meow- Mrs. Robinson