Many years ago, when I was crawling my way up the show business ladder, which, by the by, has a shitload of rungs, I worked as a wee assistant to a literary agent. It wasn’t a big operation. It was more like a mom and pop shop, only without the pop. That’s right, just me and Agent Lady, who liked to announce when she was going to the toilet, as she tucked The Hollywood Reporter safely under her arm, so she could catch up on who was doing what to whom, while sitting on the crapper. Can you say class act? Neither could I.
To make a long story short, the only awesome and interesting moment on the job was when I answered the phone one early morning, only to be greeted with a hello from Mr. Sean Connery. Agent Lady hadn’t come in yet, so Sean and I could have an open and honest conversation. He asked me how I liked working for Agent Lady and I told him that she shat a lot. I asked him when he was going to get it together and do another Bond movie because he was the best James Bond out of the whole lot of them.
That’s not really how it went down, but he did call, and we did exchange pleasantries, and he was funny and his voice does ooze sex. I think I may have had an orgasm while he was giving me his call back number.
Besides that one phone conversation, the job was a big fat bore, but then again, how exciting is answering phones and copying scripts? Exactly. SO, when I got engaged (now divorced) I traveled back and forth from L.A. to NY, planning my wedding and it got to be ridiculous. I decided to give my two-week notice. Here is where there was a breakdown in communication between myself and Agent Lady.
She accepted my two-week notice, but when you read the enclosed letter, maybe she didn’t. And when my two weeks were completed, she was out of town, so yes, I did go to the accountant, who I had formed a relationship with, and asked for my final check. I admit that perhaps it wasn’t cool but I was SOOOO young and I didn’t have a lot of experience in these matters. However, my departure was not abrupt. It may have upset her because I think she thought we were bf’s, but I did finish my two weeks and then I skedaddled. I did not disappear. This was complete hogwash.
Anyway, I just love the last line. Why else would I have kept the letter for eighteen friggin’ years. Connery thought it was poppycock as well.