Yesterday I shot the Drew show on Hollywood Boulevard. I got to recruit folks.
A woman. A Navajo, she told me, didn't have a home.
I am waiting to go home too, I told her.
Then I walked into Banana Republic and bought a three hundred dollar outfit.
You're so crazy, the girls on the shoot laughed.
No, I said. Just wanted to buy something.
A boy comes up to me. He wants to pitch a TV show. I put up my hand. I give him options. Pointer finger. Ring finger. Pointer to ring to middle. I tell him about the internet, where to pitch, how the networks work.
Can you read the script? he asks. Can I give it to you?
I put up my hand. I can't. I am not interested. I know. It's not my area. I have nothing to do with submissions. I am an Associate. I am not a network executive.
He hears one word. Internet. He says it over to himself. Internet.
Can you deal with him? another Producer points.
My hand is in my pocket. I dealt with him last week. I know how to get junkies off a shoot. My hand in my pocket. I've got a dollar there.
He looks at me. He knows.
I just wanted to say hi to her, he says.
I put my arm around him. I walk him away from the woman. I put the dollar in his hand. His eyes are on the dollar. My eyes are on the dollar. My eyes are on his eyes.
I don't have to say go. He is already halfway to a score of something. Battery acid or a croissant or a day old bagel. I don't know. He is gone. The shoot continues. There are no interruptions.
I walk into the Banana Republic. I buy a 60 dollar belt. I walk out. I look down at my bag of old clothes. Bleach-stained-pants. Torn belt. Borrowed shirt.
New clothes this morning. Pinstripe pants. White-starched shirt. The beard is still there. The belt is on my waist. It is Friday. It is time to go. 6 pm.
I look over at my astrological chart. T made it for me.
You will be a good person to know, she says. You won't ever have to worry about money.
I laugh. I am putting away my Clark Kent. I am standing. I am in the elevator. The cape comes on. I exit the building. I soar over Hollywood. 101 North. Between the NBC Universal Building. Over Studio City. To Taft Avenue. To 1807. To a Rite Aid Pharmacy, where I burn the books of my past. To a small 14 dollar grill, where I begin again.