It isn't every day that you sell screenplay to a movie studio for 3/4 million dollars (and that's 1989 money). In fact it was the only day that I got experience this once in a lifetime experience.
Thankfully, because of their incredible prodigiousness, it happened several more times for my writing partners Jim Jennewein and Tom Parker, who went on to pen Getting Even With Dad, Major League II, the Flintstones and more.
More thankfully, Deb was with me when this Hollywood miracle happened. And what do three young copywriters do when they strike screenwriting gold and cash checks the size of a house down payment? They go all Clampett-style and blow it (some of it) on a night on the town in a stretch limo.
Our driver Meg, a young African American woman, had little idea what she was in for when she arrived to pick the 5 of us for a night of revelry. BTW, try to google African American female limo driver and you will come up empty handed -- stupid algorithm.
Our first stop was a fancy Thai restaurant in the terminal at Santa Monica airport. I doubt it's there anymore but at the time, the post-80's big hair era, it was the happening place on the westside.
I'm not sure what we ate there. I am sure that feeling flush with cash for the very first time in our lives we told the waiter or waitress something obnoxious...
"Give us the left side of the menu. And if we're still hungry, the right."
Oh, yeah we were those guys. As odious and drunk as we were it was not too odious to Deb, who had for all intents and purposes, just started dating me. Perhaps she was laughing so hard she forgot to think, "oh my god this guy is so classless."
How classless, you might ask? If memory serves, the manager came by our table and asked us to "Get the Bangkok out of here."
I'm not sure Shane Black, the premier screenwriter at the time, would've reacted the same as we did. But we promptly told the manager to kiss us where the sun don't shine. And, in case, he was unclear on the vernacular, we showed exactly where they would be.
Deb rolled her eyes. A gesture I would see with increasing frequency during our 33 years together.
Nevertheless, she was nonplussed, and with help from Judy, Jim's girlfriend, guided the three of us, with our pants wrapped around our ankles, back to the safety of Meg and her big limo.
Normally stoic limo drivers are trained to ignore the antics of their passengers, but Meg was no ordinary limo driver. She couldn't help from laughing. And continued to laugh throughout the night.
When we accosted pedestrians on Sunset Blvd.
When we took turns poking out through the sun roof.
When we needed to borrow $40 bucks for another bottle of Dom at a cheesy liquor store.
I wish I could recall more of the details of this magnificent (and now shameful) evening. I wish Deb were here to fill me in on all the stupid shit we did that night.
I do remember that the memory of those magical times always brought a nonjudgmental smile to her face. And that whatever transpired she was thankful for the story.
And I'm thankful she part of the story.
Great story. As you know, Tom was our neighbor in Topanga. In 2018 the Malibu (once again) fire resulted in our community being evacuated. Tom and I decided to stay behind because, fuck it, I like my bed and no hotels were available. Anyway, middle of the afternoon I get a knock on the door. It's Tom. He has a measuring cup in his hand and asks, "Can I borrow a cup of vodka?" We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking vodka and watching news coverage at my place. Tom's a cool guy.
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