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by Phil Brody

Theres nothing sadder than a pawn shop in Hollywood.

Phil Brody

bLAh

NOTHING SADDER THAN A PAWN SHOP IN HOLLYWOOD

A screenwriting instructor I studied with here in LA often pontificates, You wont succeed in Hollywood until your best friend fails. I recall sitting in his class thinking is this something you should be teaching aspirants of Tinseltown?
He alludes to a law of averages, however the theory pretty much sums up how brutal/cynical it is here in the Thirty-Mile Zone. But hey, it is sunny/75 every day, which helps. She wasnt my best friend by any means, and Im not much of a success, however I will never forget the hour she told me she was giving up. It was supposed to be happy, but five minutes in it got all pawn-shop-in-Hollywood. We were meeting for drinks as we often did since the morning we first ran into each other on the trails of Runyon Canyon. Our dogs took a liking to each othermine old/set in his ways, hers all youthful/teach-me-new-tricks. We exchanged names, where-youfroms, and our vocational incentives for weathering these thirty miles daily.

by Phil Brody

Late that first afternoon, we rendezvoused for happy hour at The Good Luck Club. She bellied up to the bar and, without a word, tattooed her first glass of vodka in Revlon red. She obviously did not want to talk about itat least not yet. Im a writer. Actor. Figured that. Why? she inquired, a tad of resentment disrupting our courtship. I dont know. Might have something to do with the script pages in your back pocket. Oh, she replied, then laughed. I have this audition today. Why dont you tell me how it went later, I said. Over drinks. There and then was the first time I saw her do itshe smiled with just her eyes. Reminded me of Tuesday Weld, back in the day. Funny thing about happy hours in Hollywood they tend to include uninvited guests. Bitterness over failed auditions or lack of a callback starts ordering up round after round. In my case, anger over rejected/unread queries and scripts starts picking fights with every Tom, Dick, and Harriet in the joint. But hey, drinks are half-price, which helps. And it did help. Half-an-hour later she was smiling at me with those Tuesday eyes. Wanna tell me about it? Whats there to say? I crashed the audi. What? The audi. The audition. Eighty miles an hour, right into the wall. Ka-boom. No survivors. Ouch. Yeah. Ouch. Frustrating thing about Tinseltown that drives some inhabitants insane, before it drives them awaytheres no university to graduate from, no residency, no clear path, just hopes and dreams being chased down by perseverant talent hoping to get lucky one day/someday/soon.

You know, someone once said talent plus perseverance equals luck. Be ready when it happens. Who said that? Soderbergh. Mister sex, lies, and videotape. I like that. Anyone ever tell you you look like Tuesday Weld? I like that too, writer man. And no, that is a first, she said, ! kicking back the liquid remains in her tumbler, those eyes of hers doing their thing. Dozens of happy hours later, though, her eyes werent smiling. They were tired/spent. You cant leave. Yes, I can. I have to. Im done. Im not happy. Im just not. There was a moment of silence between us before I filled it with, You know, someone once said this thing we call failure is not the falling, but the staying down. She pursed her lips, then parted them to say, Mary Pickford said that. And thank you for that. But thats just it, Phil. I know Im mixing metaphors here, but I am getting back up, and hopping right back on that horse. Its just . . . Im going to start heading in the right direction. East? East. It feels right. And we left it at that. Seven days after she abandoned Los Angeles, a short film script I penned won First Place in a contest I had entered months prior. Amidst the sunny/75 light of my minor success, I remember thinking sometimes I fucking hate Hollywood.
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Phil Brody is a writer living in bLAh. emailphilbrody@gmail.com